So I have been lugging around a massive camera taking thousands of pictures of India, but not doing much of anything with them. Fortunately, I have awesome people in my life-- specifically my dad and Martin-- who take care of that for me.
Check the top right side of the blog for a link to my flickr site. My dad last posted India pictures at the end of January, but I don't think I ever mentioned that here (that being during the blog drought and all). Also, at the moment, you can see pictures of the Chinese New Year's party that my parents and Miss Candy hosted at our house. I promise that will one day I will write titles and captions for the photos, but in the meantime the ones my dad has posted are pretty accurate.
And Martin has posted an excellent selection of photos here and there. Most of them are pictures I took, although he did the work of compressing them to a reasonable size, choosing the best ones (he's much more equanimous when it comes to that), and writing captions.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Congratulations Mathletes!
Woohoo! So I am not really following world news these days, but I did get an important headline: the Saint Stephen's MathCounts team took first place in the regional meet and qualified for the state competition!!!
I'm not sure if any of them are still reading this, but a huge CONGRATULATIONS to Harris, Brian, Shelby, Ben, Connor, Shreya, Jarrett, Austin, and Laura. I am so proud of you! I'm wearing my "peace love pi" shirt in your honor (although I only have two t-shirts with me, so I don't have a lot of choice...)
Any Falcon folks who are reading this, please pass on my congratulations to Mr. Hoey and all of the mathletes. And tell them I say good luck at the state meet; I can't wait to hear those results!
I'm not sure if any of them are still reading this, but a huge CONGRATULATIONS to Harris, Brian, Shelby, Ben, Connor, Shreya, Jarrett, Austin, and Laura. I am so proud of you! I'm wearing my "peace love pi" shirt in your honor (although I only have two t-shirts with me, so I don't have a lot of choice...)
Any Falcon folks who are reading this, please pass on my congratulations to Mr. Hoey and all of the mathletes. And tell them I say good luck at the state meet; I can't wait to hear those results!
Camel Alert!
So we have made it to the India of your imagination and THERE ARE CAMELS!!!
Camel Count
Ahmedabad: 3
Jodhpur: 8
I am in love with southern India, but it is different from the India that you see in most images and stories. The landscape, the food, the languages, the clothes... and the camels! We were only in Ahmedabad for a few hours: just long enough to book an overnight bus ticket, eat dinner, and then hop on the bus (and sit in traffic). When we arrived, the bus we took from Vadodara to Ahmedabad had just gotten off the expressway and was pulling in to the city when I nearly fell out the window and snapped my neck: Was that a camel pulling that cart!?!?! I didn't manage to snap a picture in time, but I sat at attention and peered out the window, even more attentively than usual (if that's possible, putting me on a bus in India is a bit like taking your dog for a car ride) and got the next one that went by.
While I'm on the subject on animals in the streets, I should mention the incredible amount of livestock roaming the roads and lanes of India. There are, of course, the ubiquitous holy cows that everyone talks about and plenty of stray cats and dogs, but I have also seen goats, horses, pigs, and donkeys wandering free, with no ropes or halters or any signs of ownership.
In Italy, the cats and dogs were all fed pasta. Here I see cows lying at the side of the road with a pile of rice or dal in front of them.
The contentment in the eyes of these animals is incredible. They seem perfectly calm and at ease, even as traffic whirls around them and music and horns blare. Whether it is a dog sleeping in the middle of a train platform or a goat knee-deep in a mountain of trash (oh wait, goats like garbage) or a cow walking a placid line as rickshaws weave around her, they don't hurry or get upset. (I don't like the anthropomorphic sound of that last sentence, but there doesn't seem to be another way to say it.) I think I get way more upset about it all. Dogs ripping open plastic bags to find food, cows eating newspaper (even with their four stomachs, it can't have much nutritional value), lame horses pulling carts on hard asphalt streets.
Hmm, I seemed to have wandered off from camel excitement into some pretty unhappy reflections (and that was just about animals living on the streets, I didn't even touch the subject of the people living alongside them). I should say that so far, the beautiful has outweighed the ugly.
Yesterday Martin and I hiked up to the Jodhpur fort and then spotted another hill that we decided to explore. On the way up, we were joined by an adorable pair of dogs who seemed so happy to see us, barking and wiggling and wagging their tails. We made it to the top and spent some time at the Durga temple we found there and watched the sunset from an old lookout in an outer wall of the fort. From there we could see a dirt track that led off to a part of the old city we hadn't explored yet, so we took that way home. Our doggy friends joined us again, until they found a smell that required investigating. In the meantime, we found ourselves in a residental area of teeny tiny lanes and the continuous rows of houses were painted entirely blue inside and out. Up and down stairs, around corners, a few dead ends. We knew the rough direction we needed to go and just kept wandering. Groups of old men were playing cards on platforms between the buildings. Uncountable gods were sheltered in little nooks tucked in the walls. A young man in his flannel pajamas sat on the steps of a simple Ganesh temple, elbows on his keens, chin in his hands, eyes faraway, clearly having a long chat with the Remover of Obstacles. We found an "open air" restaurant (not rooftop but still super cool) in a haveli-- the traditional style of home in Rajasthan. We were the only people eating there. It is a family home, but they have some extra space so they rent rooms and serve meals out of their kitchen.
Today we ate our breakfast at the Mangala Cafe, which was really more of a street stall with a few benches to sit on. Our puris (fried bread goodness!) came on squares of newspaper (standard dishware in India). Halfway through our meal, we realized that we got the personal ads! The ads seemed to be for arranged marriages (not love marriages) and were placed by families, not the individuals themselves. For men and women, the ads included their height, education, and birth month and year (astrological readings are an important part of finding a match). The ads for women seeking men also included the woman's father's occupation. The top priorities were definitely education/career and the family's reputation.
Heehee, I started out writing thinking that I'd just post something quick on animals in India... I think it is time to get going now. More exploring or maybe sari shopping!
Camel Count
Ahmedabad: 3
Jodhpur: 8
I am in love with southern India, but it is different from the India that you see in most images and stories. The landscape, the food, the languages, the clothes... and the camels! We were only in Ahmedabad for a few hours: just long enough to book an overnight bus ticket, eat dinner, and then hop on the bus (and sit in traffic). When we arrived, the bus we took from Vadodara to Ahmedabad had just gotten off the expressway and was pulling in to the city when I nearly fell out the window and snapped my neck: Was that a camel pulling that cart!?!?! I didn't manage to snap a picture in time, but I sat at attention and peered out the window, even more attentively than usual (if that's possible, putting me on a bus in India is a bit like taking your dog for a car ride) and got the next one that went by.
While I'm on the subject on animals in the streets, I should mention the incredible amount of livestock roaming the roads and lanes of India. There are, of course, the ubiquitous holy cows that everyone talks about and plenty of stray cats and dogs, but I have also seen goats, horses, pigs, and donkeys wandering free, with no ropes or halters or any signs of ownership.
In Italy, the cats and dogs were all fed pasta. Here I see cows lying at the side of the road with a pile of rice or dal in front of them.
The contentment in the eyes of these animals is incredible. They seem perfectly calm and at ease, even as traffic whirls around them and music and horns blare. Whether it is a dog sleeping in the middle of a train platform or a goat knee-deep in a mountain of trash (oh wait, goats like garbage) or a cow walking a placid line as rickshaws weave around her, they don't hurry or get upset. (I don't like the anthropomorphic sound of that last sentence, but there doesn't seem to be another way to say it.) I think I get way more upset about it all. Dogs ripping open plastic bags to find food, cows eating newspaper (even with their four stomachs, it can't have much nutritional value), lame horses pulling carts on hard asphalt streets.
Hmm, I seemed to have wandered off from camel excitement into some pretty unhappy reflections (and that was just about animals living on the streets, I didn't even touch the subject of the people living alongside them). I should say that so far, the beautiful has outweighed the ugly.
