Happy, happy new year! Hard to believe it is here, but there you go....
One last blog post for 2008 (today has been a flurry of posting- be sure to scroll down for two other new posts).
From Madurai, I took the overnight train to Thiruvananthapuram (better know, for obvious reasons, as Trivandrum). I've discovered I sleep really well on trains. In the morning, I hopped another train to Chengannur and from there took a quick bus ride 11km back to Aranmula, where the cultural centre is.
I was planning to stop by here at some point to see my friends and pick up some stuff I'd left with them. I decided to stop by now partly to celebrate New Year's Eve with them! (I figured it would be nice to celebrate one of the big three winter holidays in a semi-normal way.) We are having a dance party tonight with traditions from all over -- Jannet made a pinata and there will be an Indian style pinata as well. More on this once I actually see it :) I also needed a few "days off" so to speak and decided that familiar territory would be the nicest place for that. I'm hoping to mail some packages, backup and clear my camera memory cards, edit my grad school application (I wrote the essays in September before I left but couldn't really wrap my head around finishing something that wasn't due until February).
My timing turned out to be especially great-- there is a trip to Varkala planned for this weekend. Varkala is a beach town-- something I often skip when I travel, since I've from a great beach town and since they tend to be touristy places. But at the moment, I'm looking forward to seeing a different part of India and spending time with friends. A perfect start to a new year!
I know I've said this before, but so many things in life remind me that I must be the luckiest, most loved girl in the world. And all of those reminders come from you! My cherished friends and family. So even from far, far away, I want to say thank you and tell you unequivocally that I celebrate all of you. I hope that your New Year's Eves and Days are filled with celebration and that the upcoming year is overflowing with an abundance of all the gifts that are truly best in life.
"Celebration: Take time to recognize and savor what is important to you and honor it with festivities. Rejoice, have fun, and enjoy the party."
- a meditation card at my yoga studio
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Madurai: The Verdict
Ok, so it turns out that Madurai is not my favorite place in India. Waiting five minutes didn't change my feelings on that one :) But it's ok: I didn't dislike it, and not every place can be my favorite! (There's a good-sized tie for first place in that category). And to be honest, I don't think either of us where at our finest. For her part, Madurai is a hustling, bustling city, particularly as the temple of Meenakshi has become a huge tourist attraction for foreign and Indian tourists alike. The city (and temple) were extra chaotic as it was a school holiday here in India-- there were huge family groups at every hotel (and it is the high season for foreign travellers). As for me, I just wasn't feeling my best for a few days. Nothing too bad, just low level ick, but enough to taint my mood (and lower my patience).
One great thing: right after I left my first blog post about Madurai, I was walking back to my hotel and saw, you guessed it!!! an elephant walking down the street! A busy, jam packed, noisy, brightly lit, crazy city street. This elephant was in full regalia-- a big, elaborately decorated blanket over its sides and head gear-- and had a boy riding it (and another mahout, or handler, on the ground).
We didn't see much of the temple of Meenakshi. Aside from the massive swarms of people (good reminder why I never want to go to a big temple during one of the major festivals), it is undergoing a complete renovation. They are trying to finish before some big festival next year. The entire place is covered in scaffolding (Indian-style, so long bamboo lashed together) and parts are closed. The gopurams (the towering pyramidal entrances covered with elaborate and colorful carvings) were covered with scaffolding AND palm-thatch while they are repainted. So no pictures (sorry, dad!).
One thing I do love about that temple: it is known for its jasmine flowers. My teacher bought me a string of little jasmine buds to wear in my hair. All day long I was getting hits of that sweet, almost intoxicating scent. Seriously, I think I would have been happy to skip the sightseeing to just sit and smell the jasmine flowers. On a side note, I now carry a stock pile of small safely pins and bobby pins in my day bag. These items are critical if you plan to wear a sari or have blessed temple flowers adorn your hair.
Madurai is full of hawkers and touts. More than I've come across anywhere else in India (though I haven't been north yet, so we'll see). Despite my less than stunning mood, I found them entertaining. Nothing like laughing and walking off from a rickshaw driver (Too much! Too much! I paid half that for the same trip this morning!) only to have him turn around in traffic and follow you down the street yelling "Madam! Madam!" and offering a much better price. Maybe one day I'll dedicate an entire post to my negotiations in Madurai. Oh, and some of the rickshaw drivers there have actual horns-- a metal horn with a rubber bulb that you squeeze. Some of them sound like those sqawking parrot noisemakers. Others make a feeble, coughing sound I doubted any drivers could hear over the ruckus. Don't know if the drivers can hear them, but it turns out I could hear them all night from my 3rd floor hotel room!
The best part of Madurai was visiting the home of my teacher's teacher. Appa, as he calls him, passed away about 15 years ago, but we were welcomed with open arms by his family. My teacher came to India more than 30 years ago as a university student on a semester abroad program. He ended up moving in with one of his professors and living with them as family. We also saw the neighborhood matriculation school that his teacher built. I may write more about this later, not just because of the length of this post, but also because I need some more time to put together my own thoughts on this very touching experience.
The second best part of Madurai was that I went to the train station the day I wanted to leave (during the high season, remember) and despite the computerized system saying trains were full and the hand-written sign saying all trains that day were sold out and the woman at the counter telling me the train was sold out, I managed to score a ticket for that night on the exact train I wanted. Still not sure how it happened. I just kept asking her questions about various train options for that day and the next (which were full, how the waiting list works, etc) and suddenly she gave me a ticket for the train that had been full moments before. I had a backup plan (the bus! or leaving the next day), but the overnight train was definitely my first choice. Leaving Madurai that day was also a priority. I was pretty done with it.
One great thing: right after I left my first blog post about Madurai, I was walking back to my hotel and saw, you guessed it!!! an elephant walking down the street! A busy, jam packed, noisy, brightly lit, crazy city street. This elephant was in full regalia-- a big, elaborately decorated blanket over its sides and head gear-- and had a boy riding it (and another mahout, or handler, on the ground).
We didn't see much of the temple of Meenakshi. Aside from the massive swarms of people (good reminder why I never want to go to a big temple during one of the major festivals), it is undergoing a complete renovation. They are trying to finish before some big festival next year. The entire place is covered in scaffolding (Indian-style, so long bamboo lashed together) and parts are closed. The gopurams (the towering pyramidal entrances covered with elaborate and colorful carvings) were covered with scaffolding AND palm-thatch while they are repainted. So no pictures (sorry, dad!).
One thing I do love about that temple: it is known for its jasmine flowers. My teacher bought me a string of little jasmine buds to wear in my hair. All day long I was getting hits of that sweet, almost intoxicating scent. Seriously, I think I would have been happy to skip the sightseeing to just sit and smell the jasmine flowers. On a side note, I now carry a stock pile of small safely pins and bobby pins in my day bag. These items are critical if you plan to wear a sari or have blessed temple flowers adorn your hair.
Madurai is full of hawkers and touts. More than I've come across anywhere else in India (though I haven't been north yet, so we'll see). Despite my less than stunning mood, I found them entertaining. Nothing like laughing and walking off from a rickshaw driver (Too much! Too much! I paid half that for the same trip this morning!) only to have him turn around in traffic and follow you down the street yelling "Madam! Madam!" and offering a much better price. Maybe one day I'll dedicate an entire post to my negotiations in Madurai. Oh, and some of the rickshaw drivers there have actual horns-- a metal horn with a rubber bulb that you squeeze. Some of them sound like those sqawking parrot noisemakers. Others make a feeble, coughing sound I doubted any drivers could hear over the ruckus. Don't know if the drivers can hear them, but it turns out I could hear them all night from my 3rd floor hotel room!
The best part of Madurai was visiting the home of my teacher's teacher. Appa, as he calls him, passed away about 15 years ago, but we were welcomed with open arms by his family. My teacher came to India more than 30 years ago as a university student on a semester abroad program. He ended up moving in with one of his professors and living with them as family. We also saw the neighborhood matriculation school that his teacher built. I may write more about this later, not just because of the length of this post, but also because I need some more time to put together my own thoughts on this very touching experience.
The second best part of Madurai was that I went to the train station the day I wanted to leave (during the high season, remember) and despite the computerized system saying trains were full and the hand-written sign saying all trains that day were sold out and the woman at the counter telling me the train was sold out, I managed to score a ticket for that night on the exact train I wanted. Still not sure how it happened. I just kept asking her questions about various train options for that day and the next (which were full, how the waiting list works, etc) and suddenly she gave me a ticket for the train that had been full moments before. I had a backup plan (the bus! or leaving the next day), but the overnight train was definitely my first choice. Leaving Madurai that day was also a priority. I was pretty done with it.
My Schedule
So, this is loooong overdue, since I left the cultural centre almost a week and a half ago.... but, while I was there, I got a few questions along the lines of "why are you so busy?" and "I don't understand what you're doing. What is your schedule like?" It varied day-to-day and week-to-week, as students came and went, but here is a sample of what my schedule resembled most of the time I was studying at Vijnana Kala Vedi:
between 5:30 and 7:15 Wakeup, journal, yoga on my own, read or get dressed in a hurry
7:30-8:30 Yoga (group class)
8:30 Breakfast
9:30-11:30 Kathakali individual lesson (kathakali is a traditional keralan art form, sort of a dance drama that combines footwork, hand mudras, facial expression, and body and eye exercises). Class was very physical-- always great right after breakfast.
11:30 Quick shower (like I said, kathakali was pretty sweaty)
12:00-1:00 Tabla individual lesson (a style of drumming from northern India. very complex with the coolest sound. I'm not very good, but I love it, both for the sound of the drums and for the meditative quality of playing.)
1:00 Lunch. Afterwards I'd hang out with people until my next class or check email or stalk the elephant...
2:30-3:30 Cooking individual lesson. Class with Nisha is probably the best part of the day. I only hope I can replicate the food when I get home.
After cooking, I had some free time. I did different things every day: relax, walk by the river, walk to Kozhencherry (about 3km) for ice cream, hang out with people, stare at a computer. The dining hall also served tea (& snacks) from 4 to 5:30pm.
7:30-8:30 Dinner.
After dinner, I would practice for my classes (especially tabla) and hang out with my housemates (I've already written about the advent candles and the Christmas drama we watched). We also went to bed pretty early most nights.
There was also an hour long group class in Kalari (the Indian martial arts form). I only made it to that once! I would have liked to keep going, but with yoga and kathakali and lots of walking I was getting enough physical activity and my schedule was plenty full!
On the weekends, we had all sorts of adventures: an overnight trip to Palakkad to see my Kathakali teacher perform, long hikes through nearby towns and villages, a wedding, beauty night (with fruit facials!), sari night (it took a few tries to learn how to put it on... let alone do anything while wearing it), sari shopping expeditions, all-night Kathakali performances, Star Trek on the big screen, an overnight trip to Periyar Nature Preserve, laundry, internet, and, occasionally, relaxing.
between 5:30 and 7:15 Wakeup, journal, yoga on my own, read or get dressed in a hurry
7:30-8:30 Yoga (group class)
8:30 Breakfast
9:30-11:30 Kathakali individual lesson (kathakali is a traditional keralan art form, sort of a dance drama that combines footwork, hand mudras, facial expression, and body and eye exercises). Class was very physical-- always great right after breakfast.
11:30 Quick shower (like I said, kathakali was pretty sweaty)
12:00-1:00 Tabla individual lesson (a style of drumming from northern India. very complex with the coolest sound. I'm not very good, but I love it, both for the sound of the drums and for the meditative quality of playing.)
1:00 Lunch. Afterwards I'd hang out with people until my next class or check email or stalk the elephant...
2:30-3:30 Cooking individual lesson. Class with Nisha is probably the best part of the day. I only hope I can replicate the food when I get home.
After cooking, I had some free time. I did different things every day: relax, walk by the river, walk to Kozhencherry (about 3km) for ice cream, hang out with people, stare at a computer. The dining hall also served tea (& snacks) from 4 to 5:30pm.
7:30-8:30 Dinner.
After dinner, I would practice for my classes (especially tabla) and hang out with my housemates (I've already written about the advent candles and the Christmas drama we watched). We also went to bed pretty early most nights.
There was also an hour long group class in Kalari (the Indian martial arts form). I only made it to that once! I would have liked to keep going, but with yoga and kathakali and lots of walking I was getting enough physical activity and my schedule was plenty full!
On the weekends, we had all sorts of adventures: an overnight trip to Palakkad to see my Kathakali teacher perform, long hikes through nearby towns and villages, a wedding, beauty night (with fruit facials!), sari night (it took a few tries to learn how to put it on... let alone do anything while wearing it), sari shopping expeditions, all-night Kathakali performances, Star Trek on the big screen, an overnight trip to Periyar Nature Preserve, laundry, internet, and, occasionally, relaxing.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Welcome to the Wardrobe!
Since I left on this adventure, I feel like I'm having some sort of Narnia experience with the passage of time.... Like even though time is passing for me, it seems like mid (or maybe even late) August, and I don't think it's just the weather here.... No way does it feel like almost New Year's. I keep saying "last summer" meaning 2007 and people assume I mean 2008 (right? because for the rest of the world, summer ended!) When I talk to someone who is in school or who teachers, I have to remember it's the middle of the year, not the first week! That might be part of my problem... I'm missing all my usual markers of the passage of time. This was the first fall since I was five that I didn't start a new school year, either as a student or a teacher. Crazy!
Now for something completely random, which character are you? I expect (to my disappointment and despite a rather wild imagination) that I would be Susan.... hmm, maybe I should make this a poll, but please add comments and explanations, too!
Now for something completely random, which character are you? I expect (to my disappointment and despite a rather wild imagination) that I would be Susan.... hmm, maybe I should make this a poll, but please add comments and explanations, too!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Madurai
Well, I was going to catch up on a blog post I've been wanting to write for quite sometime-- one about going on long walks through little villages in India-- but this internet cafe is driving me crazy. Aside from the rotten computer that keeps freezing (to be expected I suppose for Rs20/hour), but I'm basically sitting in the dark. So, just a quick post instead...
Today was basically devoted to traveling between Kumbakanom and Madurai. I went to two more temples this morning before I left and took a quick peek in at Draupadi (her temple wasn't open yet). I didn't feel great this morning, so I thought it could be a long day of bus travel. I also expected it to be an uneventful day, sitting on a bus, but I forgot how many fantastic things you see out a bus window in India. Here's one: there were stretches of the two-lane road reduced to just one-lane today because people were drying corn on the asphalt! You see things from laundry to coconut husks to chilli peppers spread out everywhere to dry in this country, and you see it spread out on everything from rooftops to motorbikes to rock piles to the side of railroad tracks. But this was the first I'd seen things on the road itself! And it wasn't spread out on tarps or canvas; I guess that would defeat the heating power of the blacktop. They surounded the corn with rocks and branches, and traffic flowed around it no problem (at least the corn doesn't move, unlike the other things drivers have to dodge on the roads here).
The other great thing I discovered is the best seat on the bus: the very front seat! You have more room than the other seats, it's a single seat so no sharing, and you have a great view-- out your window and out the entire gigantic windshield! When I went to the bus station, I was told that the next bus to Madurai was at 13:30, a mere 3 1/2 hour wait (I no longer believe any of Lonely Planet's bus info). So instead I hopped a bus to Tanjore (they run every two minutes). I was one of the last people on and I was sheperded to one of the last seats, the one at the front. In Tanjore, I changed buses (they leave for Madurai every 15 minutes). I literally hopped on the moving bus, with my pack. It was backing out and I couldn't get the drivers attention, but the other passengers shouted that yes, this bus was going to Madurai and beckoned me aboard. They then organized to move a woman from the front-most seat to the next row back-- front seat twice in a row! Apparently they'd seen my pack and decided it was the best place for me....
Not sure yet what I think of Madurai. It's a big, bustling place. Lots of signs in English, even if the staff at my hotel don't speak it. It was hard to find a room tonight; apparently, it's a ten-day school holiday so lots of people are visiting (and it's Saturday night, which I'd forgotten).
Tonight I had channa masala for dinner. Channa is chickpeas (or should I say garbanzo beans or ceci or kichererbsen or kikarter). It's one of my favorite Indian dishes at home, but I hadn't had it yet (in part because lots of places I've been haven't served it but also because I've been wanting to try new things). Tonight I decided to see how the real stuff measures up. Let me say, it is fantastic!
Today was basically devoted to traveling between Kumbakanom and Madurai. I went to two more temples this morning before I left and took a quick peek in at Draupadi (her temple wasn't open yet). I didn't feel great this morning, so I thought it could be a long day of bus travel. I also expected it to be an uneventful day, sitting on a bus, but I forgot how many fantastic things you see out a bus window in India. Here's one: there were stretches of the two-lane road reduced to just one-lane today because people were drying corn on the asphalt! You see things from laundry to coconut husks to chilli peppers spread out everywhere to dry in this country, and you see it spread out on everything from rooftops to motorbikes to rock piles to the side of railroad tracks. But this was the first I'd seen things on the road itself! And it wasn't spread out on tarps or canvas; I guess that would defeat the heating power of the blacktop. They surounded the corn with rocks and branches, and traffic flowed around it no problem (at least the corn doesn't move, unlike the other things drivers have to dodge on the roads here).
The other great thing I discovered is the best seat on the bus: the very front seat! You have more room than the other seats, it's a single seat so no sharing, and you have a great view-- out your window and out the entire gigantic windshield! When I went to the bus station, I was told that the next bus to Madurai was at 13:30, a mere 3 1/2 hour wait (I no longer believe any of Lonely Planet's bus info). So instead I hopped a bus to Tanjore (they run every two minutes). I was one of the last people on and I was sheperded to one of the last seats, the one at the front. In Tanjore, I changed buses (they leave for Madurai every 15 minutes). I literally hopped on the moving bus, with my pack. It was backing out and I couldn't get the drivers attention, but the other passengers shouted that yes, this bus was going to Madurai and beckoned me aboard. They then organized to move a woman from the front-most seat to the next row back-- front seat twice in a row! Apparently they'd seen my pack and decided it was the best place for me....
Not sure yet what I think of Madurai. It's a big, bustling place. Lots of signs in English, even if the staff at my hotel don't speak it. It was hard to find a room tonight; apparently, it's a ten-day school holiday so lots of people are visiting (and it's Saturday night, which I'd forgotten).
Tonight I had channa masala for dinner. Channa is chickpeas (or should I say garbanzo beans or ceci or kichererbsen or kikarter). It's one of my favorite Indian dishes at home, but I hadn't had it yet (in part because lots of places I've been haven't served it but also because I've been wanting to try new things). Tonight I decided to see how the real stuff measures up. Let me say, it is fantastic!
Friday, December 26, 2008
Here's a temple, there's a temple...
When the British came to India, they wanted to catalog ALL of the temples in this vast country. I don’t know how they ever thought they could accomplish it (and I don’t know if they really did), but my teacher has books showing the result of their labors, with descriptions and black and white photos of temples all over. I wonder how they defined a temple. I’ve seen such wildly different temples, from the really huge and to the very tiny. Did they count shrines? What’s the difference between a temple and a shrine? Does someone have to be able to fit inside? What if there’s no outer wall, just an abode for the deity that you stand before? What’s if it’s just a place under a tree where someone leaves an offering and says a prayer every morning? Even if you did get all the temples, you’d still be left with the myriad altars in every home, business, bus and rickshaw.
Anyway, here’s a synopsis (it’s not short, but it’s still a summary) of a few of my favorite temples so far (aside from Chidambaram).
Aranmula (in Kerala)
On the corner of my street in Aranmula was Mahaganapathy temple, a tiny, sweet little temple to Ganesh. There was a small courtyard (with a giant tree just outside the wall—it was the best corner in the village) and you could see the entire temple even from outside. It was open on the sides, with black marble leading to the statue of Ganesh. In the evenings, the temple was ablaze with burning pots of ghee and the aroma of incense wafted through the air. Sometimes there would be groups of children singing and playing music. This temple was simple and cozy and personal, and I smiled every time I walked by it.
From that corner, with the Ganesh temple, you could see the main temple of Aranmula: Parthasarathy. Partha is another name for Arjuna, the star of the Bhagavad Gita, and Sarathy means driver or charioteer. Arjuna’s charioteer in the story is none other than the god Krishna himself. Jannet, one of my housemates, arranged with her wood carving teacher to take us on a visit to the temple. I hadn’t expected to see inside it: I’d been told non-Hindus were not allowed. Charjee told us they created that rule because people had gotten so tired of visitors snapping pictures. As he said, “we come here for our peace of mind. We all need peace of mind.” But as long as we behaved and didn’t take pictures, we were welcome to visit and even to come back on our own. When men visit the inner sanctum of the temple, they have to remove their shirts or at least the right side (if it’s button-down). Men receive energy from the god at their sternum/heart, hence the need to uncover it. Fortunately, women receive it at their forehead. With the stereotype of men as rational and women as emotional, I wondered if that’s meant to balance us out—or if we have things backwards ;) Charjee also talked about how visiting the temple is good for us physically; you get some exercise climbing the stairs and walking around (it’s big). There’s even a part where you walk (barefoot, of course) over small, smooth stones: a quick, free acupressure treatment!
Trichy (in Tamil Nadu)
The Rock Fort Temple is 83meters high, built on a giant rocky outcropping smack in the middle of the city. There are 437 steps to get to the top. At the very top is the Vinayaka Temple to Ganesh. Somehow my fear of heights didn’t bother me a bit! I took some great pictures of the surrounding city; this is one of the few temples that allows photography in certain parts, if you pay for a pass. I didn’t end up really taking any inside; it still didn’t feel right.
Half way up is the Sri Thayumanaswamy Temple. I was standing at the sign, written mostly in Tamil, trying to decipher which way to go. The man watching over the entrance asked if I was Hindu. No, I replied honestly. He sized me up. Then he took me to left, past the “Hindu only signs”, into the temple, dotted my forehead, and sent me on my way with only the warning “no camera.” The temple was beautiful, with many pictures about Shiva taking the form of a midwife to help a pregnant woman. There was also a darling priest who ushered me into a tiny shrine to Lakshmi. It was the first real blessing I got at a temple in India, and he sent me away with flowers and bananas.
Back down at the bottom of the steps carved into the stone, on my way out, I could hear bells ringing. It was the temple elephant! It was doing a meditative dance, stepping from one side to the other and then gracefully kicking one leg forward. It was also pausing every so often to take offerings. I watched as the elephant took some from a woman (looked like sugarcane?), eat it, and then touch her forehead with its trunk! The elephant was giving blessings! I took a look at the bananas in my hand and trotted over to make my offering. I’m not sure how I feel about an elephant spending its day cooped up in a temple dancing, but I have to admit that it looked peaceful and getting a kiss on the head from an elephant is very cool!
I then hopped a bus to Sri Ranganathaswamy, dedicated to Vishnu. It’s huge, about 60 hectares. I was considering hiring a guide (I was told they’d be everywhere), if I could haggle a good price. But I didn’t get approached! I saw plenty of other Westerners inside (more than I’d seen anywhere else up until then in India), and they all had guides. But it worked out: I was on my way into a shrine and got stopped by someone watching the entrance. But another guy, one inside a booth, stopped him and, apparently, told him to let me in. Once I got inside, there were “Hindu only” signs. I’m learning how far one can get by really dressing appropriately, not traveling in a giant group, not carrying a backpack or a (visible) camera, and generally being polite and respectful. I can actually feel how peoples’ reactions change when I stop in front of a shrine and pause quietly, instead of just wandering around gawking and looking dazed, like I’m at a museum.
Kumbakonam (in Tamil Nadu)
I’ve spent the last two days in Kumbakanom, and if I weren’t meeting my teacher in Madurai tomorrow night, I’d probably be spending a few more here. I wasn’t so sure I liked it when I first arrived and was walking from the bus station to the hotel where I wanted to stay. Yet another lesson in holding the reactions, waiting a few minutes, and then seeing what action you want to take. I went from not really liking it to staying here an extra night. I’m told there are at least 18 temples here. In two days, I have visited eight of them. I’ve been to two big Vishnu temples and two big Shiva temples. One of each of them had the inner shrine carved to look like a chariot, complete with giant stone wheels attached. I’ve also been to four smaller temples, one each for Draupadi, Kali, Anjaneya, and Ganesh.
Draupadi is the wife of the Pandavas, the five brothers who star in the Bhagavad Gita. There’s a great story about how she ended up the wife of five brothers, but I’m too tired to tell it (this post is out of control in length). The temple is tiny and sweet. I stumbled upon it last night and was invited to come back this morning, so I did. Everyone I met there was so friendly, particularly my new friend Kavitha, who, after I’d been sitting next to her on the floor for a while, gestured at my clothing and opened conversation with, “Sari… super! Super!”
Kali is the goddess of desctruction and the name of one of our cats. Our family had finally agreed on a name for our kitten and then the spelling changed. Since we all liked the name (and had a hard time agreeing on one), I didn’t mention the coincidence. A few days later one of my brother’s friends recognized it (maybe from a class on Hinduism) and looked it up to check. Before I knew what he was doing, he related the news to my family over dinner, but by then the name was set!
Anjaneya is the mother of Hanuman, the monkey god. Another small, sweet temple, with a priest outside twisting strips of palm fronds into elaborate origami-esque garlands and decorating the eves. There is a yoga pose called Hanumanasana: it’s the splits (remind to tell that story sometime as well, it’s another good one). There is also a pose named for Anjaneya, his mother. It’s a deep lunge that helps prepare for Hanumanasana.
The Ganesh temple was small, just one room, but it was at the top of some steeps stairs and in the middle of a busy, busy intersection! Like a traffic island! Harvard-folks who may be reading this, it reminded me of nothing more than the Lampoon castle.
Oh, and before any of you can start clamoring, let me just say that there won’t be many temple pictures. Photography is very strictly forbidden, and I can understand why. It would definitely change the feeling of the temples, which all have a certain calm, quiet stillness to them – even when the dummer gets going during a puja. And, as much as I’d love to share them with you all, I enjoy just being present at the temples and not trying to capture every little detail of their magnificence.
Tamil Nadu is known for its magnificent temples, and I can understand why. But I'm thinking that after Madurai, I may take a break from the temple-hopping. Not because I'm tired of them, but because they are so magnificent and I'm afraid that if I just run from one to another they will all start to blur together and I won't appreciate them as much. But we'll see. If there's one thing my plans do, it's change.
Anyway, here’s a synopsis (it’s not short, but it’s still a summary) of a few of my favorite temples so far (aside from Chidambaram).
Aranmula (in Kerala)
On the corner of my street in Aranmula was Mahaganapathy temple, a tiny, sweet little temple to Ganesh. There was a small courtyard (with a giant tree just outside the wall—it was the best corner in the village) and you could see the entire temple even from outside. It was open on the sides, with black marble leading to the statue of Ganesh. In the evenings, the temple was ablaze with burning pots of ghee and the aroma of incense wafted through the air. Sometimes there would be groups of children singing and playing music. This temple was simple and cozy and personal, and I smiled every time I walked by it.
From that corner, with the Ganesh temple, you could see the main temple of Aranmula: Parthasarathy. Partha is another name for Arjuna, the star of the Bhagavad Gita, and Sarathy means driver or charioteer. Arjuna’s charioteer in the story is none other than the god Krishna himself. Jannet, one of my housemates, arranged with her wood carving teacher to take us on a visit to the temple. I hadn’t expected to see inside it: I’d been told non-Hindus were not allowed. Charjee told us they created that rule because people had gotten so tired of visitors snapping pictures. As he said, “we come here for our peace of mind. We all need peace of mind.” But as long as we behaved and didn’t take pictures, we were welcome to visit and even to come back on our own. When men visit the inner sanctum of the temple, they have to remove their shirts or at least the right side (if it’s button-down). Men receive energy from the god at their sternum/heart, hence the need to uncover it. Fortunately, women receive it at their forehead. With the stereotype of men as rational and women as emotional, I wondered if that’s meant to balance us out—or if we have things backwards ;) Charjee also talked about how visiting the temple is good for us physically; you get some exercise climbing the stairs and walking around (it’s big). There’s even a part where you walk (barefoot, of course) over small, smooth stones: a quick, free acupressure treatment!
Trichy (in Tamil Nadu)
The Rock Fort Temple is 83meters high, built on a giant rocky outcropping smack in the middle of the city. There are 437 steps to get to the top. At the very top is the Vinayaka Temple to Ganesh. Somehow my fear of heights didn’t bother me a bit! I took some great pictures of the surrounding city; this is one of the few temples that allows photography in certain parts, if you pay for a pass. I didn’t end up really taking any inside; it still didn’t feel right.
Half way up is the Sri Thayumanaswamy Temple. I was standing at the sign, written mostly in Tamil, trying to decipher which way to go. The man watching over the entrance asked if I was Hindu. No, I replied honestly. He sized me up. Then he took me to left, past the “Hindu only signs”, into the temple, dotted my forehead, and sent me on my way with only the warning “no camera.” The temple was beautiful, with many pictures about Shiva taking the form of a midwife to help a pregnant woman. There was also a darling priest who ushered me into a tiny shrine to Lakshmi. It was the first real blessing I got at a temple in India, and he sent me away with flowers and bananas.
Back down at the bottom of the steps carved into the stone, on my way out, I could hear bells ringing. It was the temple elephant! It was doing a meditative dance, stepping from one side to the other and then gracefully kicking one leg forward. It was also pausing every so often to take offerings. I watched as the elephant took some from a woman (looked like sugarcane?), eat it, and then touch her forehead with its trunk! The elephant was giving blessings! I took a look at the bananas in my hand and trotted over to make my offering. I’m not sure how I feel about an elephant spending its day cooped up in a temple dancing, but I have to admit that it looked peaceful and getting a kiss on the head from an elephant is very cool!
I then hopped a bus to Sri Ranganathaswamy, dedicated to Vishnu. It’s huge, about 60 hectares. I was considering hiring a guide (I was told they’d be everywhere), if I could haggle a good price. But I didn’t get approached! I saw plenty of other Westerners inside (more than I’d seen anywhere else up until then in India), and they all had guides. But it worked out: I was on my way into a shrine and got stopped by someone watching the entrance. But another guy, one inside a booth, stopped him and, apparently, told him to let me in. Once I got inside, there were “Hindu only” signs. I’m learning how far one can get by really dressing appropriately, not traveling in a giant group, not carrying a backpack or a (visible) camera, and generally being polite and respectful. I can actually feel how peoples’ reactions change when I stop in front of a shrine and pause quietly, instead of just wandering around gawking and looking dazed, like I’m at a museum.
Kumbakonam (in Tamil Nadu)
I’ve spent the last two days in Kumbakanom, and if I weren’t meeting my teacher in Madurai tomorrow night, I’d probably be spending a few more here. I wasn’t so sure I liked it when I first arrived and was walking from the bus station to the hotel where I wanted to stay. Yet another lesson in holding the reactions, waiting a few minutes, and then seeing what action you want to take. I went from not really liking it to staying here an extra night. I’m told there are at least 18 temples here. In two days, I have visited eight of them. I’ve been to two big Vishnu temples and two big Shiva temples. One of each of them had the inner shrine carved to look like a chariot, complete with giant stone wheels attached. I’ve also been to four smaller temples, one each for Draupadi, Kali, Anjaneya, and Ganesh.
Draupadi is the wife of the Pandavas, the five brothers who star in the Bhagavad Gita. There’s a great story about how she ended up the wife of five brothers, but I’m too tired to tell it (this post is out of control in length). The temple is tiny and sweet. I stumbled upon it last night and was invited to come back this morning, so I did. Everyone I met there was so friendly, particularly my new friend Kavitha, who, after I’d been sitting next to her on the floor for a while, gestured at my clothing and opened conversation with, “Sari… super! Super!”
Kali is the goddess of desctruction and the name of one of our cats. Our family had finally agreed on a name for our kitten and then the spelling changed. Since we all liked the name (and had a hard time agreeing on one), I didn’t mention the coincidence. A few days later one of my brother’s friends recognized it (maybe from a class on Hinduism) and looked it up to check. Before I knew what he was doing, he related the news to my family over dinner, but by then the name was set!
Anjaneya is the mother of Hanuman, the monkey god. Another small, sweet temple, with a priest outside twisting strips of palm fronds into elaborate origami-esque garlands and decorating the eves. There is a yoga pose called Hanumanasana: it’s the splits (remind to tell that story sometime as well, it’s another good one). There is also a pose named for Anjaneya, his mother. It’s a deep lunge that helps prepare for Hanumanasana.
The Ganesh temple was small, just one room, but it was at the top of some steeps stairs and in the middle of a busy, busy intersection! Like a traffic island! Harvard-folks who may be reading this, it reminded me of nothing more than the Lampoon castle.
Oh, and before any of you can start clamoring, let me just say that there won’t be many temple pictures. Photography is very strictly forbidden, and I can understand why. It would definitely change the feeling of the temples, which all have a certain calm, quiet stillness to them – even when the dummer gets going during a puja. And, as much as I’d love to share them with you all, I enjoy just being present at the temples and not trying to capture every little detail of their magnificence.
Tamil Nadu is known for its magnificent temples, and I can understand why. But I'm thinking that after Madurai, I may take a break from the temple-hopping. Not because I'm tired of them, but because they are so magnificent and I'm afraid that if I just run from one to another they will all start to blur together and I won't appreciate them as much. But we'll see. If there's one thing my plans do, it's change.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Gifts
Yesterday I was thinking a lot about gifts, and tonight at dinner it occurred to me that being Christmas day, it would be a timely blog post...
The last few months have been such a gift. It took a lot of work and planning to make this trip happen, but I also got a lot of help from supportive friends and family (especially from my family). All along my travels, I have been making new friends and received such wonderful gifts from them: hospitality, tasty meals, beautiful days, and most of all, excellent company. Yesterday was really an incredible gift from so many people: my teacher, who invited me to come meet his tour group; the members of the group, who became fast friends; the priests at the temple, who welcomed us so graciously and warmly. It was a rare opportunity, made even better by the community that shared it. Sometimes it’s trickier than it seems to receive gifts. Who doesn’t like getting gifts, right? But its not always easy. We get in our own way.
My teacher invited me to spend the day with them, but I sort of checked a few times to be sure it was ok. After all, this was an arranged tour group and I had an entire day with them, rode the bus, had two meals... all that on top of a once-in-a-lifetime experience at the temple. My teacher just said, “You are our guest for the day. Enjoy the gift.”
But what made me really able to enjoy the gifts was being able to give my own. (What you expected something shocking or profound here?) It gets said all the time that giving is better than receiving. Well, what I gave yesterday doesn’t even come close to what I received, but I’m glad I could give it just the same. Little things like showing Siri how I tie my sari and helping her do hers (she looked beautiful), having Maddy shove her bag into my hands and holding it for her as she got herded through the crowd into the inner sanctum with her dad (my teacher), offering everyone Odomos when the mosquitoes suddenly came out while we were at the temple to Mars.
Come to think of it, I’ve been listening to my teacher’s lectures on my mp3 player, and he tells the story of Patanjali finding the Shiva lingam in the tillai forest. It is adorned with beautiful flowers, and Patanjali tries in vain to find the flowers so he can make an offering of them as well. He can’t find them anywhere, and finally realizes he should give the gifts he is suited to find. And so, being half snake, he burrows and brings incredible seeds that no one else could reach. What Patanjali didn’t know at the time is that the flowers were brought by Vyagrapada (Randall, are you reading this? Is that the correct spelling?), who has tiger paws and can climb the great tillai trees and bring the orchids from the very top branches of the forest.
To receive gifts gracefully and to value the unique gifts that we have to give. I hope this entire holiday season has been filled with the very best kinds of gifts for each of you, my beloved friends and family.
Merry Christmas! (again! But I have an excuse to be online twice today... it’s night here, so it’s finally morning at home and I wanted to call my family on Christmas morning. Thank you, Skype!)
Love,
Bri
The last few months have been such a gift. It took a lot of work and planning to make this trip happen, but I also got a lot of help from supportive friends and family (especially from my family). All along my travels, I have been making new friends and received such wonderful gifts from them: hospitality, tasty meals, beautiful days, and most of all, excellent company. Yesterday was really an incredible gift from so many people: my teacher, who invited me to come meet his tour group; the members of the group, who became fast friends; the priests at the temple, who welcomed us so graciously and warmly. It was a rare opportunity, made even better by the community that shared it. Sometimes it’s trickier than it seems to receive gifts. Who doesn’t like getting gifts, right? But its not always easy. We get in our own way.
My teacher invited me to spend the day with them, but I sort of checked a few times to be sure it was ok. After all, this was an arranged tour group and I had an entire day with them, rode the bus, had two meals... all that on top of a once-in-a-lifetime experience at the temple. My teacher just said, “You are our guest for the day. Enjoy the gift.”
But what made me really able to enjoy the gifts was being able to give my own. (What you expected something shocking or profound here?) It gets said all the time that giving is better than receiving. Well, what I gave yesterday doesn’t even come close to what I received, but I’m glad I could give it just the same. Little things like showing Siri how I tie my sari and helping her do hers (she looked beautiful), having Maddy shove her bag into my hands and holding it for her as she got herded through the crowd into the inner sanctum with her dad (my teacher), offering everyone Odomos when the mosquitoes suddenly came out while we were at the temple to Mars.
Come to think of it, I’ve been listening to my teacher’s lectures on my mp3 player, and he tells the story of Patanjali finding the Shiva lingam in the tillai forest. It is adorned with beautiful flowers, and Patanjali tries in vain to find the flowers so he can make an offering of them as well. He can’t find them anywhere, and finally realizes he should give the gifts he is suited to find. And so, being half snake, he burrows and brings incredible seeds that no one else could reach. What Patanjali didn’t know at the time is that the flowers were brought by Vyagrapada (Randall, are you reading this? Is that the correct spelling?), who has tiger paws and can climb the great tillai trees and bring the orchids from the very top branches of the forest.