Yesterday Martin and I hiked up to the Jodhpur fort and then spotted another hill that we decided to explore. On the way up, we were joined by an adorable pair of dogs who seemed so happy to see us, barking and wiggling and wagging their tails. We made it to the top and spent some time at the Durga temple we found there and watched the sunset from an old lookout in an outer wall of the fort. From there we could see a dirt track that led off to a part of the old city we hadn't explored yet, so we took that way home. Our doggy friends joined us again, until they found a smell that required investigating. In the meantime, we found ourselves in a residental area of teeny tiny lanes and the continuous rows of houses were painted entirely blue inside and out. Up and down stairs, around corners, a few dead ends. We knew the rough direction we needed to go and just kept wandering. Groups of old men were playing cards on platforms between the buildings. Uncountable gods were sheltered in little nooks tucked in the walls. A young man in his flannel pajamas sat on the steps of a simple Ganesh temple, elbows on his keens, chin in his hands, eyes faraway, clearly having a long chat with the Remover of Obstacles. We found an "open air" restaurant (not rooftop but still super cool) in a haveli-- the traditional style of home in Rajasthan. We were the only people eating there. It is a family home, but they have some extra space so they rent rooms and serve meals out of their kitchen.
Today we ate our breakfast at the Mangala Cafe, which was really more of a street stall with a few benches to sit on. Our puris (fried bread goodness!) came on squares of newspaper (standard dishware in India). Halfway through our meal, we realized that we got the personal ads! The ads seemed to be for arranged marriages (not love marriages) and were placed by families, not the individuals themselves. For men and women, the ads included their height, education, and birth month and year (astrological readings are an important part of finding a match). The ads for women seeking men also included the woman's father's occupation. The top priorities were definitely education/career and the family's reputation.
Heehee, I started out writing thinking that I'd just post something quick on animals in India... I think it is time to get going now. More exploring or maybe sari shopping!
Melting Snowball... Hope the Ark is Ready
Heeheehee... Yep, lots of blog updates. And what's below for the month of February is only about a third of what I planned to write.... but I decided it was better to get something posted than to have everything perfect and never posted... the giant snowball of getting behind and trying to catch up! I was trying to write them all and post then in order, but I just kept getting further and further behind.
The posts from "Cliff Notes" onward are posted in chronological order top to bottom. Usually it is the other way around (newest posts on top), but since I wrote these offline I posted them so that you could just read straight down the page.
They say pride goest (goeth?) before a fall... I was so pleased in December to have written regular posts! And then *boom* January: 4 posts. Oh well. It was actually pretty cool: I spent less than 10 hours online for the entire month of January. That's probably less time than I have spent online in any month for at least ten years... or whenever it was that internet came into my life. And I didn't miss it. Actually, the few times I went online, I couldn't wait to get away from the computer. I could actually smell the computers when I went in to the internet cafe. I thought I had kicked the habit, but I will admit that when I started going online again in February, all of a sudden I was obsessed. I was having cravings to go online. All of my online time for the beginning of Fenruary was spent finishing up an application for grad school. I had done most of it before I left, but not quite all.... even though I knew it would be a pain to do from India. Big thanks to my long distance proofreaders and mailing staff :) It was quite weird to be back in that world...
So, there may be more backlog blogposts, but for now I'm going to just see about updating regularly :)
The posts from "Cliff Notes" onward are posted in chronological order top to bottom. Usually it is the other way around (newest posts on top), but since I wrote these offline I posted them so that you could just read straight down the page.
They say pride goest (goeth?) before a fall... I was so pleased in December to have written regular posts! And then *boom* January: 4 posts. Oh well. It was actually pretty cool: I spent less than 10 hours online for the entire month of January. That's probably less time than I have spent online in any month for at least ten years... or whenever it was that internet came into my life. And I didn't miss it. Actually, the few times I went online, I couldn't wait to get away from the computer. I could actually smell the computers when I went in to the internet cafe. I thought I had kicked the habit, but I will admit that when I started going online again in February, all of a sudden I was obsessed. I was having cravings to go online. All of my online time for the beginning of Fenruary was spent finishing up an application for grad school. I had done most of it before I left, but not quite all.... even though I knew it would be a pain to do from India. Big thanks to my long distance proofreaders and mailing staff :) It was quite weird to be back in that world...
So, there may be more backlog blogposts, but for now I'm going to just see about updating regularly :)
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Cliff Notes
To help make sense of the blog backlog, here is a summary of where I've been since New Year's. Like the US, India is divided into states, so I have included state names to help sort out the geography a bit. My itinerary hasn't made much sense geographically speaking. I have been up and down the southwestern coast of India a couple of times. Fortunately, the Konkan railway is incredibly scenic. I am quite content watching the beautiful land and water and people roll by as I sit in the doorway of a train.
December 30 - January 2: visited Aranmula (where VKV, the cultural centre, is located, in the state of Kerala), celebrated New Year's Eve with friends
Jan 2-4: visited Varkala (very touristy beach town, also in Kerala) with VKV friends, see this post
Jan 4-12: visited Amritapuri, Amma's ashram (Kerala), see this post
Jan 12-15: returned to Aranmula for a concert performed by my friends Tony, Leah, Lucy & Claire as well as local musicians/teachers from VKV; took a few days off to work on my grad school applications, ship a package back to the US, go for a long walk/hike with Martin, and do some of the other things in the area that I had wanted to do while studying at VKV but was always too busy to do....
Jan 16-18: visited Gokarna with friends I made while staying at Amma's ashram, Gokarna is this fantastic little beach town. For now it is still like other little towns in India, but you can see the signs of change and feel how quickly more change will happen. Instead of staying in the town, we hiked over an inactive volcano to a more remote beach (with no vehicle access) and rented little palm thatch huts with hard-packed dirt floors. (In the state of Karnataka)
Jan 19-31: went to Arambol with my ashram friends, stayed at Vrindavan's house (he's lived in India for about eight years and in Arambol for the last few, in India's tiniest state, Goa)
Feb 1: visited the giant Shiva statue in Murdeshwar (Karnataka)
Feb 2: visited approximately 108 temples in Udupi (Karnataka)
Feb 3: met my friend Martin (from VKV... well, he's from Sweden, but we met at VKV) in Ernakulam (back in Kerala)
Feb 3-6: Ernakulam and Fort Cochin (Kerala)
Feb 6-8: Kozhikode (aka Calicut, in Kerala)
Feb 8-11: Kasaragode & mystery backwater location (Kerala)
Feb 12-18: Mumbai & Thane (suburb of Mumbai, in the state of Maharastra)
Feb 18-20: Nasik & Trimbak (Maharastra)
Feb 21-present: Vadodara (state of Gujurat)
December 30 - January 2: visited Aranmula (where VKV, the cultural centre, is located, in the state of Kerala), celebrated New Year's Eve with friends
Jan 2-4: visited Varkala (very touristy beach town, also in Kerala) with VKV friends, see this post
Jan 4-12: visited Amritapuri, Amma's ashram (Kerala), see this post
Jan 12-15: returned to Aranmula for a concert performed by my friends Tony, Leah, Lucy & Claire as well as local musicians/teachers from VKV; took a few days off to work on my grad school applications, ship a package back to the US, go for a long walk/hike with Martin, and do some of the other things in the area that I had wanted to do while studying at VKV but was always too busy to do....
Jan 16-18: visited Gokarna with friends I made while staying at Amma's ashram, Gokarna is this fantastic little beach town. For now it is still like other little towns in India, but you can see the signs of change and feel how quickly more change will happen. Instead of staying in the town, we hiked over an inactive volcano to a more remote beach (with no vehicle access) and rented little palm thatch huts with hard-packed dirt floors. (In the state of Karnataka)
Jan 19-31: went to Arambol with my ashram friends, stayed at Vrindavan's house (he's lived in India for about eight years and in Arambol for the last few, in India's tiniest state, Goa)
Feb 1: visited the giant Shiva statue in Murdeshwar (Karnataka)
Feb 2: visited approximately 108 temples in Udupi (Karnataka)
Feb 3: met my friend Martin (from VKV... well, he's from Sweden, but we met at VKV) in Ernakulam (back in Kerala)
Feb 3-6: Ernakulam and Fort Cochin (Kerala)
Feb 6-8: Kozhikode (aka Calicut, in Kerala)
Feb 8-11: Kasaragode & mystery backwater location (Kerala)
Feb 12-18: Mumbai & Thane (suburb of Mumbai, in the state of Maharastra)
Feb 18-20: Nasik & Trimbak (Maharastra)
Feb 21-present: Vadodara (state of Gujurat)
Spread Love
Years ago my dear friend Giulia wrote down her basic but super tasty tomato sauce recipe for me and at the bottom she added, "Just remember... everything tastes better when it's made with love." Since then, when I cook, especially for others, I try to keep that in mind. When you are hungry or in a hurry, it's so easy to just slap some food together and to get disgruntled ("ugh, I love vegetables, but they take so long to wash and chop!"). It's way more enjoyable to remember why you are cooking, to think of the people who will enjoy the food, and to express gratitude for those who grew it. As with so many things, it's also entertaining to watch how easily your mind will wander off to other topics. No judgement, just keep bringing it back to the moment.