To receive gifts gracefully and to value the unique gifts that we have to give. I hope this entire holiday season has been filled with the very best kinds of gifts for each of you, my beloved friends and family.
Merry Christmas! (again! But I have an excuse to be online twice today... it’s night here, so it’s finally morning at home and I wanted to call my family on Christmas morning. Thank you, Skype!)
Love,
Bri
Bring us some sweet payasam!
We wish you a Merry Christmas!
We wish you a Merry Christmas!
We wish you a Merry Christmas! And a Happy New Year!
So bring us a sweet payasam!
So bring us a sweet payasam!
So bring us a sweet payasam! And a cup of good cheer!
Come to think of it, when we went Christmas caroling last Friday, we probably should have changed that last line to "And a cup of good chai!" Payasam is a sweet, creamy dessert common in Kerala and eaten at all feasts (much more common here than figgy pudding....). My favorite way to eat it is with a smashed up banana and a crumble papadam. And yes, I learned to make payasam in my cooking class.
Christmas carolers are common in Kerala. We went last Friday, Dec 19, and there was another group out that night in the village. We started with almost 20 people (a little more than half staff members and the rest students) and we had others, especially kids, join us along the way. We ended up with at least 30 people. It was the most raucous and joyous caroling group I've ever been a part of -- we had a guitar and a flute and thudding drums you could hear from streets away. We had angels and even a Santa handing out stars filled with chocolates to the children. Wait until you see the pictures of Rajeesh as Santa-- I only wish I had a video of him singing and dancing! We sang mostly in English but also German and Malayalam (the language of Kerala). During one of the practices, Gowtham heard me sining the extra words to Rudolph (you know when you repeat the last word of the line or add stuff "like a lightbulb"?) and asked me to teach them to him. He sang the lines when we went caroling; the best was his accent on "like monopoly" and his lack of enthusiasm on the last like, "like George Washington." Maybe we should have changed it to "You'll go down in history.... like Mahatma Gandhi!" One time when we sang it, one of the Germans added, "Like Obama!"
When I stayed in Periyar by myself Sunday night, I saw a group of carolers when I went to dinner. Much later that night I could hear drums off in the distance. They made me want to dance, but it took me a while to figure out they were carolers. Actually, I didn't put it together until I could hear them singing and recognized the Malayalam Christmas carol (it's beautiful- I wish I could sing it). It was well past midnight when I heard them go by the homestay (it was a family's house and there was a building in the back with four nice rooms). Then I heard them come in the gate. And up the stairs. And stop in front of my door. And pound on my door! I'll admit.... I didn't answer... I was already in my pajamas (but the light was on, I guess that's why they stopped). Some of the groups are taking collections, and I just didn't want to answer the door alone....
Last night instead of going to midnight mass, I was at the temple at Chidambaram. I was with my teacher from home and the group he is leading. This temple is a special place for my teacher: he first came here 31 years ago with his teacher, who was raised nearby and spent his childhood at the temple. The entire day was incredible beyond words (and yet I'm trying anyway?!!??!).
We went to the temple at 5am and saw the many, many altars and shrines. We came back after breakfast for a huge pooja offering that the group had collectively paid for and arranged. It took almost 20 Brahmin priests and lasted almost four hours. The rice from the offering was cooked and fed many people lunch. The Brahmins then took us home and fed us lunch-- including fruit salad made from the offering, prasad: food that has been offered and blessed. Last night we got to sit in meditation in front of Shiva and then see the final ceremonies of the day, when the deities are tucked in for the night. There were children pulling the ropes to ring the huge bells. We were the last ones out of the temple, with our guide, Vasu Deekshithar, at about 10:30pm. I went back myself this morning. It was a different, but beautiful way to spend Christmas eve and morning. When I finish this post, I'm catching a bus to Kumbakanom and another temple.
Merry Christmas to all!!! Wherever you are and however you celebrate, I hope you have a joyous day :)
(PS There is a new post below titled "The Laundry Stone". I had it saved as a draft, so it posted in the order of the original date, December 16.)
We wish you a Merry Christmas!
We wish you a Merry Christmas! And a Happy New Year!
So bring us a sweet payasam!
So bring us a sweet payasam!
So bring us a sweet payasam! And a cup of good cheer!
Come to think of it, when we went Christmas caroling last Friday, we probably should have changed that last line to "And a cup of good chai!" Payasam is a sweet, creamy dessert common in Kerala and eaten at all feasts (much more common here than figgy pudding....). My favorite way to eat it is with a smashed up banana and a crumble papadam. And yes, I learned to make payasam in my cooking class.
Christmas carolers are common in Kerala. We went last Friday, Dec 19, and there was another group out that night in the village. We started with almost 20 people (a little more than half staff members and the rest students) and we had others, especially kids, join us along the way. We ended up with at least 30 people. It was the most raucous and joyous caroling group I've ever been a part of -- we had a guitar and a flute and thudding drums you could hear from streets away. We had angels and even a Santa handing out stars filled with chocolates to the children. Wait until you see the pictures of Rajeesh as Santa-- I only wish I had a video of him singing and dancing! We sang mostly in English but also German and Malayalam (the language of Kerala). During one of the practices, Gowtham heard me sining the extra words to Rudolph (you know when you repeat the last word of the line or add stuff "like a lightbulb"?) and asked me to teach them to him. He sang the lines when we went caroling; the best was his accent on "like monopoly" and his lack of enthusiasm on the last like, "like George Washington." Maybe we should have changed it to "You'll go down in history.... like Mahatma Gandhi!" One time when we sang it, one of the Germans added, "Like Obama!"
When I stayed in Periyar by myself Sunday night, I saw a group of carolers when I went to dinner. Much later that night I could hear drums off in the distance. They made me want to dance, but it took me a while to figure out they were carolers. Actually, I didn't put it together until I could hear them singing and recognized the Malayalam Christmas carol (it's beautiful- I wish I could sing it). It was well past midnight when I heard them go by the homestay (it was a family's house and there was a building in the back with four nice rooms). Then I heard them come in the gate. And up the stairs. And stop in front of my door. And pound on my door! I'll admit.... I didn't answer... I was already in my pajamas (but the light was on, I guess that's why they stopped). Some of the groups are taking collections, and I just didn't want to answer the door alone....
Last night instead of going to midnight mass, I was at the temple at Chidambaram. I was with my teacher from home and the group he is leading. This temple is a special place for my teacher: he first came here 31 years ago with his teacher, who was raised nearby and spent his childhood at the temple. The entire day was incredible beyond words (and yet I'm trying anyway?!!??!).
We went to the temple at 5am and saw the many, many altars and shrines. We came back after breakfast for a huge pooja offering that the group had collectively paid for and arranged. It took almost 20 Brahmin priests and lasted almost four hours. The rice from the offering was cooked and fed many people lunch. The Brahmins then took us home and fed us lunch-- including fruit salad made from the offering, prasad: food that has been offered and blessed. Last night we got to sit in meditation in front of Shiva and then see the final ceremonies of the day, when the deities are tucked in for the night. There were children pulling the ropes to ring the huge bells. We were the last ones out of the temple, with our guide, Vasu Deekshithar, at about 10:30pm. I went back myself this morning. It was a different, but beautiful way to spend Christmas eve and morning. When I finish this post, I'm catching a bus to Kumbakanom and another temple.
Merry Christmas to all!!! Wherever you are and however you celebrate, I hope you have a joyous day :)
(PS There is a new post below titled "The Laundry Stone". I had it saved as a draft, so it posted in the order of the original date, December 16.)
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tiruchirappalli Tongue Twister
Tiruchirappalli. Try saying that three times fast. Or once fast, for that matter. Fortunately, everyone (not just foreigners) calls this place Trichy. At the bus station this morning, they even understood what city I was referring to on the first try—and Trichy is 200km or thereabouts from Kumily. There were times (most times actually) that I could be in Kozhencherry asking for the bus to Aranmula (a mere 3km
away) and no one knew what I was saying (the Malayalam /r/ gets me every time).
Speaking of the bus station in Kumily.... I was going to catch an early, early bus (like 5 or 6am) so I would have more time in TRICHY (I AM ON THE WORST COMPUTER EVER- IT KEEPS SWITCHING TO ALL CAPS EVEN WHEN I DONT TOUCH THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON. RAHHHHH! GUESS THAT'S WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU PAY RS10 PER HOUR FOR INTERNET). Ok, let's try that again. I stayed up late, last night and decided there was no reason to rush this morning. So I slept in (until 7am! gasp!) and had a nice breakfast-- idlis and coconut chutney – my new favourite (heehee- the auto spellchecker just added that "u " to my spelling of favorite"). I got to the bus station at 8am and was told the next bus to Trichy was at 9am (reasonable- I couldn't remember if it was supposed to be every 30 minutes or every hour). At 8:45 they showed me to the bus, where I sat for the next two hours. I didn't even try to find out why we waited so long—I'm just assuming it's because they didn't have
enough passengers to go (I was the only one on the bus most of that time). Around 10:45, quite a few other people boarded and at 11am we pulled out. In the meantime, I relaxed and watched the amazing chaos that is India through the window.
The drive was beautiful – paddy fields all over, palm trees, mountains in the distance, some lakes and rivers. I discovered where the rest of India lives. On my walks and hikes around Aranmula, most of the homes were nice villas. Some people lived in one-room, cinder block row houses, but there wasn't extreme poverty (at least, not that I saw). Out the bus window today there weren't any villas, but a mix of palm-thatch huts, makeshift shanties, and little tarp-covered tents.
We kept passing through towns that looked so interesting—Cumbum, Batlagundu, Dindigul. As we'd be driving through, I'd see a hotel and think, "I could stay here for a night and continue tomorrow!" I'd have
to restrain myself from leaping off the bus, and I might not have been able to if I weren't trying to make it to Chidambaram by tomorrow to meet my philosophy teacher from home who, coincidentally, is in Tamil Nadu for two weeks.
After I found a hotel here in Trichy, I went looking for dinner. I found the tourist office, so I went in and chatted with the two guys working there. I asked one to give me a mini-lesson in Tamil. (In Kerala, the language is Malayalam. Now that I'm in Tamil Nadu, the language is Tamil). I rattled off some key phrases and he taught me the pronunciations. My favourite is for "good bye": poy varukiren (that's the transliteration, Tamil has its own alphabet). The phrase "poy varukiren" means something like "I'm leaving now but I'll be back later" (even if you aren't coming back) because, as he explained, good-bye is too final and be upsetting to the person you are speaking to (his hand fluttering to the sky seemed to imply that it means you are leaving Earth for the next realm). It's like when we say "see you later" even if we don't have specific plans to meet again. It also reminded me of Pradeep, my Kathakali teacher, yelling at me for saying “thank
you” at the end of class because that implies the end of our relationship; he instructed me to say “see you tomorrow” instead.
At dinner, I chatted with a businessman from Mumbai (we were both eating alone and seated diagonally from one another at a large table). He is from Lucknow (further north, near Delhi) but lives and works in Mumbai . He speaks Hindi and English, so when he travels in the south of India he has to speak English (because he doesn't speak Tamil and people down here don't necessarily speak Hindi).
I bought a new tube of Odomos mosquito repellent this evening. As I stood outside the pharmacy slathering it on my limbs, I was watching a beautiful gray cow standing serenely on the other side of the street as traffic whizzed by a few feet away. It was dusk, so the constant noise of India was joined by the flashing lights of India at night. The cow wasn't tied up and wasn’t wearing any sort of halter or rope. It just stood there, stately and unruffled. I love the cows here and wondered if that feeling is what I recognize in them (as the teacher I'm meeting is known to say, in the stories of India, we are ALL the characters). That kind of calm is certainly something one can learn in India, whether you are dodging traffic or waiting three hours at the bus station. It certainly makes India a more enjoyable place. Come to think of it, that feeling makes any place more enjoyable and gives life a certain feeling of ease.
(I wrote this, um, two days ago? Not today, not yesterday, so must have been two days ago. Anyway, as I mentioned, it was the worst computer ever and after I wrote, my blog wouldn't open, so I couldn't post it. And you couldn't save documents on these computers. And they automatically timed out at preset intervals. Fortunately, I managed to email it to myself- the only email I managed to send....)
away) and no one knew what I was saying (the Malayalam /r/ gets me every time).
Speaking of the bus station in Kumily.... I was going to catch an early, early bus (like 5 or 6am) so I would have more time in TRICHY (I AM ON THE WORST COMPUTER EVER- IT KEEPS SWITCHING TO ALL CAPS EVEN WHEN I DONT TOUCH THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON. RAHHHHH! GUESS THAT'S WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU PAY RS10 PER HOUR FOR INTERNET). Ok, let's try that again. I stayed up late, last night and decided there was no reason to rush this morning. So I slept in (until 7am! gasp!) and had a nice breakfast-- idlis and coconut chutney – my new favourite (heehee- the auto spellchecker just added that "u " to my spelling of favorite"). I got to the bus station at 8am and was told the next bus to Trichy was at 9am (reasonable- I couldn't remember if it was supposed to be every 30 minutes or every hour). At 8:45 they showed me to the bus, where I sat for the next two hours. I didn't even try to find out why we waited so long—I'm just assuming it's because they didn't have
enough passengers to go (I was the only one on the bus most of that time). Around 10:45, quite a few other people boarded and at 11am we pulled out. In the meantime, I relaxed and watched the amazing chaos that is India through the window.
The drive was beautiful – paddy fields all over, palm trees, mountains in the distance, some lakes and rivers. I discovered where the rest of India lives. On my walks and hikes around Aranmula, most of the homes were nice villas. Some people lived in one-room, cinder block row houses, but there wasn't extreme poverty (at least, not that I saw). Out the bus window today there weren't any villas, but a mix of palm-thatch huts, makeshift shanties, and little tarp-covered tents.
We kept passing through towns that looked so interesting—Cumbum, Batlagundu, Dindigul. As we'd be driving through, I'd see a hotel and think, "I could stay here for a night and continue tomorrow!" I'd have
to restrain myself from leaping off the bus, and I might not have been able to if I weren't trying to make it to Chidambaram by tomorrow to meet my philosophy teacher from home who, coincidentally, is in Tamil Nadu for two weeks.
After I found a hotel here in Trichy, I went looking for dinner. I found the tourist office, so I went in and chatted with the two guys working there. I asked one to give me a mini-lesson in Tamil. (In Kerala, the language is Malayalam. Now that I'm in Tamil Nadu, the language is Tamil). I rattled off some key phrases and he taught me the pronunciations. My favourite is for "good bye": poy varukiren (that's the transliteration, Tamil has its own alphabet). The phrase "poy varukiren" means something like "I'm leaving now but I'll be back later" (even if you aren't coming back) because, as he explained, good-bye is too final and be upsetting to the person you are speaking to (his hand fluttering to the sky seemed to imply that it means you are leaving Earth for the next realm). It's like when we say "see you later" even if we don't have specific plans to meet again. It also reminded me of Pradeep, my Kathakali teacher, yelling at me for saying “thank
you” at the end of class because that implies the end of our relationship; he instructed me to say “see you tomorrow” instead.
At dinner, I chatted with a businessman from Mumbai (we were both eating alone and seated diagonally from one another at a large table). He is from Lucknow (further north, near Delhi) but lives and works in Mumbai . He speaks Hindi and English, so when he travels in the south of India he has to speak English (because he doesn't speak Tamil and people down here don't necessarily speak Hindi).
I bought a new tube of Odomos mosquito repellent this evening. As I stood outside the pharmacy slathering it on my limbs, I was watching a beautiful gray cow standing serenely on the other side of the street as traffic whizzed by a few feet away. It was dusk, so the constant noise of India was joined by the flashing lights of India at night. The cow wasn't tied up and wasn’t wearing any sort of halter or rope. It just stood there, stately and unruffled. I love the cows here and wondered if that feeling is what I recognize in them (as the teacher I'm meeting is known to say, in the stories of India, we are ALL the characters). That kind of calm is certainly something one can learn in India, whether you are dodging traffic or waiting three hours at the bus station. It certainly makes India a more enjoyable place. Come to think of it, that feeling makes any place more enjoyable and gives life a certain feeling of ease.
(I wrote this, um, two days ago? Not today, not yesterday, so must have been two days ago. Anyway, as I mentioned, it was the worst computer ever and after I wrote, my blog wouldn't open, so I couldn't post it. And you couldn't save documents on these computers. And they automatically timed out at preset intervals. Fortunately, I managed to email it to myself- the only email I managed to send....)
Sunday, December 21, 2008
On the road again...
Well, I have backlog of blog posts to write (so many amazing things!), but this is just a quick, quick update....
I left the cultural centre yesterday. My (almost) month there flew. I really don't know where it went. The transition back to solo travel was buffered a bit because I didn't leave by myself. Jannet, my spectacular housemate and social organizer extradinaire, along with Marsilia, another wonderful new friend, organized a trip this weekend to Periyar, a huge nature preserve along the eastern border of Kerala (the state where I've been the last few weeks). We relaxed yesterday afternoon when we arrived, and today we went on a full-day trek with guides. No tiger or elephant spottings but we saw plenty of other animals and plants. This evening, everyone else headed back to the cultural centre, but I stayed here in Thekkady (the town neighboring the park). Tomorrow I will hop on a bus and continue east over to Tamil Nadu (another state) and Chidambaram, a town known for its spectacular Shiva temple. This temple is one of the places in India I was most looking forward to seeing.
A few days before I left, I started getting that weird anticipation energy I get before I leave home for a trip. Funny, because technically I was already traveling, but the centre was starting to feel very familiar and home-like. Now I'm back to traveling solo with a completely flexible schedule and lots of freedom.
I got to see the temple elephant in Aranmula one more time on my last full day there!
I left the cultural centre yesterday. My (almost) month there flew. I really don't know where it went. The transition back to solo travel was buffered a bit because I didn't leave by myself. Jannet, my spectacular housemate and social organizer extradinaire, along with Marsilia, another wonderful new friend, organized a trip this weekend to Periyar, a huge nature preserve along the eastern border of Kerala (the state where I've been the last few weeks). We relaxed yesterday afternoon when we arrived, and today we went on a full-day trek with guides. No tiger or elephant spottings but we saw plenty of other animals and plants. This evening, everyone else headed back to the cultural centre, but I stayed here in Thekkady (the town neighboring the park). Tomorrow I will hop on a bus and continue east over to Tamil Nadu (another state) and Chidambaram, a town known for its spectacular Shiva temple. This temple is one of the places in India I was most looking forward to seeing.
A few days before I left, I started getting that weird anticipation energy I get before I leave home for a trip. Funny, because technically I was already traveling, but the centre was starting to feel very familiar and home-like. Now I'm back to traveling solo with a completely flexible schedule and lots of freedom.
I got to see the temple elephant in Aranmula one more time on my last full day there!
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Flickr
There are a few more pictures of Italy with titles are online. Better organization (into albums/sets) coming soon, along with captions!
(I'll start writing real posts again soon, instead of photo notifications... but you know what they say! A picture's worth a thousand words....)
(I'll start writing real posts again soon, instead of photo notifications... but you know what they say! A picture's worth a thousand words....)
The Laundry Stone
So one of the differences between traveling long-term and more normal vacations is that you still have to deal with the routine and mundane tasks of life (and before anyone accuses me of whining, I just want to say that I'm making an observation, not complaining!). You just can't carry enough soap/shampoo/toothpaste to last seven or eight months. Bank accounts need to be checked, and mail needs to be opened (thanks mom!).
But probably the greatest constant is laundry. I pack more clothing when I am just taking a quick trip than I do when I am traveling for a month or more. For a short trip, I don't want to deal with washing stuff and usually you still need all the variations (short sleeves, long sleeves, rain gear). But when I travel, I know I will be doing laundry, so it's two of everything-- just like the ark! Two t-shirts, two long sleeve shirts, two pants. Most hostels don't like travelers handwashing clothes in the sink (I understand-- it can get a little gross), so often my clothes just go in the shower with me! Makes life easy. Occasionally, when things start getting really funky and I'm tired, I splurge on a (cheap) laundry service. It's such a treat to get everything back fresh and clean and nicely folded!
I lucked out in Italy and did almost no handwashing. We had a washing machine in our little apartment in Rome, Sebastiano had a washing machine, and Darcy and Adolfo had a washing machine. Only at Pratale did they handwash laundry. I was only there for a week and most of my clothes were clean on arrival, so I just washed some socks and a pair of pants (those took serious scrubbing-- I'd been picking chestnuts after a hard rain and they were so muddy and grass-stained). Oh, I guess I did handwash a few things at Darcy and Adolfo's when I needed some clean clothes but didn't have enough for a full load of laundry.
I was carrying some laundry soap powder (from the apartment in Rome), but I was worried about it spilling. Before I left Italy, I bought a bar of laundry soap-- specifically made for handwashing clothes-- and a stiff brush for scrubbing spots and stains! (I may have had access to washing machines, but they do a lot of laundry by hand there.) Since I've been in India, it's been all handwashing. But the amazing staff at VKV gave us the greatest innovation in handwashing: a laundry stone! Yep, a big, flat stone for scrubbing and flogging your laundry. Some people have them in their yards, others go down and use the ones along the river. And let me tell you, they work! Spots that I never would have gotten out with my scrub brush come right out on the stone. The downside is I think this probably wears clothing out pretty quickly, and you have to be careful with buttons. (I was careful not to scrub the ankle cuff buttons on my yoga pants from Aranmula Fashion Tailors, but I forgot about them when I was flogging the pants against the stone. Oops. They've been replaced now.) It is also super, super fun. Way more fun than just regular scrubbing. Now that I've left the center, I'm not sure how I'll ever get my cloths clean again. I washed some stuff that was just sweaty no problem, but my pants from yesterday have spots look tough. (sigh)
(I wrote most of this December 16 but didn't finish it. I saved the draft and just now got around to posting it.)
But probably the greatest constant is laundry. I pack more clothing when I am just taking a quick trip than I do when I am traveling for a month or more. For a short trip, I don't want to deal with washing stuff and usually you still need all the variations (short sleeves, long sleeves, rain gear). But when I travel, I know I will be doing laundry, so it's two of everything-- just like the ark! Two t-shirts, two long sleeve shirts, two pants. Most hostels don't like travelers handwashing clothes in the sink (I understand-- it can get a little gross), so often my clothes just go in the shower with me! Makes life easy. Occasionally, when things start getting really funky and I'm tired, I splurge on a (cheap) laundry service. It's such a treat to get everything back fresh and clean and nicely folded!
I lucked out in Italy and did almost no handwashing. We had a washing machine in our little apartment in Rome, Sebastiano had a washing machine, and Darcy and Adolfo had a washing machine. Only at Pratale did they handwash laundry. I was only there for a week and most of my clothes were clean on arrival, so I just washed some socks and a pair of pants (those took serious scrubbing-- I'd been picking chestnuts after a hard rain and they were so muddy and grass-stained). Oh, I guess I did handwash a few things at Darcy and Adolfo's when I needed some clean clothes but didn't have enough for a full load of laundry.
I was carrying some laundry soap powder (from the apartment in Rome), but I was worried about it spilling. Before I left Italy, I bought a bar of laundry soap-- specifically made for handwashing clothes-- and a stiff brush for scrubbing spots and stains! (I may have had access to washing machines, but they do a lot of laundry by hand there.) Since I've been in India, it's been all handwashing. But the amazing staff at VKV gave us the greatest innovation in handwashing: a laundry stone! Yep, a big, flat stone for scrubbing and flogging your laundry. Some people have them in their yards, others go down and use the ones along the river. And let me tell you, they work! Spots that I never would have gotten out with my scrub brush come right out on the stone. The downside is I think this probably wears clothing out pretty quickly, and you have to be careful with buttons. (I was careful not to scrub the ankle cuff buttons on my yoga pants from Aranmula Fashion Tailors, but I forgot about them when I was flogging the pants against the stone. Oops. They've been replaced now.) It is also super, super fun. Way more fun than just regular scrubbing. Now that I've left the center, I'm not sure how I'll ever get my cloths clean again. I washed some stuff that was just sweaty no problem, but my pants from yesterday have spots look tough. (sigh)
(I wrote most of this December 16 but didn't finish it. I saved the draft and just now got around to posting it.)
Monday, December 15, 2008
Just wait five minutes
There's a saying in Boston that if you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes. It didn't work for me then (the dismal gray rain could drag on for three days), but it sure is true other times.
After yoga and breakfast this morning, I was on a mission. Several missions, in fact, which rarely turns out to be a formula for contentment or happiness. I stopped by the office to check email. Both of the computers were in use, so I went upstairs to use the bathroom. The housekeeping guys were scrubbing and mopping away. I picked up my bags and went across the street to drop some things off at Aranmula Fashion Tailors, but he was closed. I started back to the office to sit and wait.
Suddenly, the elephant appeared! I turned around (again) and followed him down the road. My day instantly brightened, and I had to laugh that 30 seconds ago I was not so happy. Fortunately, my to do list had been cleared up (even if I got nothing done), so I had room to enjoy the serendipitous treat! Not only was the timing perfect, but I had my camera in my bag (I had taken it out this morning and then put it back in!) and snapped a few pictures.
I thought the elephant might be headed for the river for a bath, but they kept going past the turn off to the river. I followed. Eventually, it was time for me to turn around and head back for my cooking lesson.
I am wearing a sari today! Well, this afternoon. I wore yoga clothes this morning, but I showered before lunch and put on the sari ALL BY MYSELF! Every other time, my housemate, Alexandra, who has some natural talent for Indian fashions, grabs the fabric and whips it around me, perfectly pleated and pinned, before I even know what she is doing. But today she wasn't home, so I figured it was time for me to practice on my own :)
I have also learned to split a coconut in half ALL BY MYSELF. Nisha was so impressed she suggested I take a picture of it. I think I mentioned in another post how in awe I am of Nisha's coconut splitting abilities. My first few tries worked, but it would take about ten whacks of the machete and I would end up with very lopsided sections, jagged splits, and/or spilled coconut juice. Today I split it perfectly in half with just two hits and collected all the juice. I'm not even sure what I did differently; it just seems that my hand has gotten the feel of it. It's so fascinating to learn something new. (It's also fascinating to observe myself making decisions-- I dropped Kathakali this week and am taking yoga and more cooking instead-- but this post is long enough so I won't get into the details now.)
I've purchased some kitchen equipment: a coconut grater, an idli steamer, and an appam pan. Someday, when I have my own kitchen, I also plan to have a machete there.
After yoga and breakfast this morning, I was on a mission. Several missions, in fact, which rarely turns out to be a formula for contentment or happiness. I stopped by the office to check email. Both of the computers were in use, so I went upstairs to use the bathroom. The housekeeping guys were scrubbing and mopping away. I picked up my bags and went across the street to drop some things off at Aranmula Fashion Tailors, but he was closed. I started back to the office to sit and wait.
Suddenly, the elephant appeared! I turned around (again) and followed him down the road. My day instantly brightened, and I had to laugh that 30 seconds ago I was not so happy. Fortunately, my to do list had been cleared up (even if I got nothing done), so I had room to enjoy the serendipitous treat! Not only was the timing perfect, but I had my camera in my bag (I had taken it out this morning and then put it back in!) and snapped a few pictures.
I thought the elephant might be headed for the river for a bath, but they kept going past the turn off to the river. I followed. Eventually, it was time for me to turn around and head back for my cooking lesson.
I am wearing a sari today! Well, this afternoon. I wore yoga clothes this morning, but I showered before lunch and put on the sari ALL BY MYSELF! Every other time, my housemate, Alexandra, who has some natural talent for Indian fashions, grabs the fabric and whips it around me, perfectly pleated and pinned, before I even know what she is doing. But today she wasn't home, so I figured it was time for me to practice on my own :)
I have also learned to split a coconut in half ALL BY MYSELF. Nisha was so impressed she suggested I take a picture of it. I think I mentioned in another post how in awe I am of Nisha's coconut splitting abilities. My first few tries worked, but it would take about ten whacks of the machete and I would end up with very lopsided sections, jagged splits, and/or spilled coconut juice. Today I split it perfectly in half with just two hits and collected all the juice. I'm not even sure what I did differently; it just seems that my hand has gotten the feel of it. It's so fascinating to learn something new. (It's also fascinating to observe myself making decisions-- I dropped Kathakali this week and am taking yoga and more cooking instead-- but this post is long enough so I won't get into the details now.)
I've purchased some kitchen equipment: a coconut grater, an idli steamer, and an appam pan. Someday, when I have my own kitchen, I also plan to have a machete there.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
playing catch up
There are three new blog posts below and more pictures from Italy posted on the flickr site. They are all titled but captions will be a few more days.
Aranmula Fashion Tailors
"You look so nice today!" Nisha exclaimed this week when I arrived for my cooking lesson. "So pretty!" Then she elaborates: "The first week, you don't look so good: no earrings, no beauty spot (bindhi), no mendhi (henna on my hands and feet), your hair pulled back," she says while shaking her head (actually shaking it, not the Indian head wobble). "Last week, little better; this week, very nice... you have mendhi, nice outfit, hair is down, you wear earrings and beauty spot. Maybe next week you will be beautiful."
I think to myself, "But how to look beautiful? I've run out of tricks!" Out loud I protest, "But Nisha, I don't know what else to do!"
"Maybe nice necklace, bracelets, little anklet." Hmm, maybe I shouldn't have asked. I don't tell her that this is already more accessories than I would ever wear at home. At least she hasn't suggested makeup.
(Lest Nisha seem rude, I should mention that Indian are very blunt but they mean no insult by it. They just say what comes to mind in an honest way.)
At the end of my lesson, Alexandra came in (she has cooking right after me) and Nisha relayed our conversation to her. Alexandra declared, "Next week, maybe she wear sari!"
Oh great.
My favorite outfit here in India is the churidar (as they call it in Kerala) or the salwaar kameez (as it gets called further north). It's billowing, lightweight, cool and comfortable. The salwaar pants are loose and baggy with a drawstring. The kameez top is a long tunic. The third piece, the dupatta, is a scarf worn draped across your chest with the ends down your back. I may live in churidars when I get home (if I can figure out how to do it without people saying, "oh look at the hippie chick who went to India! what does she think she's a Hindu now?").
You can buy them ready-made as sets or individual pieces or you can buy fabric (again, in pre-matched sets or individual pieces) and take it to the tailor. I have a few ready-made pieces that I bought and some ready-made sets. The tailor custom-made me an all-white churidar outfit for yoga, and he altered a few of the ready-made shirts that were too wide. I also bought a stunning and very dressy churidar set that I will have him tailor for me as soon as I decide on the design.
Whereas churidars are easy to wear and functional, saris are beautiful... but completely impractical, unless you were raised wearing one. A sari is also made of three pieces: a petticoat (or drawstring underskirt), the choli (the tight-fitting crop-top of a blouse), and the sari itself: a rectangular piece of fabric anywhere from 5m to 9m long. The sari is tucked into the skirt, wrapped around your body, and then pleated and draped over one shoulder (and, for most women, secured with a few strategically placed safety pins). There are a few different ways to wear a sari, but I have yet to master even one of them. Both times I've gone out in a sari, someone else has dressed me. I need to practice this afternoon, as I am wearing a sari to the wedding tomorrow. I can manage to walk around and even eat a meal wearing a sari, but women here wear them for everything--cooking, cleaning, riding the crowded bus, riding motor scooters, handwashing the laundry-- and somehow they always look fresh and composed while doing it. Their inborn grace is astounding.
On one of my first nights here, I was saying to Martin that I loved churidars but didn't think I could handle a sari. He suggested that I learn to wear one for exactly that reason, that it would give me a sense of accomplishment and confidence to wear one comfortably. He could say that because at that moment he was wearing a lungi, an article of clothing probably even more difficult for a Western male to wear than a sari is for a Western woman. A lungi is basically a sarong worn tied around the waist: perfect for hot, humid climates. Some are apparently sewn into a tube, but the ones I've seen are just flat sheets. They are ankle-length, but depending on what the men are doing they will pull up the bottom corners and knot those, making it like a knee-length skirt. My kathakali teacher has said he could never live anywhere else because he can't stand Western style pants. We suggested he look into Scotland and wearing a kilt. Men here also wear dhotis (or mundu in Malayalam), which are difficult to distinguish from lungis. Dhotis are more formal and are the traditional mens attire; I believe they are only meant to be white (lungis come in every color of rainbow and then some, as do all women's clothing).
I should probably get going now. I need to pick up my fancy new choli from the tailor and practice wearing my sari. I could also review my notes from Nisha on the correct way to eat the wedding feast. As Martin observed, "Nisha is a great teacher to have if you are a woman; she teaches you everything you need to know." Of course, I think my lack of a husband and kids concerns her....
I think to myself, "But how to look beautiful? I've run out of tricks!" Out loud I protest, "But Nisha, I don't know what else to do!"
"Maybe nice necklace, bracelets, little anklet." Hmm, maybe I shouldn't have asked. I don't tell her that this is already more accessories than I would ever wear at home. At least she hasn't suggested makeup.
(Lest Nisha seem rude, I should mention that Indian are very blunt but they mean no insult by it. They just say what comes to mind in an honest way.)
At the end of my lesson, Alexandra came in (she has cooking right after me) and Nisha relayed our conversation to her. Alexandra declared, "Next week, maybe she wear sari!"
Oh great.
My favorite outfit here in India is the churidar (as they call it in Kerala) or the salwaar kameez (as it gets called further north). It's billowing, lightweight, cool and comfortable. The salwaar pants are loose and baggy with a drawstring. The kameez top is a long tunic. The third piece, the dupatta, is a scarf worn draped across your chest with the ends down your back. I may live in churidars when I get home (if I can figure out how to do it without people saying, "oh look at the hippie chick who went to India! what does she think she's a Hindu now?").
You can buy them ready-made as sets or individual pieces or you can buy fabric (again, in pre-matched sets or individual pieces) and take it to the tailor. I have a few ready-made pieces that I bought and some ready-made sets. The tailor custom-made me an all-white churidar outfit for yoga, and he altered a few of the ready-made shirts that were too wide. I also bought a stunning and very dressy churidar set that I will have him tailor for me as soon as I decide on the design.
Whereas churidars are easy to wear and functional, saris are beautiful... but completely impractical, unless you were raised wearing one. A sari is also made of three pieces: a petticoat (or drawstring underskirt), the choli (the tight-fitting crop-top of a blouse), and the sari itself: a rectangular piece of fabric anywhere from 5m to 9m long. The sari is tucked into the skirt, wrapped around your body, and then pleated and draped over one shoulder (and, for most women, secured with a few strategically placed safety pins). There are a few different ways to wear a sari, but I have yet to master even one of them. Both times I've gone out in a sari, someone else has dressed me. I need to practice this afternoon, as I am wearing a sari to the wedding tomorrow. I can manage to walk around and even eat a meal wearing a sari, but women here wear them for everything--cooking, cleaning, riding the crowded bus, riding motor scooters, handwashing the laundry-- and somehow they always look fresh and composed while doing it. Their inborn grace is astounding.
On one of my first nights here, I was saying to Martin that I loved churidars but didn't think I could handle a sari. He suggested that I learn to wear one for exactly that reason, that it would give me a sense of accomplishment and confidence to wear one comfortably. He could say that because at that moment he was wearing a lungi, an article of clothing probably even more difficult for a Western male to wear than a sari is for a Western woman. A lungi is basically a sarong worn tied around the waist: perfect for hot, humid climates. Some are apparently sewn into a tube, but the ones I've seen are just flat sheets. They are ankle-length, but depending on what the men are doing they will pull up the bottom corners and knot those, making it like a knee-length skirt. My kathakali teacher has said he could never live anywhere else because he can't stand Western style pants. We suggested he look into Scotland and wearing a kilt. Men here also wear dhotis (or mundu in Malayalam), which are difficult to distinguish from lungis. Dhotis are more formal and are the traditional mens attire; I believe they are only meant to be white (lungis come in every color of rainbow and then some, as do all women's clothing).
I should probably get going now. I need to pick up my fancy new choli from the tailor and practice wearing my sari. I could also review my notes from Nisha on the correct way to eat the wedding feast. As Martin observed, "Nisha is a great teacher to have if you are a woman; she teaches you everything you need to know." Of course, I think my lack of a husband and kids concerns her....
I Scream, You Scream...
Well, my days of gelato-filled bliss in Italy are over, but I've discovered a new frozen treat: Indian ice cream. Now, Indian ice cream isn't anything compared to gelato. It's more like those B-rated movies that are so bad you love them. And we love Indian ice cream.
Some of it's not even that bad... but you can tell how artificial it is. Our favorite ice cream comes from St. George's Taste Bud, an ice cream parlor in Kozhencherry, a town about 3km from the village. At St. George's Taste Bud, you can get ice cream, shakes, and fresh-squeezed juice (they are no longer surprised when we ask for "no ice, no sugar"). The ice cream menu (they give us the one in English) includes such delights as: Falooda, Royal Falooda, Chocolatate Giment, Chocolate Ripple, Black Vipper, Upper Crest, Pink Laddy, and Scotmen (and no, these particular spelling mistakes are not because *I* don't proofread). The sundaes come in tall, skinny glasses with long, skinny spoons or in short, wide-mouthed curvaceous ones. They are topped with syrups, dried fruit, nuts (almonds & cashews!), corn flakes, and what seem to be chocolate covered corn flakes! The other day we confirmed our theory that the sundaes' names may stay the same but it doesn't mean you get the same thing every time. I ordered Black Vipper on my visit: it was a wonderful chocolate concoction. This week my Black Vipper was distinctly white ice cream covered in electric blue syrup.