While I was staying in Arambol, we had a lot of fresh fruit, fresh squeezed juices and homecooked food (Vrindavan has a kitchen and is a talented cook). I loved everything I ate, but I did miss the Indian cuisine (a few times I insisted on going out and finding Indian food). Here are some of the food highlights (with thanks to Vrindavan for letting me post the recipes).
Coconut Bliss: Mix coconut milk, cacao powder, fresh dates, and cashews (plain, not salted- this is important!). Put in the freezer for a few hours. Eat and enjoy! Instant bliss, guaranteed.
Better than any ice cream I've ever had!!! (Really, I'm not kidding... I no longer need to travel the world searching for the best ice cream... I found it... and it's vegan!) We also experimented with using coconut milk powder and pineapple juice (no cacao powder). Tasty, but the texture and consistency weren't as perfect.
Sunny Side Up: Carefully scoop out tender coconut meat and lay flat on plate (you have to get the coconut at the right stage: after the jelly has turned to meat but before it is hard and dry). Scoop out a round ball of avocado (preferably just the yellow part) and place on top of the coconut. Sprinkle with black rock salt (other spices, like garam masala, are optional).
Wait until you see the pictures! This looks and tastes just like sunny side up/fried eggs! It may have cured me from my egg addiction. The texture, the smell... everything. The secret is the black salt. You can also mash up half an avocado with black salt and eat it straight (half an avocado is a perfect bowl) or put it on bread for an excellent "egg" salad sandwich (and I don't even like egg salad!).
Avocado Smoothie: Blend avocado, coconut water and meat, and lemon juice. Delicious!
Prasad is food that has first been offered to a god before it is served. By making it an offering first, prasad becomes blessed. I think I've mentioned some of the prasad I've had in temples here. When I was visiting Aranmula, the hotel proprietor gave me payasam from the temple (payasam is a boiled milk dessert with noodles and raisins and cashews, typically served at weddings and feasts). In Kumbakonam, when I was feeling a bit queasy one morning and thinking I wouldn't be able to eat anything, an old man at a temple stopped me and insisted on serving me a warm, sweet rice prasad that was soothing and nourishing. In Mangalore, I had the most spectular trail mix-esque prasad, and in Udupi I had an entire lunch prasad at the Krishna temple.
I know the recipes I described above are all raw and vegan, but Vrindavan cooks too. People always ask what's in his dishes. He's happy to answer, and what's the first ingredient every time? "A little L&D.... love and devotion." Prasad might usually be served in temples, but anyone can make it. All you have to do is make the food an offering of love and devotion. It makes cooking even more fun and the food tastes better, I promise.
While I was staying in Arambol, we had a lot of fresh fruit, fresh squeezed juices and homecooked food (Vrindavan has a kitchen and is a talented cook). I loved everything I ate, but I did miss the Indian cuisine (a few times I insisted on going out and finding Indian food). Here are some of the food highlights (with thanks to Vrindavan for letting me post the recipes).
Coconut Bliss: Mix coconut milk, cacao powder, fresh dates, and cashews (plain, not salted- this is important!). Put in the freezer for a few hours. Eat and enjoy! Instant bliss, guaranteed.
Better than any ice cream I've ever had!!! (Really, I'm not kidding... I no longer need to travel the world searching for the best ice cream... I found it... and it's vegan!) We also experimented with using coconut milk powder and pineapple juice (no cacao powder). Tasty, but the texture and consistency weren't as perfect.
Sunny Side Up: Carefully scoop out tender coconut meat and lay flat on plate (you have to get the coconut at the right stage: after the jelly has turned to meat but before it is hard and dry). Scoop out a round ball of avocado (preferably just the yellow part) and place on top of the coconut. Sprinkle with black rock salt (other spices, like garam masala, are optional).
Wait until you see the pictures! This looks and tastes just like sunny side up/fried eggs! It may have cured me from my egg addiction. The texture, the smell... everything. The secret is the black salt. You can also mash up half an avocado with black salt and eat it straight (half an avocado is a perfect bowl) or put it on bread for an excellent "egg" salad sandwich (and I don't even like egg salad!).
Avocado Smoothie: Blend avocado, coconut water and meat, and lemon juice. Delicious!
Prasad is food that has first been offered to a god before it is served. By making it an offering first, prasad becomes blessed. I think I've mentioned some of the prasad I've had in temples here. When I was visiting Aranmula, the hotel proprietor gave me payasam from the temple (payasam is a boiled milk dessert with noodles and raisins and cashews, typically served at weddings and feasts). In Kumbakonam, when I was feeling a bit queasy one morning and thinking I wouldn't be able to eat anything, an old man at a temple stopped me and insisted on serving me a warm, sweet rice prasad that was soothing and nourishing. In Mangalore, I had the most spectular trail mix-esque prasad, and in Udupi I had an entire lunch prasad at the Krishna temple.
I know the recipes I described above are all raw and vegan, but Vrindavan cooks too. People always ask what's in his dishes. He's happy to answer, and what's the first ingredient every time? "A little L&D.... love and devotion." Prasad might usually be served in temples, but anyone can make it. All you have to do is make the food an offering of love and devotion. It makes cooking even more fun and the food tastes better, I promise.
What does a cow say when it is walking backwards?
In India, "chai" just refers to tea (always served with plenty of milk and sugar), whereas "masala chai" is the chai we think of in the US, spiced with cardamom, cinnamon, anise, etc. Recently a friend gave me a pod of cardamom and told me to chew the little round seeds inside before taking a sip of chai. I did and the tea had the most fantastically fresh and spicy, almost minty taste.
A few weeks ago, Martin and I were hiking through some tiny village and stopped for a cup of roadside chai, brewed on the spot. As we were drinking it, Martin asked, "Did you see how much sugar he put in this?" I answered, "Yes, and do you taste how NOT sweet it is compared to most chai here? Imagine how much sugar is normally in it!" If you look at the pictures I've linked to on Martin's blog, you'll see the place where we got the full-of-sugar but not-so-sweet chai.
At home I always carry a refillable water bottle. Here in India I don't, unfortunately, because I rarely have access to safe water to refill it. Whenever I do, I just refill a disposable bottle. While I was staying at Amma's ashram, I realized what I should be carrying is a reusable CHAI cup! Restaurants and most roadside chai-wallahs serve you in a glass glass, but not on trains... it's little paper or plastic cups that get tossed out the window. When I've finished my chai and am sitting there holding the empty cup-- because there are no garbage cans-- more than once I've had it plucked from my hand and flung in the gutter or along the tracks with the rallying cry "It's India!" I always object. Now I hand the chai-wallah my nifty second-hand, stainless steel cup and they fill it up. Most don't even give it a second look. I wondered if they would find it weird, like most of the cashiers in Bradenton did when I moved home and brought along my canvas grocery bags. It's really cool how in a few years the attitude has changed and all the registers have reusable bags for sale!
Some of the hotels... er, I mean, restaurants in India serve "Chinese" food, but, creative spellers that they are, the signs always read "Chinees" or "Chinease" or "Chiness". Only once have we seen it spelled correctly, on a street vendors cart (Chinatown Chinese). Once I spotted a sign that said "Chainese" and, incredulous, asked Martin, "How did they get an A in there? I know they never spell it correctly, but an A???" He pointed out that here the pronunciation makes perfect sense: chai-nese.