Usually we walk to Kozhencherry (it's only 3km), but this week the Revathi family took the bus when we went (only 4 rupees each way). When we are really tired, we splurge on an autoriksha (spelling here is very creative) for 30 rupees (or 35 or 40 if the driver decides to take advantage of having a foreign passenger and we don't feel like haggling). But anyway, the bus: it was named Swapna (Malayalam for "dream", I know this because tomorrow I am going to a wedding and the brides name is Swapna). Inside the front window was hanging a catenary arch of red silk rose buds with a great deity sticker collection: Jesus, Ganesha, and Shiva and Parvati all in a row; Hanuman in the center above them; and at the very top: Ariel from the Little Mermaid and Tweety Bird.
Some of it's not even that bad... but you can tell how artificial it is. Our favorite ice cream comes from St. George's Taste Bud, an ice cream parlor in Kozhencherry, a town about 3km from the village. At St. George's Taste Bud, you can get ice cream, shakes, and fresh-squeezed juice (they are no longer surprised when we ask for "no ice, no sugar"). The ice cream menu (they give us the one in English) includes such delights as: Falooda, Royal Falooda, Chocolatate Giment, Chocolate Ripple, Black Vipper, Upper Crest, Pink Laddy, and Scotmen (and no, these particular spelling mistakes are not because *I* don't proofread). The sundaes come in tall, skinny glasses with long, skinny spoons or in short, wide-mouthed curvaceous ones. They are topped with syrups, dried fruit, nuts (almonds & cashews!), corn flakes, and what seem to be chocolate covered corn flakes! The other day we confirmed our theory that the sundaes' names may stay the same but it doesn't mean you get the same thing every time. I ordered Black Vipper on my visit: it was a wonderful chocolate concoction. This week my Black Vipper was distinctly white ice cream covered in electric blue syrup.
Usually we walk to Kozhencherry (it's only 3km), but this week the Revathi family took the bus when we went (only 4 rupees each way). When we are really tired, we splurge on an autoriksha (spelling here is very creative) for 30 rupees (or 35 or 40 if the driver decides to take advantage of having a foreign passenger and we don't feel like haggling). But anyway, the bus: it was named Swapna (Malayalam for "dream", I know this because tomorrow I am going to a wedding and the brides name is Swapna). Inside the front window was hanging a catenary arch of red silk rose buds with a great deity sticker collection: Jesus, Ganesha, and Shiva and Parvati all in a row; Hanuman in the center above them; and at the very top: Ariel from the Little Mermaid and Tweety Bird.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Bovines & Bobble-Heads
One of my friends pointed out in an email that I've been remiss in describing two of the most prominent features of travel in India: the cows and the head wobble.
The cows. They are everywhere. People walking cows, cows tied up and grazing next to houses, in little fields, roaming along the river, on sidewalks, crossing streets, laying in storefronts, standing in traffic. Everywhere. Cows are a sacred animal here in India, which, I guess, gives them the privilege to roam where they like, but truthfully when I see a cow tied up and laying on a city sidewalk, it doesn't look like holy treatment to me. There were quite a few cows in Mumbai, but Bangalore had them at every turn (yes, that Bangalore- the city of almost 6 million and the IT capital of India and call centre capital of the world). The village I'm living in has a number of cows as well, but being a village it has more appropriate places to keep them than the giant urban centres. The cows here wear little bells, like the ones of elves shoes, that tinkle. It's a very different sound than the gently clanging Italian cowbells that sounded like bamboo in a strong breeze. The cows here also get adorned with beads and shells across their foreheads. I'll admit, I do love sitting in my cooking lesson and hearing a cow lowing in the field next door.
(Veg friends: cover your eyes for this bit.) When I arrived in Bangalore, my friend Catherine said, "Bri, I know you just got to India and you're probably really anxious to eat Indian food, but.... can we go out for a burger tonight?" Catherine and her friends in her study abroad program have been here for a few months, and they were craving some good American (non-vegetarian) cuisine, so before Catherine knew I was coming they had planned a trip to Millers 46, the local steakhouse. When I looked confused about a steakhouse in India (Hindus don't eat beef!), Catherine reminded me that Muslims have no qualms about eating a cow. So we ate dinner at a restaurant with a painted swinging door, waiters in denim and red plaid yoked shirts, and a good beer menu- that was shaped like a 3D cowboy hat! I hadn't been missing American food, but I'll admit that bread and butter that came while we waited for our food tasted really good. You can't beat fresh pressed olive oil for flavor, but butter fat sure is nice sometimes. As one of Catherine's friends said after the meal, "Thank Allah for Bangalore's Muslims." The best part about Millers 46, the steakhouse, was the sign out front: "Steak-Sizzler-Pasta-Veg Menu Too!" First time I've seen that on a steakhouse's sign....
The head-bobble/wobble. So in case India's 108 million languages (all with their own alphabet) weren't exciting enough, there's also the issue of different body language. India has the most fascinating head wobble (I'm sure you've seen it imitated in some India stereotyped character in pop culture). The head wobble is like simultaneously nodding and shaking your head and simultaneously means "yes and no" as well "maybe/I don't know/whatever you want." It is used constantly, regardless of the answer and sometimes just continuously while the person is talking. Yesterday I had the thought that maybe the head wobble actually has no meaning beyond that the person wobbling their head is talking. My friend Martin tried summarized it as ":) ?! ... :)" or "Nobody knows, nobody really cares, nobody has any control over life."
It took me a few days to get used to the head wobble. I felt awkward a few times when someone was telling me "yes" but wobbling their head. To me, it seemed like saying yes grudgingly or with exasperation. I worried I was putting them out. It also causes a problem when you are trying to find the right bus or a seat on the train. Signs on the bus are written in Malayalam (which only Martin can read) so the rest of us are left asking "Excuse me, does this bus go to Chengannur/Aranmula/Kozhencherry?" Most Indians don't understand our terribly accent and even if they do, the answer is inevitably the head wobble. Yes? No? Maybe? You'll decide along the way? Ditto for the trains. "Excuse me, is this seat reserved?" *Head wobble* What to do, eh? (we ask that a lot in our house)
One solution on the train is to just sit there and see how people react. Of course, if they hiss at you, it doesn't mean they are upset. It means they want your attention. That really took some getting used to: hissing is not a sign on anger here, it really is how people get one another's attention.
I've also learned not to say "hunh?" as a question when I don't understand or the contemplative "hunh" when I learn something new. That sound- hunh- means "yes" in Hindi. Not good when you are asking a shopkeeper to repeat themselves and they think you are saying yes.... Of course, Hindi, the national language, isn't widely spoken here Kerala, so it's less of a concern. (I've met intelligent, well-educated people here who speak beautiful English and Malayalam but not Hindi. Choosing a national language is a contentious issue here in India.)
Martin can also read and carry on basic conversations in Malayalam, which has been helpful on our long walks through the villages around here (more on that later). The security guys at the centre have been trying to teach us Hindi (important phrases like, "what did you have for dinner tonight?"), but they are from Nepal and we have been told we're not learning standard Hindi but a Hindi-Nepalese blend.
The cultural mash-up in Revathi, the house where I am living, is hilarious. My housemates are French, Mexican, and Swedish. They all speak three or four languages fluently: French, Spanish, Swedish, German, Russian, Chinese, and Japanese. Oh, and fortunately they all speak English. We have our house decorated with giant three-dimensional paper stars, the typical Christmas decorations here. Jannet and Alexandra hand-sewed a stocking for the front door. They've been filling it with advent chocolates every evening. We also have advent candles and have been lighting a new one each Sunday. The candles are massive neon torch candles meant for use during the daily power cuts, and we have them on a wreath of palm fronds and banana leaves. There's a picture of Shiva and his bull, Nandi, behind the candles. In the evenings after dinner and before bed, when mosquitoes, darkness, and exhaustion, keep the Revathi family inside, we watch Bollywood movies, Star Trek episodes, and Last Christmas, a subtitled Japanese Christmas/love drama mini-series we are all hooked on.
Oh yes, and then there is my Kathakali teacher who yelled (while grinning) at me one day when I said "thank you" at the end of class. "What do you mean, thank you?" he demanded. "Thank you means our relationship is over! It is the end of the friendship. It is very rude, don't say that to me." I found out later that the Malayalam word for thank you is really only used in situations when you don't expect to interact with the person again, say a shopkeeper. First I told Pradeep that at home, if I did NOT say thank you, it might be the end of the friendship because the person would think me rude. Then I asked what I should say instead. "See you later," he told me.
So, see you later. (*head wobble*)
The cows. They are everywhere. People walking cows, cows tied up and grazing next to houses, in little fields, roaming along the river, on sidewalks, crossing streets, laying in storefronts, standing in traffic. Everywhere. Cows are a sacred animal here in India, which, I guess, gives them the privilege to roam where they like, but truthfully when I see a cow tied up and laying on a city sidewalk, it doesn't look like holy treatment to me. There were quite a few cows in Mumbai, but Bangalore had them at every turn (yes, that Bangalore- the city of almost 6 million and the IT capital of India and call centre capital of the world). The village I'm living in has a number of cows as well, but being a village it has more appropriate places to keep them than the giant urban centres. The cows here wear little bells, like the ones of elves shoes, that tinkle. It's a very different sound than the gently clanging Italian cowbells that sounded like bamboo in a strong breeze. The cows here also get adorned with beads and shells across their foreheads. I'll admit, I do love sitting in my cooking lesson and hearing a cow lowing in the field next door.
(Veg friends: cover your eyes for this bit.) When I arrived in Bangalore, my friend Catherine said, "Bri, I know you just got to India and you're probably really anxious to eat Indian food, but.... can we go out for a burger tonight?" Catherine and her friends in her study abroad program have been here for a few months, and they were craving some good American (non-vegetarian) cuisine, so before Catherine knew I was coming they had planned a trip to Millers 46, the local steakhouse. When I looked confused about a steakhouse in India (Hindus don't eat beef!), Catherine reminded me that Muslims have no qualms about eating a cow. So we ate dinner at a restaurant with a painted swinging door, waiters in denim and red plaid yoked shirts, and a good beer menu- that was shaped like a 3D cowboy hat! I hadn't been missing American food, but I'll admit that bread and butter that came while we waited for our food tasted really good. You can't beat fresh pressed olive oil for flavor, but butter fat sure is nice sometimes. As one of Catherine's friends said after the meal, "Thank Allah for Bangalore's Muslims." The best part about Millers 46, the steakhouse, was the sign out front: "Steak-Sizzler-Pasta-Veg Menu Too!" First time I've seen that on a steakhouse's sign....
The head-bobble/wobble. So in case India's 108 million languages (all with their own alphabet) weren't exciting enough, there's also the issue of different body language. India has the most fascinating head wobble (I'm sure you've seen it imitated in some India stereotyped character in pop culture). The head wobble is like simultaneously nodding and shaking your head and simultaneously means "yes and no" as well "maybe/I don't know/whatever you want." It is used constantly, regardless of the answer and sometimes just continuously while the person is talking. Yesterday I had the thought that maybe the head wobble actually has no meaning beyond that the person wobbling their head is talking. My friend Martin tried summarized it as ":) ?! ... :)" or "Nobody knows, nobody really cares, nobody has any control over life."
It took me a few days to get used to the head wobble. I felt awkward a few times when someone was telling me "yes" but wobbling their head. To me, it seemed like saying yes grudgingly or with exasperation. I worried I was putting them out. It also causes a problem when you are trying to find the right bus or a seat on the train. Signs on the bus are written in Malayalam (which only Martin can read) so the rest of us are left asking "Excuse me, does this bus go to Chengannur/Aranmula/Kozhencherry?" Most Indians don't understand our terribly accent and even if they do, the answer is inevitably the head wobble. Yes? No? Maybe? You'll decide along the way? Ditto for the trains. "Excuse me, is this seat reserved?" *Head wobble* What to do, eh? (we ask that a lot in our house)
One solution on the train is to just sit there and see how people react. Of course, if they hiss at you, it doesn't mean they are upset. It means they want your attention. That really took some getting used to: hissing is not a sign on anger here, it really is how people get one another's attention.
I've also learned not to say "hunh?" as a question when I don't understand or the contemplative "hunh" when I learn something new. That sound- hunh- means "yes" in Hindi. Not good when you are asking a shopkeeper to repeat themselves and they think you are saying yes.... Of course, Hindi, the national language, isn't widely spoken here Kerala, so it's less of a concern. (I've met intelligent, well-educated people here who speak beautiful English and Malayalam but not Hindi. Choosing a national language is a contentious issue here in India.)
Martin can also read and carry on basic conversations in Malayalam, which has been helpful on our long walks through the villages around here (more on that later). The security guys at the centre have been trying to teach us Hindi (important phrases like, "what did you have for dinner tonight?"), but they are from Nepal and we have been told we're not learning standard Hindi but a Hindi-Nepalese blend.
The cultural mash-up in Revathi, the house where I am living, is hilarious. My housemates are French, Mexican, and Swedish. They all speak three or four languages fluently: French, Spanish, Swedish, German, Russian, Chinese, and Japanese. Oh, and fortunately they all speak English. We have our house decorated with giant three-dimensional paper stars, the typical Christmas decorations here. Jannet and Alexandra hand-sewed a stocking for the front door. They've been filling it with advent chocolates every evening. We also have advent candles and have been lighting a new one each Sunday. The candles are massive neon torch candles meant for use during the daily power cuts, and we have them on a wreath of palm fronds and banana leaves. There's a picture of Shiva and his bull, Nandi, behind the candles. In the evenings after dinner and before bed, when mosquitoes, darkness, and exhaustion, keep the Revathi family inside, we watch Bollywood movies, Star Trek episodes, and Last Christmas, a subtitled Japanese Christmas/love drama mini-series we are all hooked on.
Oh yes, and then there is my Kathakali teacher who yelled (while grinning) at me one day when I said "thank you" at the end of class. "What do you mean, thank you?" he demanded. "Thank you means our relationship is over! It is the end of the friendship. It is very rude, don't say that to me." I found out later that the Malayalam word for thank you is really only used in situations when you don't expect to interact with the person again, say a shopkeeper. First I told Pradeep that at home, if I did NOT say thank you, it might be the end of the friendship because the person would think me rude. Then I asked what I should say instead. "See you later," he told me.
So, see you later. (*head wobble*)
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
More Pics
There are more pictures posted! They all have titles and some of them have captions. I will continue adding captions and my dad will be posting more pictures, so keep checking back (I'll try to make a note when there are major additions).
Also, a suggestion from my father: if you want to really appreciate the pictures, click on one and then click on the magnifying class icon that says "All Sizes." You will get to see a much larger, much more detailed image!
Also, a suggestion from my father: if you want to really appreciate the pictures, click on one and then click on the magnifying class icon that says "All Sizes." You will get to see a much larger, much more detailed image!
Monday, December 8, 2008
Patience is a Virtue
Well, the waiting has paid off. There are finally (a few) pictures posted here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/doorstotheworld/. More will come eventually, but hopefully this will satisfy for now. And if you see my dad, tell him thank you! I wrote the titles and the descriptions, but he did the hard work of sorting through 3 DVDs worth of pictures I sent him, picking some nice ones, compressing them, and posting them on flickr. Don't let him fool you: that "anonymous" post on "Religion Roulette" is really for him. Thank you, Dad!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Religion Roulette
One of my favorite games to play in India is "guess the god". The autorickshaws and buses here are like traveling temples and usually named for a deity. The mini-altars may be as simple as a sticker or elaborate decorations inside (and often outside) with images of god(s), silk flowers, and dancing lights. When I am walking to the bus stop or rickshaw stand, I like to guess which religious figure will be watching over my wild ride that day. Kind, rotund elephant-headed Ganesha? The blessed virgin Mary? Blue-skinned Krishna? Or maybe even Jesus himself?
The other day we rode a bus called "Holy Mary." When we reached our destination (a mere 11km away, thankfully), the bus pulling in behind us was the "Vishnu Express." Today a took a long walk with a friend from the cultural centre and we spotted a bus called "Shalom" (Hebrew for peace. Lest you think Kerala is just Hindus and Christians, we also saw a shrine to Buddha today). Yesterday we hit the jackpot: a bus called "Lakshmi" and inside there was a Ganesha sticker, a Jesus sticker, a big Jesus poster depicting him with his crown of thorns, and a image of Vishnu surrounding by dancing red and green lights.
People's personal vehicles get named as well. Today on our 6+ hour walk/hike, I spotted a parking lot full of shiny new cars, including a row of three large SUVs (different models than what we get in the US, but SUVs nonetheless). Their names? Ganesha, Gift of God, and El-Shaddai (which I believe is Hebrew).
I'm assuming most of you are familiar with the Christian figures, but now is probably a good time for a primer on the Hindu deities, as they play a major role in life here and I expect I'll be referencing them in a lot of stories.... I'll preface this with a warning: I will hardly do the subject justice as one I am not an expert on the subject and I am summarizing and generalizing. The specific beliefs and practices of Hindus vary widely, but hopefully this will be a starting point.
First is the concept of Brahman, the unchanging, infinite ground of the Universe. The Hindu gods and goddesses are considered manifestations of Brahman. In other words, there aren't really 330 million Hindu gods (one source gives that as the minimum number in the pantheon); they are just different aspects of one thing: Brahman.
So, 330 million deities? Here are the big players:
Brahma (not to be confused with Brahman, as explained above, or Brahmin, the priests or holy men): the creator, spends most of the time sitting on a lotus meditating, rides a swan, usually shown with four heads
Vishnu: the preserver, usually depicted with four arms holding a lotus, conch shell, discus, and mace; rides Garuda (a bird-like creature, Garudasana in yoga is "eagle's pose"); the sacred Ganges river flows from his toes; he has 22 different incarnations
Shiva: the destroyer (but without destruction we can have no creation, right?); he takes many forms, including the fabulous Shiva Nataraja popular in the US (the statue of Shiva dancing-one leg lifted- in a ring of fire), often shown with snakes around his neck and holding a trident, rides Nandi (a bull)
Saraswati: the goddess of learning, consort/wife of Brahma, often shown sitting on a lotus, rides a white swan, usually shown dressed in pure white
Lakshmi: the goddess of wealth, consort/wife of Vishnu, identifiable by the gold coins pouring from the vessel she holds (goddess of wealth, right?), rides an owl
Parvati: has many incarnations, consort/wife of Shiva, mother of Ganesha, often depicted with Shiva, rides a lion
Ganesha: god of good fortune and the remover of obstacles, son of Shiva and Parvati, easy to recognize: he has the head of an elephant and rides a rat
Krishna: an incarnation of Vishnu (see above), blue-skinned and plays the flute, frequently hangs out with the gopis (milkmaids), Radha is his principal consort and true love
Hanumnan: king of the monkeys (makes him easy to identify), represents bhakti (devotion), faithful ally of Rama and star of the Ramayana, has a yoga pose named for him: Hanumanasana (the splits), the story behind the pose is great (maybe I'll tell it someday)
(Check back: it is time for dinner and for the centre's computer to be turned off. I'll finish this later. Edit: Finished!)