The top three best cups of chai I've had in India: Crown Family Restaurant in Palakhad (when we went to see my Kathakali teacher perform); a tiny roadside stall with a sweet old man and lady, Martin and I were hiking between villages so I am not even sure where we were; the Vegetarian Refreshment Room at the Kozhikode train station (in my reusable cup!).
The coolest cup of chai I've had in India was made with green tea, coconut milk, fresh ginger, and jaggery (a natural sweetener made from dried palm sap). If you're reading carefully, I bet you can figure out who made it.
I think I may be addicted to chai, Indian style. My favorite chai still tastes more strongly of black tea than of sugar, but the longer I'm here, the sweeter I like it....
A few weeks ago, Martin and I were hiking through some tiny village and stopped for a cup of roadside chai, brewed on the spot. As we were drinking it, Martin asked, "Did you see how much sugar he put in this?" I answered, "Yes, and do you taste how NOT sweet it is compared to most chai here? Imagine how much sugar is normally in it!" If you look at the pictures I've linked to on Martin's blog, you'll see the place where we got the full-of-sugar but not-so-sweet chai.
At home I always carry a refillable water bottle. Here in India I don't, unfortunately, because I rarely have access to safe water to refill it. Whenever I do, I just refill a disposable bottle. While I was staying at Amma's ashram, I realized what I should be carrying is a reusable CHAI cup! Restaurants and most roadside chai-wallahs serve you in a glass glass, but not on trains... it's little paper or plastic cups that get tossed out the window. When I've finished my chai and am sitting there holding the empty cup-- because there are no garbage cans-- more than once I've had it plucked from my hand and flung in the gutter or along the tracks with the rallying cry "It's India!" I always object. Now I hand the chai-wallah my nifty second-hand, stainless steel cup and they fill it up. Most don't even give it a second look. I wondered if they would find it weird, like most of the cashiers in Bradenton did when I moved home and brought along my canvas grocery bags. It's really cool how in a few years the attitude has changed and all the registers have reusable bags for sale!
Some of the hotels... er, I mean, restaurants in India serve "Chinese" food, but, creative spellers that they are, the signs always read "Chinees" or "Chinease" or "Chiness". Only once have we seen it spelled correctly, on a street vendors cart (Chinatown Chinese). Once I spotted a sign that said "Chainese" and, incredulous, asked Martin, "How did they get an A in there? I know they never spell it correctly, but an A???" He pointed out that here the pronunciation makes perfect sense: chai-nese.
The top three best cups of chai I've had in India: Crown Family Restaurant in Palakhad (when we went to see my Kathakali teacher perform); a tiny roadside stall with a sweet old man and lady, Martin and I were hiking between villages so I am not even sure where we were; the Vegetarian Refreshment Room at the Kozhikode train station (in my reusable cup!).
The coolest cup of chai I've had in India was made with green tea, coconut milk, fresh ginger, and jaggery (a natural sweetener made from dried palm sap). If you're reading carefully, I bet you can figure out who made it.
I think I may be addicted to chai, Indian style. My favorite chai still tastes more strongly of black tea than of sugar, but the longer I'm here, the sweeter I like it....
Murdeshwar (not as sinister as it sounds)
My favorite seat on the trains of India is not in a seat at all. My favorite seat is in the doorway at the end of the car. I was perched there, snapping pictures on the ride to Gokarna, when I spotted two huge bumps on the horizon. They were backlit from the sunset, and all I could make out were the silhouettes. One looked like the gopuram of a temple, and the other seemed to be a huge statue. Though the sky was filled with warm colors, there was barely enough light left to take pictures. I snapped a few and tried to ask the women around me what it was. "Shiva, Shiva," came the answer.
I nearly flung myself off the train when it pulled in to the station. But my friends were expecting me in Gokarna, and it was nearly dark... not a great time to start exploring a new town I know nothing about. I stay on the train, but I take a picture of the station name and decide to stop on my return trip. After the light was gone, I moved to a real seat and took a closer look at the picture. I zoom in... and in... and in... it is Shiva! I can see his four arms and a giant trident! Any doubts I had about carrying this huge camera are erased by its amazing resolution. And I am resolved to go to Murdeshwar.
A few weeks later, I am headed back from Arambol, in the north of Goa. There are no trains that stop in Murdeshwar, so I have to get off at Bhatkal, one station further south. Once again I can see the giant Shiva (40m tall, I am told) from the train. In Bhatkal, I grab a bus that's a cross between a 15-passenger van and a short yellow school bus. My bag gets strapped to the roof for the first time on this trip. I am not sure how many people the bus should seat-- looks like 15 or so-- but I lose count at 30 passengers. I am in the furthest back seat, but fortunately Murdeshwar is the last stop so I have no problem getting off the bus. I ask the driver which way the temple is and he points over my shoulder. I turn to look and there is the statue looming over everything else. I realize I'll have no problem finding it: this town is small and the statue is not.
I stop by a hotel (most signs that say "hotel" in India actually signify that it is a restaurant) that serves food and also has rooms and convince them to store my bags for a few hours for a small fee. They want me to take a room at a discounted rate for the afternoon, but I persevere--adding that I'll eat lunch here, too-- and they agree. Then I am off to the temple. The town has one main road, leading down to the shore. The temple and the hill with the statue jut out into the water, with views of the beaches and wooden fishing boats. The temple is sweet and lively. I have ladoo prasad and fill my water bottle with filtered water. Lunch is also being served. There are many tourists, but they are Indians and school groups, not foreigners. A few girls come over to say hello and within minutes I am swarmed by their classmates. I try to ask their names and where they are from and tell them that I am a teacher (they are here with their teacher), but mostly it follows the standard converstational format, with them asking me "What is your good name? What is your native place?", followed by nervous giggling and them wanting to shake my hand.
After lunch, I head for the statue, but on the way I am sidetracked by a little lane that runs parallel to the beach. I follow and find a few places that rent rooms. I decide that if I wanted to escape and have a quiet place to just read and meditate and do yoga, this would be it. The only downside is what's considered acceptable swimwear, but more on that later... I walk back along the beach and discover beautiful shells at every step. There are some of the largest coquinas I have seen. Every pair is still attached in the middle, and they are laying open like angel wings. Coquinas are one of my favorites, and these are all purple, my favorite color, with white rays radiating from the center. Many of the other shells look rough and ugly on the outside, but when turned over they reveal irridescent glowing mother of pearl inside.
The statue does not seem as big from close up. I think I liked it better from the train. That bit of the mysterious unknown is lost now, but I am thankful. I stopped to see the statue but found so much more in this little town (and I haven't even told you about the friendly people I talked to, finding Shiva's favorite flowers, or the Disney-esque cave under the statue with dioramas depicting the story of how this came to be a sacred spot). Unfortunately, I am not spending the night. There are two evenings trains, about an hour apart, that I can take to my next destination. I decide to take the later train, so I can sit on the beach and sip cane juice for a while. My favorite cane juice presses are handcranked and make a delicate chiming sound as they turn. The ones on the beach are powered by a noisy generator, but the frothy green juice tastes just as fresh and sweet. While I sit, I watch the Muslim women in head-to-toe black burkas walking the water and the Hindu women wading in to the sea fully dressed in churidars and saris. I can't imagine what that must be like. Actually, I can-- my churidar pants have been in salt water three times now-- but I can't imagine what it would be like not to ever have the choice to wear a bathing suit. Then again, everyone here looks genuinely happy.
I retrieve my bags and catch a rickshaw to the train station, where the ticket seller tells me that the train has already left. India is the land of the impossible, but this can't be true: I am half an hour early. I try asking some questions to figure out what he really means. I drag out from him that it was the earlier train that left, but he insists that there isn't another one. I decide the online schedule must have been wrong. Then the story changes: there might be another train in a few hours... but only maybe. A helpful waiting passenger joins the conversation, insisting that there should be another train in just a half an hour. Again, the explanation changes. The train that should come in half an hour is the train that might come in a few hours... it's very late. They promise me I can catch a bus directly to Udupi (and I get the feeling this guy isn't going to sell me a ticket anyway), so I decide to give it a try.