The other day we rode a bus called "Holy Mary." When we reached our destination (a mere 11km away, thankfully), the bus pulling in behind us was the "Vishnu Express." Today a took a long walk with a friend from the cultural centre and we spotted a bus called "Shalom" (Hebrew for peace. Lest you think Kerala is just Hindus and Christians, we also saw a shrine to Buddha today). Yesterday we hit the jackpot: a bus called "Lakshmi" and inside there was a Ganesha sticker, a Jesus sticker, a big Jesus poster depicting him with his crown of thorns, and a image of Vishnu surrounding by dancing red and green lights.
People's personal vehicles get named as well. Today on our 6+ hour walk/hike, I spotted a parking lot full of shiny new cars, including a row of three large SUVs (different models than what we get in the US, but SUVs nonetheless). Their names? Ganesha, Gift of God, and El-Shaddai (which I believe is Hebrew).
I'm assuming most of you are familiar with the Christian figures, but now is probably a good time for a primer on the Hindu deities, as they play a major role in life here and I expect I'll be referencing them in a lot of stories.... I'll preface this with a warning: I will hardly do the subject justice as one I am not an expert on the subject and I am summarizing and generalizing. The specific beliefs and practices of Hindus vary widely, but hopefully this will be a starting point.
First is the concept of Brahman, the unchanging, infinite ground of the Universe. The Hindu gods and goddesses are considered manifestations of Brahman. In other words, there aren't really 330 million Hindu gods (one source gives that as the minimum number in the pantheon); they are just different aspects of one thing: Brahman.
So, 330 million deities? Here are the big players:
Brahma (not to be confused with Brahman, as explained above, or Brahmin, the priests or holy men): the creator, spends most of the time sitting on a lotus meditating, rides a swan, usually shown with four heads
Vishnu: the preserver, usually depicted with four arms holding a lotus, conch shell, discus, and mace; rides Garuda (a bird-like creature, Garudasana in yoga is "eagle's pose"); the sacred Ganges river flows from his toes; he has 22 different incarnations
Shiva: the destroyer (but without destruction we can have no creation, right?); he takes many forms, including the fabulous Shiva Nataraja popular in the US (the statue of Shiva dancing-one leg lifted- in a ring of fire), often shown with snakes around his neck and holding a trident, rides Nandi (a bull)
Saraswati: the goddess of learning, consort/wife of Brahma, often shown sitting on a lotus, rides a white swan, usually shown dressed in pure white
Lakshmi: the goddess of wealth, consort/wife of Vishnu, identifiable by the gold coins pouring from the vessel she holds (goddess of wealth, right?), rides an owl
Parvati: has many incarnations, consort/wife of Shiva, mother of Ganesha, often depicted with Shiva, rides a lion
Ganesha: god of good fortune and the remover of obstacles, son of Shiva and Parvati, easy to recognize: he has the head of an elephant and rides a rat
Krishna: an incarnation of Vishnu (see above), blue-skinned and plays the flute, frequently hangs out with the gopis (milkmaids), Radha is his principal consort and true love
Hanumnan: king of the monkeys (makes him easy to identify), represents bhakti (devotion), faithful ally of Rama and star of the Ramayana, has a yoga pose named for him: Hanumanasana (the splits), the story behind the pose is great (maybe I'll tell it someday)
(Check back: it is time for dinner and for the centre's computer to be turned off. I'll finish this later. Edit: Finished!)
Friday, December 5, 2008
Indian Twister
Yesterday during my cooking lesson, I had the bizarre thought that Indian Twister would be an advanced hatha yoga practice: the entire game would be one-armed handstands! Right hand yellow.... right hand blue.... right hand yellow... right hand red....
Why one-armed handstands, you ask? Because in India it is impolite-- offensive, actually-- to use your left hand or to touch things with your feet. Your left hand is reserved for dirty tasks, such as removing shoes and bathroom functions (sorry, I know most literature and films leave out such details, but here in the real world, particularly the developing world, it is an unavoidable part of life). Feet are literally dirty (they touch the ground) and energetically dirty (that's where energy exits the body). That's why the feet of saints and swamis are venerated; they are pure beings and so the energy that exits their feet is also pure.
Shoes, considered even dirtier than feet, are removed before entering almost any building: definitely a home but some shops as well. The entire waitstaff at my favorite little restaurant in Mumbai ran around barefoot. Most of the rickshaws drivers in Mumbai were barefoot as well. Everyone here wears sandals that they slide in and out of effortlessly. I am traveling with two pairs of shoes: my hiking boots and sturdy sandals that velcro (a friend once called them "sandals you could climb Everest in"), but yesterday I invested in a 75 rupee pair of flip-flops. I felt like I was being a bit wasteful (I have a perfectly good pair of sandals!), but I was going crazy bending over 100 times a day to do and undo my sandal straps.
Yesterday my other Kathakali teacher, Kesavan (that's one of the 1008 names of Krishna, and yes, he knows all 1008), chastised me because I reached out my left hand to take some papers from him. I've also seen children at the temples rebuked by their parents because they reach out with their left hand to accept prasad, food that has been blessed by the guru or deity. The day before Kesavan scolded me because I put my foot on my notebook. I got to class early and was sitting on the floor studying. I was in my usual position, one leg bent under and the other knee pulled up to my chest. He came in and turned on the fan; the gale force winds sent my papers flying, so I used my conveniently located toes to hold them down.
"Your notebook is god! It is Saraswati! You know? Wife of Brahma! Your book holds knowledge. She is the goddess of knowledge. You must treat all knowledge, all books, all papers with respect: as a god! Mata, pita, guru, deva*! Mother, father, teacher, god! Treat them all with the same respect!" (*Sanskrit)
Practically all food in India is eaten with your fingers, right-hand only, of course. And not just what we think of finger food: rice, curries, salad are consumed sans silverware. I enjoy eating with my hands, but it takes some practice. Indian people are skilled at it: they can form a graceful scoop with their fingers that I can't quite seem to get. I swear their hand actually takes on a different shape.
Here at the centre we eat meals off of banana leaves instead of plates. There are cups for drinks, and bowls and spoons for soup and ice cream. Our meals are served to us, which still makes me feel a bit uncomfortable. It feels different than having a waiter at a restaurant, I guess because we know the staff and they are so friendly, it's weird having them jump at our every need. But we do wash our own dishes after the meal, so I feel better about that. It's pretty easy: no plates! Banana leaves into the compost bucket and dishes get soaped, rinsed, dunked in disinfectant, and rinsed again.
I reread a few of my posts just now. I apologize for the typos and some awkward wording. I do wish I had time to proofread and edit, but I'm favoring writing new posts with my limited online time....
Why one-armed handstands, you ask? Because in India it is impolite-- offensive, actually-- to use your left hand or to touch things with your feet. Your left hand is reserved for dirty tasks, such as removing shoes and bathroom functions (sorry, I know most literature and films leave out such details, but here in the real world, particularly the developing world, it is an unavoidable part of life). Feet are literally dirty (they touch the ground) and energetically dirty (that's where energy exits the body). That's why the feet of saints and swamis are venerated; they are pure beings and so the energy that exits their feet is also pure.
Shoes, considered even dirtier than feet, are removed before entering almost any building: definitely a home but some shops as well. The entire waitstaff at my favorite little restaurant in Mumbai ran around barefoot. Most of the rickshaws drivers in Mumbai were barefoot as well. Everyone here wears sandals that they slide in and out of effortlessly. I am traveling with two pairs of shoes: my hiking boots and sturdy sandals that velcro (a friend once called them "sandals you could climb Everest in"), but yesterday I invested in a 75 rupee pair of flip-flops. I felt like I was being a bit wasteful (I have a perfectly good pair of sandals!), but I was going crazy bending over 100 times a day to do and undo my sandal straps.
Yesterday my other Kathakali teacher, Kesavan (that's one of the 1008 names of Krishna, and yes, he knows all 1008), chastised me because I reached out my left hand to take some papers from him. I've also seen children at the temples rebuked by their parents because they reach out with their left hand to accept prasad, food that has been blessed by the guru or deity. The day before Kesavan scolded me because I put my foot on my notebook. I got to class early and was sitting on the floor studying. I was in my usual position, one leg bent under and the other knee pulled up to my chest. He came in and turned on the fan; the gale force winds sent my papers flying, so I used my conveniently located toes to hold them down.
"Your notebook is god! It is Saraswati! You know? Wife of Brahma! Your book holds knowledge. She is the goddess of knowledge. You must treat all knowledge, all books, all papers with respect: as a god! Mata, pita, guru, deva*! Mother, father, teacher, god! Treat them all with the same respect!" (*Sanskrit)
Practically all food in India is eaten with your fingers, right-hand only, of course. And not just what we think of finger food: rice, curries, salad are consumed sans silverware. I enjoy eating with my hands, but it takes some practice. Indian people are skilled at it: they can form a graceful scoop with their fingers that I can't quite seem to get. I swear their hand actually takes on a different shape.
Here at the centre we eat meals off of banana leaves instead of plates. There are cups for drinks, and bowls and spoons for soup and ice cream. Our meals are served to us, which still makes me feel a bit uncomfortable. It feels different than having a waiter at a restaurant, I guess because we know the staff and they are so friendly, it's weird having them jump at our every need. But we do wash our own dishes after the meal, so I feel better about that. It's pretty easy: no plates! Banana leaves into the compost bucket and dishes get soaped, rinsed, dunked in disinfectant, and rinsed again.
I reread a few of my posts just now. I apologize for the typos and some awkward wording. I do wish I had time to proofread and edit, but I'm favoring writing new posts with my limited online time....
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Pachyderm Praises
"You walk like an elephant. It is a compliment, no?" declared Louba, emcee of the evening's kathakali performance. "Well, not in our countries," she continued, "but here it is!"
"Because of the way that they sway when they walk," shouted Anu in explanation from the back of the room. "You walk as beautifully as an elephant!"
A few days later I was discussing my name with my kathakali teacher, Pradeep. People always have trouble pronouncing my name, even at home. Abroad it is even worse. Countries where they speak romance languages approve of it because it ends in an "a" (very feminine), but they still don't know how to say it. Nisha, my cooking teacher, thinks it is too long, so she is calling me "Bri". Pradeep also decided to shorten it.
"I'm going to call you Anna", he laughed. Anna (pronounced Onna, the same way it sounds in my name) is the Malayalam word for elephant.
"So I'm as beautiful as an elephant," I retorted.
The next day Pradeep renamed me. "You know biryani? The food? Chicken biryani, veg biryani. I'm going to call you biryani! Just change the a to an i and switch the first two letters."
Named for a food: I can handle that. Speaking of food, cooking classes continue to be excellent. Yesterday I learned to make chapatis (flat bread) and dal curry. I expect to be eating a lot of chapatis and dal curry when I get back to the US.
After getting sick one afternoon, it took me a few days to get back to feeling like myself, but I feel great and life at the cultural centre is very enjoyable. When I first arrived, I wasn't sure I even wanted to stay the full four weeks. (Which would have been funny because I found this centre a few years and have been anxious to visit ever since.) I'm glad I gave it a few days: now I don't want to leave! Important lesson: try not to make rash decisions when you aren't feeling like yourself. A wise friend also once told me not to make important decisions laying down: you will automatically feel negative and defeated.
Surprising at first, I had more culture shock when I arrived here in the village of Aranmula than I did upon arriving in either Mumbai or Bangalore. I didn't like it at first. I think it is because I expected the cities to be big, noisy, dirty, and chaotic (most big cities are), but I expected the village to be calm and peaceful. Parts of it are, but not the main junction. Buses and motorscooters whiz by continuously. The road is lined with shops. The village has 433 families. It is nothing like the villages of 10-50 people that I last visited in Italy. But once I wandered off the main road, its appeal grew. There are cows grazing next to houses. Big palm trees and bananas trees shading the roads.
My favorite shop is the tailor. He whipped up a beautiful yoga outfit for me. it is typical to wear all white for yoga here. Incredible attention to detail and a perfect fit. Yesterday I dropped off a few more items: pants to be hemmed, a shirt to be taken in and have the sleeves attached (certain "ready-made" clothing come without the sleeves on), and fabric for a sari blouse. Custom-made clothing! I've long thought that it is unfortunate most cobblers have gone out of business in the US (I remember having my riding boots resoled growing up-- that doesn't happen anymore). I've now decided that we need more tailors as well.
"Because of the way that they sway when they walk," shouted Anu in explanation from the back of the room. "You walk as beautifully as an elephant!"
A few days later I was discussing my name with my kathakali teacher, Pradeep. People always have trouble pronouncing my name, even at home. Abroad it is even worse. Countries where they speak romance languages approve of it because it ends in an "a" (very feminine), but they still don't know how to say it. Nisha, my cooking teacher, thinks it is too long, so she is calling me "Bri". Pradeep also decided to shorten it.
"I'm going to call you Anna", he laughed. Anna (pronounced Onna, the same way it sounds in my name) is the Malayalam word for elephant.
"So I'm as beautiful as an elephant," I retorted.
The next day Pradeep renamed me. "You know biryani? The food? Chicken biryani, veg biryani. I'm going to call you biryani! Just change the a to an i and switch the first two letters."
Named for a food: I can handle that. Speaking of food, cooking classes continue to be excellent. Yesterday I learned to make chapatis (flat bread) and dal curry. I expect to be eating a lot of chapatis and dal curry when I get back to the US.
After getting sick one afternoon, it took me a few days to get back to feeling like myself, but I feel great and life at the cultural centre is very enjoyable. When I first arrived, I wasn't sure I even wanted to stay the full four weeks. (Which would have been funny because I found this centre a few years and have been anxious to visit ever since.) I'm glad I gave it a few days: now I don't want to leave! Important lesson: try not to make rash decisions when you aren't feeling like yourself. A wise friend also once told me not to make important decisions laying down: you will automatically feel negative and defeated.
Surprising at first, I had more culture shock when I arrived here in the village of Aranmula than I did upon arriving in either Mumbai or Bangalore. I didn't like it at first. I think it is because I expected the cities to be big, noisy, dirty, and chaotic (most big cities are), but I expected the village to be calm and peaceful. Parts of it are, but not the main junction. Buses and motorscooters whiz by continuously. The road is lined with shops. The village has 433 families. It is nothing like the villages of 10-50 people that I last visited in Italy. But once I wandered off the main road, its appeal grew. There are cows grazing next to houses. Big palm trees and bananas trees shading the roads.
My favorite shop is the tailor. He whipped up a beautiful yoga outfit for me. it is typical to wear all white for yoga here. Incredible attention to detail and a perfect fit. Yesterday I dropped off a few more items: pants to be hemmed, a shirt to be taken in and have the sleeves attached (certain "ready-made" clothing come without the sleeves on), and fabric for a sari blouse. Custom-made clothing! I've long thought that it is unfortunate most cobblers have gone out of business in the US (I remember having my riding boots resoled growing up-- that doesn't happen anymore). I've now decided that we need more tailors as well.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
New Feature
A meta-update... an update on the blog itself... I've added a feature: down the right-hand side, beneath the archives, you can now subscribe to the blog. Might be handy if you are tired of my inconsistent updating and wondering when you check if it will be feast-or-famine time. It would seem you can receive updates only when I post or when I post and when comments are made. Please try it and let me know how well it works: specifically if it is easy to use and helpful. Thanks!
A Real Newsflash
For those reading the news headlines about Mumbai, I just wanted to post that I am safe and sound (something to be very thankful for this day) and far, far from Mumbai. I also (fortunately) had no plans to be back there during my travels (I fly out of Delhi).
For those who have not seen the headlines, here is a summary: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/7751707.stm
I want to thank all of you who emailed or posted messages inquiring after my current location. I feel so thankful to have so many good friends and family members looking out for my safety and well-being. Thank you!
I will post more later, but for now I am late to learn how to put on sari.
(Edit: I am back now. The unofficial sari wearing lesson was postponed, but I went to my cooking lesson. I decided I would just add to this post, since my comments are on the same subject.)
Actually, I am finding myself a bit at a loss for words. I don't think I will try to summarize the situation; it is complicated and still unfolding at this moment. Just follow the BBC link for up-to-date details.
I feel a bit as I did on September 11, 2001. Thankful to be ok, confused, and unable to really wrap my head around such a horrific event. I don't want to unsettle anyone, but some details of my time in Mumbai are probably warranted here (scroll to the bottom of the BBC article for a map of the places I will mention). I stayed in a hostel across the street from the Taj Mahal Hotel and Palace, one of the hotels targeted in the attacks. I could see it from my window and have some lovely pictures of its ornate architecture. I walked by Cafe Leopold several times. I was at the train station (CST or Victoria Terminus) three times: once to buy my ticket, once to take pictures (again, it is stunning), and once to actually take my train. The BBC doesn't say it, but in the picture at the top of the article linked above (caption: Indian army snipers climb scaffolding opposite the Taj Mahal Palace hotel) the sniper is climbing the Gateway to India, a major landmark in the city (again, I took pictures of it and wrote down the inscription). It is strange how this city, which literally a week ago was on the other side of the world, is now so familiar. I like Mumbai: I did not expect to from what others had told me. It is a friendly city and very walkable. I am concerned for both visitors to the city and its residents. The sweet Indian family that was on the train with me (with a 5 year old daughter and a 2 year old son, and the mom worked in Phoenix for a while) lives in Colaba-- just blocks from where I stayed and the Taj Mahal hotel. I hope they are still in Bangalore visiting grandparents and cousins. I am also thinking of Natalia, a sweet Brazilian girl who had been stuck at the hostel in Mumbai for two weeks, waiting for a replacement bank card to arrive. I hope she is ok.
I have much to be thankful for on this day of giving thanks, and I am thinking of many others, hoping they will have reason to celebrate as well.
For those who have not seen the headlines, here is a summary: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/7751707.stm
I want to thank all of you who emailed or posted messages inquiring after my current location. I feel so thankful to have so many good friends and family members looking out for my safety and well-being. Thank you!
I will post more later, but for now I am late to learn how to put on sari.
(Edit: I am back now. The unofficial sari wearing lesson was postponed, but I went to my cooking lesson. I decided I would just add to this post, since my comments are on the same subject.)
Actually, I am finding myself a bit at a loss for words. I don't think I will try to summarize the situation; it is complicated and still unfolding at this moment. Just follow the BBC link for up-to-date details.