The rickshaw driver takes me back the way we came and drops me at the side of the road. No bus stand or signs... so I ask around and try to figure out where to stand so the bus will stop (I've been on a few buses that have whizzed by people waving furiously). The destinations are written in Kannada (state language of Karnataka) so a kid who is waiting is giving me the yes or no signal. At some point, someone helps me figure out that I should probably just take the bus back to Bhatkal where I was that morning and change for Udupi (Bhatkal apparently has more frequent buses). I go for it: moving the right direction is preferably to waiting around on the side of the road, wondering if a bus will really come and watching the sun go down. In Bhatkal I find a bus that is supposed to be going to Udupi. I'm hungry, so I make a little sandwich of dates and bread. The bread was meant to go with the avocado I'm carrying, but that seems too messy for a crowded bus. The bus is stuffy, I'm hot and tired, and I start dozing off. I come out of my haze and try to figure out what town we are in: Kundapura. Suddenly the driver is telling me to get off the bus. So far I have found, without exception, that bus drivers make sure to tell the foreigners they should get off the bus. (Editor's note: since writing this, I have found the exception. That's a funny story.) I appreciate that, but this time I'm confused. Kundapura? Finally he manages to explain that this bus does not go to Udupi, I have to cross the street and wait for another bus... the THIRD of this adventure. So much for a direct bus. I briefly consider finding a hotel room in Kundapura and finishing my trip in the morning. I wonder if there is anything to see in Kundapura (and laugh at myself because I've found some of the bus stuff in places that weren't in the guide books... or that were and the books said "not much to see in this town"). But any travel in India seems to take up half the day, and I decide I want to wake up in Udupi. I ask a nice couple with a baby girl if I am in the right place, and they help me watch out for the correct bus. We get on the same bus and sit next to each other on the crowded seat. I feel bad that they have to sit anywhere near me because I stink after this long day of travel. I make it Udupi, only about 45 minutes later than my train was supposed to arrive and manage to find a really nice hotel on the first try. It is a bit more than I've been paying but I decide I deserve it today... and that I don't need to be wandering around town at night. It is the nicest hotel I've stayed at in India so far. And I fall asleep fully dressed with the lights on....
(I promise the posts get shorter after this.)
I nearly flung myself off the train when it pulled in to the station. But my friends were expecting me in Gokarna, and it was nearly dark... not a great time to start exploring a new town I know nothing about. I stay on the train, but I take a picture of the station name and decide to stop on my return trip. After the light was gone, I moved to a real seat and took a closer look at the picture. I zoom in... and in... and in... it is Shiva! I can see his four arms and a giant trident! Any doubts I had about carrying this huge camera are erased by its amazing resolution. And I am resolved to go to Murdeshwar.
A few weeks later, I am headed back from Arambol, in the north of Goa. There are no trains that stop in Murdeshwar, so I have to get off at Bhatkal, one station further south. Once again I can see the giant Shiva (40m tall, I am told) from the train. In Bhatkal, I grab a bus that's a cross between a 15-passenger van and a short yellow school bus. My bag gets strapped to the roof for the first time on this trip. I am not sure how many people the bus should seat-- looks like 15 or so-- but I lose count at 30 passengers. I am in the furthest back seat, but fortunately Murdeshwar is the last stop so I have no problem getting off the bus. I ask the driver which way the temple is and he points over my shoulder. I turn to look and there is the statue looming over everything else. I realize I'll have no problem finding it: this town is small and the statue is not.
I stop by a hotel (most signs that say "hotel" in India actually signify that it is a restaurant) that serves food and also has rooms and convince them to store my bags for a few hours for a small fee. They want me to take a room at a discounted rate for the afternoon, but I persevere--adding that I'll eat lunch here, too-- and they agree. Then I am off to the temple. The town has one main road, leading down to the shore. The temple and the hill with the statue jut out into the water, with views of the beaches and wooden fishing boats. The temple is sweet and lively. I have ladoo prasad and fill my water bottle with filtered water. Lunch is also being served. There are many tourists, but they are Indians and school groups, not foreigners. A few girls come over to say hello and within minutes I am swarmed by their classmates. I try to ask their names and where they are from and tell them that I am a teacher (they are here with their teacher), but mostly it follows the standard converstational format, with them asking me "What is your good name? What is your native place?", followed by nervous giggling and them wanting to shake my hand.
After lunch, I head for the statue, but on the way I am sidetracked by a little lane that runs parallel to the beach. I follow and find a few places that rent rooms. I decide that if I wanted to escape and have a quiet place to just read and meditate and do yoga, this would be it. The only downside is what's considered acceptable swimwear, but more on that later... I walk back along the beach and discover beautiful shells at every step. There are some of the largest coquinas I have seen. Every pair is still attached in the middle, and they are laying open like angel wings. Coquinas are one of my favorites, and these are all purple, my favorite color, with white rays radiating from the center. Many of the other shells look rough and ugly on the outside, but when turned over they reveal irridescent glowing mother of pearl inside.
The statue does not seem as big from close up. I think I liked it better from the train. That bit of the mysterious unknown is lost now, but I am thankful. I stopped to see the statue but found so much more in this little town (and I haven't even told you about the friendly people I talked to, finding Shiva's favorite flowers, or the Disney-esque cave under the statue with dioramas depicting the story of how this came to be a sacred spot). Unfortunately, I am not spending the night. There are two evenings trains, about an hour apart, that I can take to my next destination. I decide to take the later train, so I can sit on the beach and sip cane juice for a while. My favorite cane juice presses are handcranked and make a delicate chiming sound as they turn. The ones on the beach are powered by a noisy generator, but the frothy green juice tastes just as fresh and sweet. While I sit, I watch the Muslim women in head-to-toe black burkas walking the water and the Hindu women wading in to the sea fully dressed in churidars and saris. I can't imagine what that must be like. Actually, I can-- my churidar pants have been in salt water three times now-- but I can't imagine what it would be like not to ever have the choice to wear a bathing suit. Then again, everyone here looks genuinely happy.
I retrieve my bags and catch a rickshaw to the train station, where the ticket seller tells me that the train has already left. India is the land of the impossible, but this can't be true: I am half an hour early. I try asking some questions to figure out what he really means. I drag out from him that it was the earlier train that left, but he insists that there isn't another one. I decide the online schedule must have been wrong. Then the story changes: there might be another train in a few hours... but only maybe. A helpful waiting passenger joins the conversation, insisting that there should be another train in just a half an hour. Again, the explanation changes. The train that should come in half an hour is the train that might come in a few hours... it's very late. They promise me I can catch a bus directly to Udupi (and I get the feeling this guy isn't going to sell me a ticket anyway), so I decide to give it a try.
The rickshaw driver takes me back the way we came and drops me at the side of the road. No bus stand or signs... so I ask around and try to figure out where to stand so the bus will stop (I've been on a few buses that have whizzed by people waving furiously). The destinations are written in Kannada (state language of Karnataka) so a kid who is waiting is giving me the yes or no signal. At some point, someone helps me figure out that I should probably just take the bus back to Bhatkal where I was that morning and change for Udupi (Bhatkal apparently has more frequent buses). I go for it: moving the right direction is preferably to waiting around on the side of the road, wondering if a bus will really come and watching the sun go down. In Bhatkal I find a bus that is supposed to be going to Udupi. I'm hungry, so I make a little sandwich of dates and bread. The bread was meant to go with the avocado I'm carrying, but that seems too messy for a crowded bus. The bus is stuffy, I'm hot and tired, and I start dozing off. I come out of my haze and try to figure out what town we are in: Kundapura. Suddenly the driver is telling me to get off the bus. So far I have found, without exception, that bus drivers make sure to tell the foreigners they should get off the bus. (Editor's note: since writing this, I have found the exception. That's a funny story.) I appreciate that, but this time I'm confused. Kundapura? Finally he manages to explain that this bus does not go to Udupi, I have to cross the street and wait for another bus... the THIRD of this adventure. So much for a direct bus. I briefly consider finding a hotel room in Kundapura and finishing my trip in the morning. I wonder if there is anything to see in Kundapura (and laugh at myself because I've found some of the bus stuff in places that weren't in the guide books... or that were and the books said "not much to see in this town"). But any travel in India seems to take up half the day, and I decide I want to wake up in Udupi. I ask a nice couple with a baby girl if I am in the right place, and they help me watch out for the correct bus. We get on the same bus and sit next to each other on the crowded seat. I feel bad that they have to sit anywhere near me because I stink after this long day of travel. I make it Udupi, only about 45 minutes later than my train was supposed to arrive and manage to find a really nice hotel on the first try. It is a bit more than I've been paying but I decide I deserve it today... and that I don't need to be wandering around town at night. It is the nicest hotel I've stayed at in India so far. And I fall asleep fully dressed with the lights on....
(I promise the posts get shorter after this.)
Lord of the Stars
I came to Udupi just to see the Krishna temple. I don't know much about the town but something about the two paragraphs my guide book gave it caught my attention and a few people I randomly met confirmed that it is a temple to visit.
My day got off to a slow start, sleeping in a bit and checking email, so it was around 11am by the time I made it to the temple. The area around the temple is closed off to traffic, but even as a pedestrian area it is bustling with people and vendors and cows. I am looking for the entrance and get distracted by the temple chariots. I am debating whether to take pictures now (I hate thinking I'll come back and do that later, to do lists are no good) or after I go in the temple (for reasons of respect, I'd rather not have my camera out as I am headed in to the temple). Suddenly a guy appears next to me and tells me I should come back tonight at 7pm if I want to see the chariots in action. We talk about the chariots and my sari. I figure out that he's a guide. I had considered hiring a guide at some of the larger temples I'd been to, but I had never been approached by one. I like Pranesh and decide to go for it. Excellent decision. Not only did he tell me tons of things I would not have known otherwise, he took me to see lots of places I would have missed altogether. We saw eight temples, he recommended a place for dinner (the restaurant that supposedly invented the masala dosa), we met up to see the chariots (he made sure I had a front row spot), and he knew a spot for a good cup of chai (lots of cardamom) before I grabbed my bags and headed for the train station. Here are some highlights:
Mahathobara Lord Sri Anantheshwara: a Shiva temple right next door to the Krishna temple, some 1300 years old. Pranesh is explaining a 108 details: why Hindus wear the tilak on their forehead, why you ring the bell in front of the deity when you pray, how to identify the different gods (there are old, worn out looking paintings that ring the temple, some of the details are hard to make out but the colors are dark and rich and beautiful), where the holy water that the priests give you in the temples comes from and why people drink it and splash it on their heads.
Chandramouleeshwara: another Shiva temple right next to the first, this one is about 1400 years old. Apparently Vishnu had cursed this spot (I'm not sure why), so the Moon (Chandra) came to pray to Shiva. Shiva was pleased and lifted the curse, so the temple was built and the town was named Udupi (Lord of the Stars) in honor of the moon.
Sri Krishna temple: I love this story. Originally, the main deity in the temple faced the opposite direction from where it points now and the door was on the opposite side of the temple. I'm not sure how long ago, but at a time when members of lower castes were not allowed into the temples, there was a man named Kanakadas who sat behind the temple and payed to Krishna every day. Kanakadas was a Dalit (once known as Untouchables), the mistreated class below the four main castes. One day, as though an earthquake shook the ground, the back wall of the temple fell and Krishna turned around to face the spot where Kanakadas prayed, in honor of his devotion. It remains facing that way to this day.
This is the second richest temple in India. You can see it in the many sumptuous details but there is still a certain sweetness to it that I like best.
The kitchen here feeds 20-25,000 people EVERY day, and the food is cooked on wood fires. Pranesh takes me to eat in one of the four dining halls. We can't eat in the main hall, with the kitchen attached, because Pranesh is wearing Western style pants. Since the kitchen prepares prasad, only dhoti wearers are admitted (sarong-like dhotis being the traditional, formal menswear in India). The hall is rectagular, and the granite floor alternates beween dark gray granite and long, white, slightly raised sections. We sit on the floor along the edge of the white part, a row of at least 100 people, facing the gray with another row sitting behind us facing the other way. Someone comes along and puts a banana leaf in front of us. Then the rice is served, followed by dhal and sambar (traditional food in south a pinch of salt, and a sweet. The food is delicious by any standards but downright astounding for a kitchen feeding tens of thousands of people for free every day. When we finish, the bananas leaves are picked up, and as we leave to wash our hands, I see a man with a giant squeegee sweeping up the rice that is strewn everywhere and preparing for the next row of hungry pilgrims.
Among the other great things we see in this huge temple complex (it didn't look so big from the outside!) are the Goshala, the cowshed that houses the temple's 180 bovine (Krishna is a cowherder and as a young boy was fond of stealing butter) and a meditation hall with the 18 chapters of the Bhagavad Gita engraved in Sanskrit along its walls. I also say hello to the temple elephant, who gives me a blessing and a bonk on the head in exchange for a coin (it is one thing to give an elephant food, like the first temple elephant I met, but I am extra impressed by the ones who are dexterous enough to take coins and bills without accidently inhaling them).
After the Krishna temple, we hop a bus to visit the Ganesh temple in Kumbhashi, which is nearly all the way back to Kundapura, where I nearly stayed the night before. I have to laugh.
Sri Ganesh Temple: This temple was built to thank Ganesh for delivering the sword (ashi) that Bhimi used to defeat the demon Kumba (hey! the town's name is Kumbhashi!) who was terrorizing the area. Now the temple is known as the spot to bring new vehicles to be blessed. As we walk up, there is a cute, sporty blue car garlanded and smoking (from the incense in the front grill). A priest walks around the car touching each side with a coconut, which collects the bad spirits, and then the coconut is shattered on the ground. A lemon is placed in front of each tire (apparently lemons also attract the bad energy), and the car is pulled forward a few feet, splattering lemon juice in the process. I look around and realize the entire area is covered in flattened lemons. While we are there, a motorbike, autorickshaw, and giant truck all get the same treatment.
I think we visited four more temples after that: an Ayyappa temple (sometime I will have to tell the story of Ayyappa, I had not heard of him before coming to India but he has been a central part of my experience here and has become one of my favorite gods), a Hari-Hara temple (that's Vishnu & Shiva together, the main altar has two little deities together-- very cute), Vishnu, and Kali/Durga (Kali is a pretty fierce goddess, so you are supposed to view the deity through a mirror first to help dissapate the energy).
Pranesh is a great guide, but I am on temple overload. I head back to the hotel to splash some water on my face and pack my bags. Then I grab dinner and do a solo tour of the three main temples (it is nice to have a guide, but it lacks the immediacy of visiting the temple alone) before meeting Pranesh for the evening excitement. I am not sure I can do justice to the event with words, but I promise the pictures are spectacular. I say "chariot" but don't picture Ben Hur. These things are massive: like a hot air balloon on wooden wheels taller than me. The deities are carried out on a palanquin and loaded in the chariot with a priest. Then 200 some odd people materialize and start pulling the long ropes. The chariot slowly starts to roll-- I wonder how this heaving mass turns corners-- and begins a loop around the square. There are giant, whirling, twirling puppets and the elephant and little boys dressed as demons and fire. After the fireworks in the street (once again I think that India must have many fewer liability lawsuits than the US), Pranesh checks that I am barefoot and tells me I can help pull the chariot, so I join in. With the chariot at a standstill, it feels like we are pulling on a mountain. I doubt it will ever move, but then it does. As it picks up speed, momentum makes our task easier and easier. Until it mysteriously stops, and we start the process all over again. As we near the starting point, I feel something warm and squishy and learn an important lesson: even in giant crowds, with Krishna's cows on the loose, you better watch your step.