I feel a bit as I did on September 11, 2001. Thankful to be ok, confused, and unable to really wrap my head around such a horrific event. I don't want to unsettle anyone, but some details of my time in Mumbai are probably warranted here (scroll to the bottom of the BBC article for a map of the places I will mention). I stayed in a hostel across the street from the Taj Mahal Hotel and Palace, one of the hotels targeted in the attacks. I could see it from my window and have some lovely pictures of its ornate architecture. I walked by Cafe Leopold several times. I was at the train station (CST or Victoria Terminus) three times: once to buy my ticket, once to take pictures (again, it is stunning), and once to actually take my train. The BBC doesn't say it, but in the picture at the top of the article linked above (caption: Indian army snipers climb scaffolding opposite the Taj Mahal Palace hotel) the sniper is climbing the Gateway to India, a major landmark in the city (again, I took pictures of it and wrote down the inscription). It is strange how this city, which literally a week ago was on the other side of the world, is now so familiar. I like Mumbai: I did not expect to from what others had told me. It is a friendly city and very walkable. I am concerned for both visitors to the city and its residents. The sweet Indian family that was on the train with me (with a 5 year old daughter and a 2 year old son, and the mom worked in Phoenix for a while) lives in Colaba-- just blocks from where I stayed and the Taj Mahal hotel. I hope they are still in Bangalore visiting grandparents and cousins. I am also thinking of Natalia, a sweet Brazilian girl who had been stuck at the hostel in Mumbai for two weeks, waiting for a replacement bank card to arrive. I hope she is ok.
I have much to be thankful for on this day of giving thanks, and I am thinking of many others, hoping they will have reason to celebrate as well.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
A newsflash! Plus, a recipe and the inevitable.
**We are sorry to interrupt our regularly scheduled broadcast for this important newsflash.**
I just saw an ELEPHANT! A giant-- really, really giant-- elephant strolling down the main street of the village. There was a boy riding the elephant and a man walking alongside it. The elephant was at least twice as tall as the man. The elephant was carrying a bundle of palm fronds. They were headed toward the river, so we took off in hot pursuit, hoping to see the elephant get its bath. Once they were around the side of the temple (the elephant is a temple elephant), they stopped, the elephant set down its bundle and bent one front leg, so the boy could use its knee to step on as he climbed down. The elephant then picked the palm fronds back up, turned around, went to the front of the temple and CLIMBED UP THE STONE STEPS-- a full flight of stairs-- and went INTO the temple.
**We will now resume our regularly scheduled broadcast of "Cooking with Brianna goes to India."**
Banana Leaf Ada - a traditional sweet snack in Kerala, perfect for tea time
Ingredients
1 c. roasted rice four (or wheat flour)
a small amount of ghee (or coconut oil)
salt (to taste)
1/2 c. water
1 c. grated coconut
4 T. jaggery (palm sugar)
1 t. cardamom
4 squares of banana leaf (one big leaf, tear off sections)
- Make dough with first four ingredients (flour, ghee, salt, water)
- Grate coconut. Mix with jaggery and cardamom to make filling.
- Roast banana leaf (until soft and supple). (We just roasted it for a few seconds over a gas burner.)
- Spread thin layer of dough on leaf. Cover with filling. Fold in half (the same direction as the grooves of the leaf).
-Steam 10-15 minutes.
Remarkably easy! And tasty! I made these this afternoon in my cooking lesson, and then promptly took the tasty results to afternoon tea to share with my new friends here at the Vijnana Kala Vedi Cultural Centre (http://www.vijnanakalavedi.org/). A few notes about the recipe. I know you can buy rice flour in the US, and Nisha, my teacher, said you could roast it yourself (you can buy it already roasted here). She also said wheat flour would work. The dough is very soft and fine. It almost feels like it was made with confectioners sugar (I didn't feel the flour before it was wet, but I expect it is very fine). Actually, the best way I can describe the consistency is to say it is like the middle state of that cornstarch & water mix that stays firm when you play with it and goes all soft when it sits still. We grated the coconut ourselves (tomorrow I learn the proper way to shop one open) on a nifty device that clamps to the table. It is like a flat spoon with sharp little teeth all the way around that scrape the meat of the coconut. The jaggery looks like a stone, but it is soft enough to grate with the edge of a knife. I think you could replace this with any natural sweetener. We also peeled the cardamom seeds and crushed them ourselves. We steamed them in a pan made for making idlis (a breakfast food, more on that later). I really want to bring one of these pans home!
Today I also took a group yoga class and my first individual Kathakali class. Tomorrow I will also join the group Kalarippayatt (martial arts) class. More on these later (it's almost dinner time), but I must share....
The inevitable has happened. I puked yesterday. Repeatedly. Shortly after I got off the train and again after I arrived at the cultural centre. I don't think it was actual food poisoning or any of the other nasty things you can get from food or water here, as I recovered pretty quickly. I think it was just a combination of not sleeping that well on the overnight train (I took sleeper class-- no AC and three berths in the space of only two in the upper classes), getting overheated, not eating much on the train, etc, etc. I had my sleeper berth to myself during the night (thank goodness), but in the morning there were 13 people sitting in our little compartment that was meant to hold 6 (I have no idea, but no one seemed to check tickets for that portion on the trip-- everyone was very nice and well dressed, but I think they just pile on). The train was also too crowded to get to the bathroom (not that I really wanted to visit it with so many people using it....). Anyway, I felt nauseous on the train but survived the ride. I got off at the station in Chengannur and walked through town looking for a bank. I was waiting for them to restock the ATM with cash and felt really queasy, so I walked around the corner and found an overgrown grassy area..... feeling better, I went back to the ATM, got my money, took a rickshaw to the centre, got checked in, and then puked again, with poor Bala-- the director-- watching. I spent the afternoon resting (in my bed caged with a mosquito net). At one point, I went to get something out of my pack and sat on the floor. The tile felt so nice and cool, I ended up laying on the floor hugging my pack for a while. Between not feeling well (you know when you are so sick it seems like the world might just end?), some muggy overcast weather, and realizing that tomorrow is Thanksgiving (how did that happen? isn't it still early October?), I was feeling rather down last night and this morning. And this afternoon things are looking up: my classes were great, I am getting to know the other students (although three I really like are leaving this weekend!), I went for a nice walk to the river, and I saw an ELEPHANT!
I think there will be much more to tell, but for now I am off to eat dinner. Food here is served on a banana leaf (no plate!) and everything-- I mean everything-- is eaten with your fingers (right hand only!). There is silverware available if you really can't bear it.... and just in case I don't make it online tomorrow: HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!
I just saw an ELEPHANT! A giant-- really, really giant-- elephant strolling down the main street of the village. There was a boy riding the elephant and a man walking alongside it. The elephant was at least twice as tall as the man. The elephant was carrying a bundle of palm fronds. They were headed toward the river, so we took off in hot pursuit, hoping to see the elephant get its bath. Once they were around the side of the temple (the elephant is a temple elephant), they stopped, the elephant set down its bundle and bent one front leg, so the boy could use its knee to step on as he climbed down. The elephant then picked the palm fronds back up, turned around, went to the front of the temple and CLIMBED UP THE STONE STEPS-- a full flight of stairs-- and went INTO the temple.
**We will now resume our regularly scheduled broadcast of "Cooking with Brianna goes to India."**
Banana Leaf Ada - a traditional sweet snack in Kerala, perfect for tea time
Ingredients
1 c. roasted rice four (or wheat flour)
a small amount of ghee (or coconut oil)
salt (to taste)
1/2 c. water
1 c. grated coconut
4 T. jaggery (palm sugar)
1 t. cardamom
4 squares of banana leaf (one big leaf, tear off sections)
- Make dough with first four ingredients (flour, ghee, salt, water)
- Grate coconut. Mix with jaggery and cardamom to make filling.
- Roast banana leaf (until soft and supple). (We just roasted it for a few seconds over a gas burner.)
- Spread thin layer of dough on leaf. Cover with filling. Fold in half (the same direction as the grooves of the leaf).
-Steam 10-15 minutes.
Remarkably easy! And tasty! I made these this afternoon in my cooking lesson, and then promptly took the tasty results to afternoon tea to share with my new friends here at the Vijnana Kala Vedi Cultural Centre (http://www.vijnanakalavedi.org/). A few notes about the recipe. I know you can buy rice flour in the US, and Nisha, my teacher, said you could roast it yourself (you can buy it already roasted here). She also said wheat flour would work. The dough is very soft and fine. It almost feels like it was made with confectioners sugar (I didn't feel the flour before it was wet, but I expect it is very fine). Actually, the best way I can describe the consistency is to say it is like the middle state of that cornstarch & water mix that stays firm when you play with it and goes all soft when it sits still. We grated the coconut ourselves (tomorrow I learn the proper way to shop one open) on a nifty device that clamps to the table. It is like a flat spoon with sharp little teeth all the way around that scrape the meat of the coconut. The jaggery looks like a stone, but it is soft enough to grate with the edge of a knife. I think you could replace this with any natural sweetener. We also peeled the cardamom seeds and crushed them ourselves. We steamed them in a pan made for making idlis (a breakfast food, more on that later). I really want to bring one of these pans home!
Today I also took a group yoga class and my first individual Kathakali class. Tomorrow I will also join the group Kalarippayatt (martial arts) class. More on these later (it's almost dinner time), but I must share....
The inevitable has happened. I puked yesterday. Repeatedly. Shortly after I got off the train and again after I arrived at the cultural centre. I don't think it was actual food poisoning or any of the other nasty things you can get from food or water here, as I recovered pretty quickly. I think it was just a combination of not sleeping that well on the overnight train (I took sleeper class-- no AC and three berths in the space of only two in the upper classes), getting overheated, not eating much on the train, etc, etc. I had my sleeper berth to myself during the night (thank goodness), but in the morning there were 13 people sitting in our little compartment that was meant to hold 6 (I have no idea, but no one seemed to check tickets for that portion on the trip-- everyone was very nice and well dressed, but I think they just pile on). The train was also too crowded to get to the bathroom (not that I really wanted to visit it with so many people using it....). Anyway, I felt nauseous on the train but survived the ride. I got off at the station in Chengannur and walked through town looking for a bank. I was waiting for them to restock the ATM with cash and felt really queasy, so I walked around the corner and found an overgrown grassy area..... feeling better, I went back to the ATM, got my money, took a rickshaw to the centre, got checked in, and then puked again, with poor Bala-- the director-- watching. I spent the afternoon resting (in my bed caged with a mosquito net). At one point, I went to get something out of my pack and sat on the floor. The tile felt so nice and cool, I ended up laying on the floor hugging my pack for a while. Between not feeling well (you know when you are so sick it seems like the world might just end?), some muggy overcast weather, and realizing that tomorrow is Thanksgiving (how did that happen? isn't it still early October?), I was feeling rather down last night and this morning. And this afternoon things are looking up: my classes were great, I am getting to know the other students (although three I really like are leaving this weekend!), I went for a nice walk to the river, and I saw an ELEPHANT!
I think there will be much more to tell, but for now I am off to eat dinner. Food here is served on a banana leaf (no plate!) and everything-- I mean everything-- is eaten with your fingers (right hand only!). There is silverware available if you really can't bear it.... and just in case I don't make it online tomorrow: HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Bengaluru?
"Ahh, a good woman with strong muscles!" I could hear a voice behind me say as I heaved my pack on to the upper berth. I turned around and was met with a mirthful grin from an Indian gentleman. I laughed, and climbed up after my pack, read for a few minutes, and fell asleep (three nights in a row of no more than five hours sleep had caught up with me).
I woke up sometime later, groggy, and was greeted with, "You can't sleep the whole day away! You should be looking out the window and seeing the country. You can sleep when you get back to wherever you are from! You missed the hill station. Beautiful! 2000m, where all the British and now the wealthy people from Bombay have weekend houses." It was the same man, still with a friendly smile. I explained the jetlag and clambered down. He pointed out my daytime seat. It was a sleeper car, so there are a variety of configurations of benches that fold in to seats or sleeper berths, depending on the time of day. Our seats were next to the window, facing each other. My new friend turned out to be Dinker, who was on his way to Bangalore to cheer on the Indian cricket team in their match against Britain. He's lived in London for 40ish years, but still roots for India. His son and daughter are about my age, both doctors. We chatted away most of the afternoon, while enjoying the view from our window, getting to know the other passengers traveling near us, and tasting treats from on-board vendors and those at the stations. Dinker made sure I got off whenever the train stopped for a few minutes to stretch and walk ("Exercise and circulation are important! We aren't getting enough sitting on this train all day!").
(I'll interrupt the story here to say that normally when I fly, people look at me little strangely: before the flight I like to do some yoga poses and I'm always sitting cross-legged wherever I go. Let's just say that I wasn't the only person doing stretches on the platform and plenty of men and women of all ages sit cross-legged here.)
As the train slowed at one stop, he pointed out the window and asked if I had tried a certain fruit piled high at the fruit stall. I hadn't, so we hurried off the train to buy a sack-- and carefully wash it-- before the train pulled out again. The fruit was "bor". It is about the size and shape of a roma tomato, but not as red (more similar in color to winter tomatoes, if you have seen those). The texture and taste of the flesh remind me of a pear, but perhaps a bit spicier. They are small, so we each ate several and then started offering them to the other passengers we had befriended.
We had a number of children in our carraige. Three of them (two girls age five, one boy age two) kept stopping by to talk and play and climb like monkeys all over the bars. Shortly before dinner was delivered (veg thali and chapatis), I was singing "the hokey pokey", "head shoulders knees and toes", and "if you're happy and you know it" with them. Not only do these kids speak English, they know our songs too! This morning they asked me to play "stone paper scissors" with them. One of the girls played scissors on every single round.
Dinker kept teasing the children. They would ask where he was going and he would reply "Bengaluru!" They would laugh and scream and say "But this train goes to Bangalore!" The joke is that the two names are, in fact, for the same city. Many places in India have two names, a colonial name and a "new" name (that is usually the original name). I believe Bangalore changed names in 2006. Mumbai (formerly and often still known as Bombay) is another example.
I used an Indian toilet for the first time-- while on the moving train! An Indian toilet is squatting toilet, basically a hole with a place on either side for your feet. It's like being out in the woods, except with more wobbling as the train zips down the tracks.
The train ride went so quickly, I probably only spent a half hour or so reading. I slept well, for almost ten hours! (Even with an afternoon cup of chai from the chai-wallah that circulates up and down the train.) All in all, a great experience!
Even from the train, it is apparent that Bengaluru is a different sort of Indian city. Many of the same shanty structures around the outside of trash, plenty of laundry hung out to dry, cows and goats, and heaps of trash, but there's an addition: giant billboards for electronics and technology companies (including Google). Bangalore is not only India's modern IT hub, but it has a history of technological advancement as well. It was the first city in India with electric street lights!
I checked my bag at the cloak room and grabbed an autorickshaw over to Lalbagh Botanical Garden (Giulia, Rachelle, Mark, Jeff-- you would have loved it!). Almost all of the trees had labels with scientific names, common names, and place of origin. I saw lots of familiar species (varieties of palms and ficus, two mango trees, and a bunch of poincianas). Unfortunately, the cacti house was padlocked shut. Two of my favorites were the tamarind tree and the Bombax. The tamarind tree was covered in dangling pods. I used to buy them at the grocery store in Phoenix; inside the pods are big smooth seeds covered a tart pulp, almost like a fruit rollup in consistency. You could suck on them and eventually the pulp would melt in your mouth. The Bombax tree was enormous. (There are pictures.) You might know it by its other names: Silk Cotton or Kapok tree. Their gray bark wrinkles around the base of each branch, making it look rather like an elephant's trunk.
I am here visiting Catherine, a friend I met while hiking in New Hampshire (see the blog post from June). In a true "it's a small world" story, my friend Kathleen and I met Catherine and her father Chuck while we were all hiking in the White Mountains. They live in New Hampshire, but Chuck runs an IT company based here in Bangalore, and Catherine is studying in a really cool international studies program. She spent her freshman year of college in Costa Rica and is spending this year here in Bangalore.
I woke up sometime later, groggy, and was greeted with, "You can't sleep the whole day away! You should be looking out the window and seeing the country. You can sleep when you get back to wherever you are from! You missed the hill station. Beautiful! 2000m, where all the British and now the wealthy people from Bombay have weekend houses." It was the same man, still with a friendly smile. I explained the jetlag and clambered down. He pointed out my daytime seat. It was a sleeper car, so there are a variety of configurations of benches that fold in to seats or sleeper berths, depending on the time of day. Our seats were next to the window, facing each other. My new friend turned out to be Dinker, who was on his way to Bangalore to cheer on the Indian cricket team in their match against Britain. He's lived in London for 40ish years, but still roots for India. His son and daughter are about my age, both doctors. We chatted away most of the afternoon, while enjoying the view from our window, getting to know the other passengers traveling near us, and tasting treats from on-board vendors and those at the stations. Dinker made sure I got off whenever the train stopped for a few minutes to stretch and walk ("Exercise and circulation are important! We aren't getting enough sitting on this train all day!").
(I'll interrupt the story here to say that normally when I fly, people look at me little strangely: before the flight I like to do some yoga poses and I'm always sitting cross-legged wherever I go. Let's just say that I wasn't the only person doing stretches on the platform and plenty of men and women of all ages sit cross-legged here.)
As the train slowed at one stop, he pointed out the window and asked if I had tried a certain fruit piled high at the fruit stall. I hadn't, so we hurried off the train to buy a sack-- and carefully wash it-- before the train pulled out again. The fruit was "bor". It is about the size and shape of a roma tomato, but not as red (more similar in color to winter tomatoes, if you have seen those). The texture and taste of the flesh remind me of a pear, but perhaps a bit spicier. They are small, so we each ate several and then started offering them to the other passengers we had befriended.
We had a number of children in our carraige. Three of them (two girls age five, one boy age two) kept stopping by to talk and play and climb like monkeys all over the bars. Shortly before dinner was delivered (veg thali and chapatis), I was singing "the hokey pokey", "head shoulders knees and toes", and "if you're happy and you know it" with them. Not only do these kids speak English, they know our songs too! This morning they asked me to play "stone paper scissors" with them. One of the girls played scissors on every single round.
Dinker kept teasing the children. They would ask where he was going and he would reply "Bengaluru!" They would laugh and scream and say "But this train goes to Bangalore!" The joke is that the two names are, in fact, for the same city. Many places in India have two names, a colonial name and a "new" name (that is usually the original name). I believe Bangalore changed names in 2006. Mumbai (formerly and often still known as Bombay) is another example.
I used an Indian toilet for the first time-- while on the moving train! An Indian toilet is squatting toilet, basically a hole with a place on either side for your feet. It's like being out in the woods, except with more wobbling as the train zips down the tracks.
The train ride went so quickly, I probably only spent a half hour or so reading. I slept well, for almost ten hours! (Even with an afternoon cup of chai from the chai-wallah that circulates up and down the train.) All in all, a great experience!
Even from the train, it is apparent that Bengaluru is a different sort of Indian city. Many of the same shanty structures around the outside of trash, plenty of laundry hung out to dry, cows and goats, and heaps of trash, but there's an addition: giant billboards for electronics and technology companies (including Google). Bangalore is not only India's modern IT hub, but it has a history of technological advancement as well. It was the first city in India with electric street lights!