My day got off to a slow start, sleeping in a bit and checking email, so it was around 11am by the time I made it to the temple. The area around the temple is closed off to traffic, but even as a pedestrian area it is bustling with people and vendors and cows. I am looking for the entrance and get distracted by the temple chariots. I am debating whether to take pictures now (I hate thinking I'll come back and do that later, to do lists are no good) or after I go in the temple (for reasons of respect, I'd rather not have my camera out as I am headed in to the temple). Suddenly a guy appears next to me and tells me I should come back tonight at 7pm if I want to see the chariots in action. We talk about the chariots and my sari. I figure out that he's a guide. I had considered hiring a guide at some of the larger temples I'd been to, but I had never been approached by one. I like Pranesh and decide to go for it. Excellent decision. Not only did he tell me tons of things I would not have known otherwise, he took me to see lots of places I would have missed altogether. We saw eight temples, he recommended a place for dinner (the restaurant that supposedly invented the masala dosa), we met up to see the chariots (he made sure I had a front row spot), and he knew a spot for a good cup of chai (lots of cardamom) before I grabbed my bags and headed for the train station. Here are some highlights:
Mahathobara Lord Sri Anantheshwara: a Shiva temple right next door to the Krishna temple, some 1300 years old. Pranesh is explaining a 108 details: why Hindus wear the tilak on their forehead, why you ring the bell in front of the deity when you pray, how to identify the different gods (there are old, worn out looking paintings that ring the temple, some of the details are hard to make out but the colors are dark and rich and beautiful), where the holy water that the priests give you in the temples comes from and why people drink it and splash it on their heads.
Chandramouleeshwara: another Shiva temple right next to the first, this one is about 1400 years old. Apparently Vishnu had cursed this spot (I'm not sure why), so the Moon (Chandra) came to pray to Shiva. Shiva was pleased and lifted the curse, so the temple was built and the town was named Udupi (Lord of the Stars) in honor of the moon.
Sri Krishna temple: I love this story. Originally, the main deity in the temple faced the opposite direction from where it points now and the door was on the opposite side of the temple. I'm not sure how long ago, but at a time when members of lower castes were not allowed into the temples, there was a man named Kanakadas who sat behind the temple and payed to Krishna every day. Kanakadas was a Dalit (once known as Untouchables), the mistreated class below the four main castes. One day, as though an earthquake shook the ground, the back wall of the temple fell and Krishna turned around to face the spot where Kanakadas prayed, in honor of his devotion. It remains facing that way to this day.
This is the second richest temple in India. You can see it in the many sumptuous details but there is still a certain sweetness to it that I like best.
The kitchen here feeds 20-25,000 people EVERY day, and the food is cooked on wood fires. Pranesh takes me to eat in one of the four dining halls. We can't eat in the main hall, with the kitchen attached, because Pranesh is wearing Western style pants. Since the kitchen prepares prasad, only dhoti wearers are admitted (sarong-like dhotis being the traditional, formal menswear in India). The hall is rectagular, and the granite floor alternates beween dark gray granite and long, white, slightly raised sections. We sit on the floor along the edge of the white part, a row of at least 100 people, facing the gray with another row sitting behind us facing the other way. Someone comes along and puts a banana leaf in front of us. Then the rice is served, followed by dhal and sambar (traditional food in south a pinch of salt, and a sweet. The food is delicious by any standards but downright astounding for a kitchen feeding tens of thousands of people for free every day. When we finish, the bananas leaves are picked up, and as we leave to wash our hands, I see a man with a giant squeegee sweeping up the rice that is strewn everywhere and preparing for the next row of hungry pilgrims.
Among the other great things we see in this huge temple complex (it didn't look so big from the outside!) are the Goshala, the cowshed that houses the temple's 180 bovine (Krishna is a cowherder and as a young boy was fond of stealing butter) and a meditation hall with the 18 chapters of the Bhagavad Gita engraved in Sanskrit along its walls. I also say hello to the temple elephant, who gives me a blessing and a bonk on the head in exchange for a coin (it is one thing to give an elephant food, like the first temple elephant I met, but I am extra impressed by the ones who are dexterous enough to take coins and bills without accidently inhaling them).
After the Krishna temple, we hop a bus to visit the Ganesh temple in Kumbhashi, which is nearly all the way back to Kundapura, where I nearly stayed the night before. I have to laugh.
Sri Ganesh Temple: This temple was built to thank Ganesh for delivering the sword (ashi) that Bhimi used to defeat the demon Kumba (hey! the town's name is Kumbhashi!) who was terrorizing the area. Now the temple is known as the spot to bring new vehicles to be blessed. As we walk up, there is a cute, sporty blue car garlanded and smoking (from the incense in the front grill). A priest walks around the car touching each side with a coconut, which collects the bad spirits, and then the coconut is shattered on the ground. A lemon is placed in front of each tire (apparently lemons also attract the bad energy), and the car is pulled forward a few feet, splattering lemon juice in the process. I look around and realize the entire area is covered in flattened lemons. While we are there, a motorbike, autorickshaw, and giant truck all get the same treatment.
I think we visited four more temples after that: an Ayyappa temple (sometime I will have to tell the story of Ayyappa, I had not heard of him before coming to India but he has been a central part of my experience here and has become one of my favorite gods), a Hari-Hara temple (that's Vishnu & Shiva together, the main altar has two little deities together-- very cute), Vishnu, and Kali/Durga (Kali is a pretty fierce goddess, so you are supposed to view the deity through a mirror first to help dissapate the energy).
Pranesh is a great guide, but I am on temple overload. I head back to the hotel to splash some water on my face and pack my bags. Then I grab dinner and do a solo tour of the three main temples (it is nice to have a guide, but it lacks the immediacy of visiting the temple alone) before meeting Pranesh for the evening excitement. I am not sure I can do justice to the event with words, but I promise the pictures are spectacular. I say "chariot" but don't picture Ben Hur. These things are massive: like a hot air balloon on wooden wheels taller than me. The deities are carried out on a palanquin and loaded in the chariot with a priest. Then 200 some odd people materialize and start pulling the long ropes. The chariot slowly starts to roll-- I wonder how this heaving mass turns corners-- and begins a loop around the square. There are giant, whirling, twirling puppets and the elephant and little boys dressed as demons and fire. After the fireworks in the street (once again I think that India must have many fewer liability lawsuits than the US), Pranesh checks that I am barefoot and tells me I can help pull the chariot, so I join in. With the chariot at a standstill, it feels like we are pulling on a mountain. I doubt it will ever move, but then it does. As it picks up speed, momentum makes our task easier and easier. Until it mysteriously stops, and we start the process all over again. As we near the starting point, I feel something warm and squishy and learn an important lesson: even in giant crowds, with Krishna's cows on the loose, you better watch your step.
Ernakulam
After a few weeks in Karnataka and Goa, I am back in Kerala to meet Martin. Ernakulam, with a population just over 1.3 million, is the biggest city in Kerala, and by far the biggest city I have seen in months (since leaving Mumbai in November). My first impression is that this city also has the biggest rickshaws I have seen anywhere in India.
Martin says something about visiting bookstores and suddenly I have one of those cravings where you suddenly want something you didn't even know you were missing. India has lots of bookstalls specializing in college texts, books on engineering, computers, and economics/business, and weird cheap paperbacks of trivia and proverbs, but I have yet to see the kind of place where you can spend an afternoon sitting among racks and racks of books. Supposedly this city has some big bookstores. We never find the place for that, but we do gorge ourselves on some smaller places. We also find a Cafe Coffee Day, the Indian answer to Starbucks. It is on the second floor and has a glass front. Sitting at the table, drinking a cappuchino (I am not much of a coffee drinker, but I am curious if this country known for instant coffee-- my fav is the ironically named "Bru Instant Coffee"-- can serve a decent cup), and watching the people and traffic below, I feel strangely as if I am back in the US. Cafe Coffee Day has two services that Starbucks would do well to note: waiters come to your table to take your order and besides pastries, they serve samsosas.