I checked my bag at the cloak room and grabbed an autorickshaw over to Lalbagh Botanical Garden (Giulia, Rachelle, Mark, Jeff-- you would have loved it!). Almost all of the trees had labels with scientific names, common names, and place of origin. I saw lots of familiar species (varieties of palms and ficus, two mango trees, and a bunch of poincianas). Unfortunately, the cacti house was padlocked shut. Two of my favorites were the tamarind tree and the Bombax. The tamarind tree was covered in dangling pods. I used to buy them at the grocery store in Phoenix; inside the pods are big smooth seeds covered a tart pulp, almost like a fruit rollup in consistency. You could suck on them and eventually the pulp would melt in your mouth. The Bombax tree was enormous. (There are pictures.) You might know it by its other names: Silk Cotton or Kapok tree. Their gray bark wrinkles around the base of each branch, making it look rather like an elephant's trunk.
I am here visiting Catherine, a friend I met while hiking in New Hampshire (see the blog post from June). In a true "it's a small world" story, my friend Kathleen and I met Catherine and her father Chuck while we were all hiking in the White Mountains. They live in New Hampshire, but Chuck runs an IT company based here in Bangalore, and Catherine is studying in a really cool international studies program. She spent her freshman year of college in Costa Rica and is spending this year here in Bangalore.
Friday, November 21, 2008
chooo choooo
The internet cafe is closing (and I need to get to bed anyway.... jetlag is such a pain!), but a quick note to say that tomorrow I am hopping on a 8am train to Bangalore... that arrives at 8am on Sunday. Yep, 24 hours on a train. Should have much to tell. I also have much to tell about my visit today to the Dharavi slums. But I think the internet cafe closed sixty seconds ago....
PS I had more amazing food today. Veg korma for lunch and fresh squeezed sugar cane juice for a snack and some veg roll from a street stall for dinner-- a renowned street stall (I don't know what it was because we just told the guy to bring us the best thing)
PS I had more amazing food today. Veg korma for lunch and fresh squeezed sugar cane juice for a snack and some veg roll from a street stall for dinner-- a renowned street stall (I don't know what it was because we just told the guy to bring us the best thing)
Thursday, November 20, 2008
So far, so great
Confession: I almost went to see the new James Bond movie this evening. I didn't even realize it had been released until I was on the plane last night. The Qatar Airways magazine had a few articles on the movie. Then this evening I was walking back to my hostel and went by a movie theater. Movies are only Rs70 (Rs = rupees). The exchange hovers around US$1 = Rs45 (today I saw it for Rs49), so that's less than two dollars. But alas, they are just showing it once a day (2pm) and I had missed the showing by about 4 hours. There is much I want to do here in Mumbai (and one more day to do it), but if I need a cool, dark respite tomorrow afternoon, you know where I'll be.....
Speaking of getting news from in-flight magazines, I have had really only two sources of news in recent weeks. The Economist issue with all the election results (the farm was I staying doesn't have internet, but they do get The Economist). That was a nice issue to see. A little funny to think I didn't know Obama won Florida until more than a week after the fact.... I also picked up The Wall Street Journal in the Rome airport on Wednesday. I read it cover to cover. I didn't miss the news the entire time I was in Italy, but then, when it was in front of me, I devoured it. And then I'd had enough.
Sitting in the airport in Rome, a song came on that sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I had this sudden happy feeling, but something was off... I started thinking it must be a cover of a song I knew. Then the lyrics started and I recognized it: "Singing Sweet Home Alabama All Summer Long." I only heard it once, maybe twice, at home, and I had the same reaction: "hey, I know this song... no wait, no I don't... what is it?" Not as good as the song they pay tribute to, but I enjoyed it, as I munched on my final slice on Italian pizza.
The taxis I mentioned in my earlier post? They are black with yellow roofs. Some are decorated: window stickers or pompons on the back bumper. And apparently there are over 40,000 of them in Mumbai. When I walked out of the airport this morning, I really felt like I had been dropped into some colonial era movie set. I've been paying extra attention crossing streets today (Italy was good practice for that), remembering to look at opposite way! (You drive on the left here... thank the Brits). Best sign I saw today: No Parking - Tyres Will Be Deflated. (Forget towing, they deal with it themselves)
I knew there would be a lot of differences between Italy and India, and they made me extra appreciative of certain little things the last few weeks. Like being able to drink water straight from the tap, or even from public fountains in villages and cities alike. Or eating raw vegetables and fresh salads. I ate a lot of pasta the last few weeks, but fortunately I ate a lot of salad too. Speaking of which, my pack seems to have gained weight-- a fair amount, which is weird. I didn't souvenir shop in Italy, but the few random things I picked up weigh a fair amount. I, on the other hand, don't seem to have gained much weight, if any. I thought I had after a few weeks, but my belt is on the same hole...
One other difference: the language. Thanks to the similarities to English, Spanish (which I don't speak but have been exposed to quite a bit of), and Latin, I could understand a fair amount of Italian, and the key phrases are very manageable. Hindi is another story. A very different story, or rather, a very different language. To say nothing of the 17 squillion other languages spoken here (anybody want to guess the actual number of official languages?). Fortunately, plenty of people here speak English (again, thank the Brits).
For lunch I had veggie samosas, bhaigan bhartha, rice, and a mango lassi. Definitely the best samosas and bhaigan bhartha I have ever had. For Rs105 (remember the conversion rate?). It got me sweating a bit, but then again I was sweating to begin (I think it was 28 degrees Celsius when the plane landed this morning-- that's about 82F, but after the start of winter in Italy, it felt pretty warm). But, it reminded me of an ayurvedic principle: to cool down, one does not have a cool beverage, one has a warm beverage. Having a cool beverage triggers warming mechanisms to bring equilibrium, whereas a warm beverage induces the bodies natural cooling mechanism- in other words, sweat!
Maybe because I am in Mumbai, not Delhi, the touts and street vendors have been much less aggressive than I expected. In fact, they are not pushy at all- a shake of the head, a hand wave, or a smile and clear no are plenty. Most of the areas I walked though today were much less crowded than, say, NYC's Chinatown. And less weird, because the bootleg DVDs were out in the open, but quietly whispered as you passed by. It was weird to be trotted after by a beggar child. I've seen children begging, but this one only came up to my knee. She was with her mother and only stayed with me half a block. I am told that there are plenty of places here in Mumbai that will feed and shelter street kids, but many opt for begging because the money is better.
Speaking of money... I hate feeling like a tourist, and I try not to gawk at people. It's why you won't see many pictures of people on my camera: I don't want them to feel like animals in a zoo, but when you ask permission, the photos are less candid. But here, where I am paying Rs165 (less than US$4) for a hostel with a locker and breakfast included and less than US$2 for lunch.... and the average daily income in Mumbai is only Rs134 (that's under US$3).... and that's three times the national average. Oh, and remember, it's an average.... so for all the people here who make much more than, there are more who make even less. I am curious to know the median income (any of my math rockstars remember the difference and why it would be insightful to know both?). Over 55% of Mumbai's population lives in slums. No conclusions yet, but I'm thinking about it and I expect I'll be sorting this all out for a while.
Oh, and for those begging for photos, I have a new excuse. I got my first wish: internet here is cheaper than Italy. But it is also painfully slow. I think I might break this computer if I hooked my 8GB memory card to it. So, I promise there will be pictures.... eventually!
Hmmm, it is much later than I intended to be up this evening. Apparently jetlag has hit. I am now 10 1/2 hours ahead of EST, and 4 1/2 hours ahead of Italy and my internal clock (love the 1/2 difference), but I have somewhere to be in the morning (gasp! a schedule! actually, I've been getting up between 6:45 and 7:15am almost every day, sometimes even ealier, rarely much later), so I better scoot on out of here and see if I can get some sleep. My morning nap (which I desperately needed) was probably a bit longer prudent.
Speaking of getting news from in-flight magazines, I have had really only two sources of news in recent weeks. The Economist issue with all the election results (the farm was I staying doesn't have internet, but they do get The Economist). That was a nice issue to see. A little funny to think I didn't know Obama won Florida until more than a week after the fact.... I also picked up The Wall Street Journal in the Rome airport on Wednesday. I read it cover to cover. I didn't miss the news the entire time I was in Italy, but then, when it was in front of me, I devoured it. And then I'd had enough.
Sitting in the airport in Rome, a song came on that sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I had this sudden happy feeling, but something was off... I started thinking it must be a cover of a song I knew. Then the lyrics started and I recognized it: "Singing Sweet Home Alabama All Summer Long." I only heard it once, maybe twice, at home, and I had the same reaction: "hey, I know this song... no wait, no I don't... what is it?" Not as good as the song they pay tribute to, but I enjoyed it, as I munched on my final slice on Italian pizza.
The taxis I mentioned in my earlier post? They are black with yellow roofs. Some are decorated: window stickers or pompons on the back bumper. And apparently there are over 40,000 of them in Mumbai. When I walked out of the airport this morning, I really felt like I had been dropped into some colonial era movie set. I've been paying extra attention crossing streets today (Italy was good practice for that), remembering to look at opposite way! (You drive on the left here... thank the Brits). Best sign I saw today: No Parking - Tyres Will Be Deflated. (Forget towing, they deal with it themselves)
I knew there would be a lot of differences between Italy and India, and they made me extra appreciative of certain little things the last few weeks. Like being able to drink water straight from the tap, or even from public fountains in villages and cities alike. Or eating raw vegetables and fresh salads. I ate a lot of pasta the last few weeks, but fortunately I ate a lot of salad too. Speaking of which, my pack seems to have gained weight-- a fair amount, which is weird. I didn't souvenir shop in Italy, but the few random things I picked up weigh a fair amount. I, on the other hand, don't seem to have gained much weight, if any. I thought I had after a few weeks, but my belt is on the same hole...
One other difference: the language. Thanks to the similarities to English, Spanish (which I don't speak but have been exposed to quite a bit of), and Latin, I could understand a fair amount of Italian, and the key phrases are very manageable. Hindi is another story. A very different story, or rather, a very different language. To say nothing of the 17 squillion other languages spoken here (anybody want to guess the actual number of official languages?). Fortunately, plenty of people here speak English (again, thank the Brits).
For lunch I had veggie samosas, bhaigan bhartha, rice, and a mango lassi. Definitely the best samosas and bhaigan bhartha I have ever had. For Rs105 (remember the conversion rate?). It got me sweating a bit, but then again I was sweating to begin (I think it was 28 degrees Celsius when the plane landed this morning-- that's about 82F, but after the start of winter in Italy, it felt pretty warm). But, it reminded me of an ayurvedic principle: to cool down, one does not have a cool beverage, one has a warm beverage. Having a cool beverage triggers warming mechanisms to bring equilibrium, whereas a warm beverage induces the bodies natural cooling mechanism- in other words, sweat!
Maybe because I am in Mumbai, not Delhi, the touts and street vendors have been much less aggressive than I expected. In fact, they are not pushy at all- a shake of the head, a hand wave, or a smile and clear no are plenty. Most of the areas I walked though today were much less crowded than, say, NYC's Chinatown. And less weird, because the bootleg DVDs were out in the open, but quietly whispered as you passed by. It was weird to be trotted after by a beggar child. I've seen children begging, but this one only came up to my knee. She was with her mother and only stayed with me half a block. I am told that there are plenty of places here in Mumbai that will feed and shelter street kids, but many opt for begging because the money is better.
Speaking of money... I hate feeling like a tourist, and I try not to gawk at people. It's why you won't see many pictures of people on my camera: I don't want them to feel like animals in a zoo, but when you ask permission, the photos are less candid. But here, where I am paying Rs165 (less than US$4) for a hostel with a locker and breakfast included and less than US$2 for lunch.... and the average daily income in Mumbai is only Rs134 (that's under US$3).... and that's three times the national average. Oh, and remember, it's an average.... so for all the people here who make much more than, there are more who make even less. I am curious to know the median income (any of my math rockstars remember the difference and why it would be insightful to know both?). Over 55% of Mumbai's population lives in slums. No conclusions yet, but I'm thinking about it and I expect I'll be sorting this all out for a while.
Oh, and for those begging for photos, I have a new excuse. I got my first wish: internet here is cheaper than Italy. But it is also painfully slow. I think I might break this computer if I hooked my 8GB memory card to it. So, I promise there will be pictures.... eventually!
Hmmm, it is much later than I intended to be up this evening. Apparently jetlag has hit. I am now 10 1/2 hours ahead of EST, and 4 1/2 hours ahead of Italy and my internal clock (love the 1/2 difference), but I have somewhere to be in the morning (gasp! a schedule! actually, I've been getting up between 6:45 and 7:15am almost every day, sometimes even ealier, rarely much later), so I better scoot on out of here and see if I can get some sleep. My morning nap (which I desperately needed) was probably a bit longer prudent.
first impressions
The last few days I was in Italy, I kept repeating to myself, "I am going to India. I am going to India this week!" I couldn't get it to feel real. I felt excited, I felt nervous, but it didn't seem like it could possibly be true.
And now I am here! So far, so great. My flight was mostly men (maybe 90%), and the few that took notice of me were pointedly helpful. We arrived at 4am. Getting my bags and customs were a breeze. I hung out in the arrivals hall and read for a bit until the sun came up. Then I took a prepaid taxi to a hostel. After I paid for my taxi, I walked out to the parking area (no hassling or pressuring) and was greeted by a fleet of very clearly 1950s black British cars, Premieres, I think. They are great-- old, but very stylish, and the numbers are handpainted. If I sat up straight in the backseat, my head touched the roof.
As expected, the streets were filled with people, animals, and trash. Children going to school; adults cooking, ironing, bathing, sleeping; dogs picked through garbage piles, skinny cats (much thinner than their Italian cousins), goats, and oxen pulling some kind of tank/cart that looked like it might hold gas or oil and a driver sitting atop the tank. And trash, lots of trash and rubble. When the sun came up, the air was still hazy: I wasn't sure how much was pollution and how much was fog. At this point, I would say it was mostly pollution. At the hostel, I went almost immediately to sleep (my internal clock thought it was 3:30 in the morning, and I hadn't slept but an hour or two while I was traveling).
On my walk to the internet point, I saw the start of a wedding procession. Two horses pulling a giant silver carraige of shiny hammered tin. A 17-piece band in full regalia (by the way, I enjoyed autumn and the start of winter in Italy, but it is now back to swealtering summer weather). The keboard player was in a silver cart that marched the carriage and was pushed by two other men. When the back struck up a tune (they seemed to be warming up), they were fantastic! I couldn't believe I was hearing this live on a random street.
Now I am off to see a bit of Mumbai and book a train ticket to my next destination.
Oh, but first, for all my Indian food-loving friends (you know who you are), I would like to metion that I had veggie samosas at the Doha airport and saag paneer for dinner on my second flight. Hah! I'll let you know what tasty treats I find for lunch and dinner today :)
And now I am here! So far, so great. My flight was mostly men (maybe 90%), and the few that took notice of me were pointedly helpful. We arrived at 4am. Getting my bags and customs were a breeze. I hung out in the arrivals hall and read for a bit until the sun came up. Then I took a prepaid taxi to a hostel. After I paid for my taxi, I walked out to the parking area (no hassling or pressuring) and was greeted by a fleet of very clearly 1950s black British cars, Premieres, I think. They are great-- old, but very stylish, and the numbers are handpainted. If I sat up straight in the backseat, my head touched the roof.
As expected, the streets were filled with people, animals, and trash. Children going to school; adults cooking, ironing, bathing, sleeping; dogs picked through garbage piles, skinny cats (much thinner than their Italian cousins), goats, and oxen pulling some kind of tank/cart that looked like it might hold gas or oil and a driver sitting atop the tank. And trash, lots of trash and rubble. When the sun came up, the air was still hazy: I wasn't sure how much was pollution and how much was fog. At this point, I would say it was mostly pollution. At the hostel, I went almost immediately to sleep (my internal clock thought it was 3:30 in the morning, and I hadn't slept but an hour or two while I was traveling).
On my walk to the internet point, I saw the start of a wedding procession. Two horses pulling a giant silver carraige of shiny hammered tin. A 17-piece band in full regalia (by the way, I enjoyed autumn and the start of winter in Italy, but it is now back to swealtering summer weather). The keboard player was in a silver cart that marched the carriage and was pushed by two other men. When the back struck up a tune (they seemed to be warming up), they were fantastic! I couldn't believe I was hearing this live on a random street.
Now I am off to see a bit of Mumbai and book a train ticket to my next destination.
Oh, but first, for all my Indian food-loving friends (you know who you are), I would like to metion that I had veggie samosas at the Doha airport and saag paneer for dinner on my second flight. Hah! I'll let you know what tasty treats I find for lunch and dinner today :)
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
D'oh
I am currently in the Doha, Qatar airport (airport code: DOH) on my way to Mumbai. Somehow I have found free internet (on a terrible computer, but hey it's free), so if the blog gets hacked in the next few days.... that's why! Also, it boots you off after ten minutes, so this will be necessarily short.
My flight left Rome today at noon (+1GMT, so six hours ahead of EST) and arrived in Doha at 7:20pm (+3 GMT). I depart again at 10:20pm and arrive in the wee hours of the morning... 4:30am or something equally ridiculous (+5 1/2 GMT, I think... the time zones difference gets weird here).
I ran all over Rome the last two days: Colisseum, Roman Forum, Palatine Hill, Vatican (again), Pantheon (again), Giolitti's gelatteria (again and again) and also did some maintenance tasks (like picking up laundry soap and toothpaste). I wanted to get a bar of soap for washing laundry, instead of liquid or powder. Much easier to travel with. Turns out Italy (where much laundry is still handwashed and almost all is air-dried) is the perfect place to do that.
I didn't think I would even get to breathe the air of Doha, but I did... this is one of those airports where you disembark by a staircase into the open air and onto a waiting bus. So my few breathes of Doha air were distinctly fume-flavored....
I have 56 seconds remaining, so I am going to sign off and go explore.... the airport! Woohoo!
My flight left Rome today at noon (+1GMT, so six hours ahead of EST) and arrived in Doha at 7:20pm (+3 GMT). I depart again at 10:20pm and arrive in the wee hours of the morning... 4:30am or something equally ridiculous (+5 1/2 GMT, I think... the time zones difference gets weird here).
I ran all over Rome the last two days: Colisseum, Roman Forum, Palatine Hill, Vatican (again), Pantheon (again), Giolitti's gelatteria (again and again) and also did some maintenance tasks (like picking up laundry soap and toothpaste). I wanted to get a bar of soap for washing laundry, instead of liquid or powder. Much easier to travel with. Turns out Italy (where much laundry is still handwashed and almost all is air-dried) is the perfect place to do that.
I didn't think I would even get to breathe the air of Doha, but I did... this is one of those airports where you disembark by a staircase into the open air and onto a waiting bus. So my few breathes of Doha air were distinctly fume-flavored....
I have 56 seconds remaining, so I am going to sign off and go explore.... the airport! Woohoo!
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