Martin hasn't been feeling well for quite a while and, although his acute symptoms are gone, he decides it is time to visit the doctor. I go with him, knowing how scary hospitals can be, even in your own country. The hospital is basic and, from what I see, clean. Three doctors sit at a table seeing patients. Privacy is not a concern here. It was the same when I went to the doctor at the ashram. They decide to do a few tests. Martin tells me later that in the lab blood was stored in open containers. Ok, maybe not an entirely clean place. Fortunately, all the tests come up negative.
The day before we leave, we have a Keralan thali for lunch. Thali (rice with some other bread and a variety of side dishes) is a standard lunch all over India, but the dishes differ by the place. (I don't think I have mentioned here how much food varies from place to place in India; most of the "Indian" food we get in the US is from the state of Punjab.) I have spent a few weeks outside of Kerala, and I nearly cry in happiness when I taste the typical Keralan blend of coconut, curry leaves, and mustard seeds. It is so familiar and welcome and delicious. Suddenly, I don't want to leave.
Martin says something about visiting bookstores and suddenly I have one of those cravings where you suddenly want something you didn't even know you were missing. India has lots of bookstalls specializing in college texts, books on engineering, computers, and economics/business, and weird cheap paperbacks of trivia and proverbs, but I have yet to see the kind of place where you can spend an afternoon sitting among racks and racks of books. Supposedly this city has some big bookstores. We never find the place for that, but we do gorge ourselves on some smaller places. We also find a Cafe Coffee Day, the Indian answer to Starbucks. It is on the second floor and has a glass front. Sitting at the table, drinking a cappuchino (I am not much of a coffee drinker, but I am curious if this country known for instant coffee-- my fav is the ironically named "Bru Instant Coffee"-- can serve a decent cup), and watching the people and traffic below, I feel strangely as if I am back in the US. Cafe Coffee Day has two services that Starbucks would do well to note: waiters come to your table to take your order and besides pastries, they serve samsosas.
Martin hasn't been feeling well for quite a while and, although his acute symptoms are gone, he decides it is time to visit the doctor. I go with him, knowing how scary hospitals can be, even in your own country. The hospital is basic and, from what I see, clean. Three doctors sit at a table seeing patients. Privacy is not a concern here. It was the same when I went to the doctor at the ashram. They decide to do a few tests. Martin tells me later that in the lab blood was stored in open containers. Ok, maybe not an entirely clean place. Fortunately, all the tests come up negative.
The day before we leave, we have a Keralan thali for lunch. Thali (rice with some other bread and a variety of side dishes) is a standard lunch all over India, but the dishes differ by the place. (I don't think I have mentioned here how much food varies from place to place in India; most of the "Indian" food we get in the US is from the state of Punjab.) I have spent a few weeks outside of Kerala, and I nearly cry in happiness when I taste the typical Keralan blend of coconut, curry leaves, and mustard seeds. It is so familiar and welcome and delicious. Suddenly, I don't want to leave.
Fort Kochi (aka Fort Cochin)
One morning while we were staying in Ernakulam, Martin and I took the ferry across the peninsula to visit Fort Cochin and Mattancherry. Just a hundred metres or so from the dock, we stumbled on a place renting bicycles (to tourists only! the sign informed us). We inquired and decided that Rs6 an hour (about 12 cents) was well within our budget. After writing down our names and providing no identification or deposit of any kind, we were off. Throughout its history, Cochin has hosted visitors from all over the world: Chinese merchants, Portuguese and British colonists, and, most recently, heaps of foreign tourists. At first all we saw were signs for homestays, Ayurvedic massage retreats, artsy cafes, and vendors selling that cute "Indian" attire that looks more like cleaned up hippy clothes than anything people in Kerala would actually wear. Then suddenly we were in the midst of a regular town, with little temples and posters for DYFI (Democratic Youth Federation of India). I don't think I've mentioned this yet, so I'll do so here: Outside of India, when you mention Kerala, a surprising number of people, even those without any particular knowledge of India, say something like, "Oh, isn't Kerala known for its great education and high literacy rate?" It is (although a few locals have mentioned how much advertising is behind that reputation). But so far no one has said, "Gee, wasn't Kerala the first place in the world to freely elect a communist government? And hasn't that worked out fairly well for them?" We stumbled on a circus setting up its dilapidated big top. We saw a sign for a small, quiet looking cafe and decided to stop. At the top of the stairs we found ourselves in someone's living room. Oh, but wait, yes, this is the cafe, and we are ushered out to a balcony. Tables and chairs arrive a few minutes later. We enjoy fresh lime sodas and the solitude of our private balcony and wonder how this place, with few patrons and clearly serving food out of the family kitchen, can have such an extensive menu. We listen to the family yelling at each other. The volume transports me back to Italy, while Martin the linguist notices they are speaking Hindi (not Malayalam, the state languade of Kerala). More Malayalees speak English than Hindi, so Martin checks; it turns out they are Muslims from Gujarat (in the north). After we return the bikes, I ask Martin if he's noticed anything missing from the streets of Fort Cochin. Cows! They are no cows roaming the streets. There are, however, plenty of goats, and I spend the next few days doing impersonations of the adorable bleating kids. Mahhh! Mmmahhhh!
Kozhikode
As we work our way north, we crash in Kozhikode for a few days. As we climb off the train, we are greeted with the usual scores of men selling food and drinks to passengers, but we notice that at this station every other vendor is selling halwa. Our first impression of Kozhikode turns out to be the one that will probably be the most enduring: this is the place for halwa. What is halwa? Hard to describe... officially defined as a "sweetmeat", it is like jelly but firmer. It can be made in a variety of ways with a variety of ingedients, but most seem to involve some combination of fat, sweetener, grain, and liquid (often milk) with lots of nuts and dried fruits. Even as I write this, that sounds a bit gross and, in truth, the big blocks of it look a bit gross sometimes, too, but the stuff is delicious. Martin finds a place that I dub a "halwa showroom" (right next door to an indentical competing "halwa showroom") where they let us sample plenty of flavors before we take home two fairly small pieces.
our room at the KY Tourist Home is perched on the sixth floor of a building across from the bus stand, giving us a great aireal view of the smog and the chaos of arriving and departing buses. I am entirely too amused by the names of buses here: Saffron, Safari, Friends, Comrade, Ave Mariya (I am changing my middle name from Marie to Mariya), Unity, Prestige, Jasmine, West Coast, Fusion, Intimate, Challenger, Starlet, Bright Star, Three Star, and Five Star. In fairness, I should mention that there are buses with Hindi and Arabic names (the Muslim population has been increasing as we move north), but those are much less entertaining to me. The Hindi names all seem to be in honor of various deities, and the Arabic names... well, I have no idea what they mean.
In our wanderings, I have one of the best coconuts I have had in India. I noticed the vendor took care in picking it, thunking several of them before skillfully wielding his machete to remove the top. He doesn't really speak English, but I gush about its wonderfulness and try to ask how he knows which ones will be good. He is pleased and teaches me the sound that a full coconut makes when you thunk it.
Martin and I are pretty pleased with ourselves. After just two days and a few nice walks, Kozhikode feels amazingly familiar and easy to navigate.
our room at the KY Tourist Home is perched on the sixth floor of a building across from the bus stand, giving us a great aireal view of the smog and the chaos of arriving and departing buses. I am entirely too amused by the names of buses here: Saffron, Safari, Friends, Comrade, Ave Mariya (I am changing my middle name from Marie to Mariya), Unity, Prestige, Jasmine, West Coast, Fusion, Intimate, Challenger, Starlet, Bright Star, Three Star, and Five Star. In fairness, I should mention that there are buses with Hindi and Arabic names (the Muslim population has been increasing as we move north), but those are much less entertaining to me. The Hindi names all seem to be in honor of various deities, and the Arabic names... well, I have no idea what they mean.
In our wanderings, I have one of the best coconuts I have had in India. I noticed the vendor took care in picking it, thunking several of them before skillfully wielding his machete to remove the top. He doesn't really speak English, but I gush about its wonderfulness and try to ask how he knows which ones will be good. He is pleased and teaches me the sound that a full coconut makes when you thunk it.
Martin and I are pretty pleased with ourselves. After just two days and a few nice walks, Kozhikode feels amazingly familiar and easy to navigate.
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