Another cop-out video post

One day I'll write about life in Tokyo, but until then....

VIDEOS FROM MY INDIA ADVENTURES
Bizarre happenings in Varanasi
Gujarati Sword Dancing

Indian boys ham it up

I was trying to videotape this guy practicing kung-fu, and this group of Indian boys kept trying to push way their way into the shot. Hilarious...

India Videos!

At long last, here's some of the footage I shot in India. I'll start with this short clip of some girls playing music on a train from Mumbai to Ahmedabad. The clip goes on quite a bit longer than what I uploaded here, but I'll start with this as a test:

Check the Flickr page for newly uploaded snaps - some of my favorites are in this bunch...

Cambodian New Year starts tomorrow so I'm off work until Tuesday. I may head down to the coast and Sihanoukville for the holiday. Happy Khmer New Year!

City of Joy?

Kolkata musings
The first thing one notices when stumbling out of Kolkata's Howrah train station at some too-early hour is the abundance of charming, old-fashioned yellow taxi cabs, and the corresponding lack of bicycle-rickshaws and auto-rickshaws (3 wheeled bats from hell). After crossing the magnificent bridge seperating the station from Kolkata proper, one also notices the abundance of that mythical contraption dreamed up in Japan in the 1800's, the human-pulled rickshaw. Kolkata is the last city in the world to hang on to these slow and outdated contraptions, but it seems to be incapable or unwilling to do away with them. In the guesthouse where I stay there is a book filled with facts and figures from early 1996, and one of the boxed texts proclaims that the government has abolished the rickshaw and they'll be off the streets by the end of 1996. Hmmm...

Trains
To my memory, I never rode a train until I was 18 years old (which must seem bizarre to my Japanese and European readers), but ever since that maiden voyage from Rome's Leonardo da Vinci airport to the city I've had a fascination with them, especially subways. Kolkata sports India's only subway system (with a modest single line) though according to reports Delhi is soon to unveil another. It's quick, frequent, and above all extremely cheap, costing between 4 and 8 rupees per journey (9-18 US cents). It's aesthetic is reminiscent of the NYC subway: grimy but functional. And which city's subway is the most beautiful, you ask? Strikingly, it's Bangkok's elegant contribution (though the safety record leaves something to be desired). But I digress...

Wasting Away?
On the side of the road sat a poor Indian woman with a scale and a metal bowl containing a few rupees. I hadn't checked my weight since I left Japan nearly 3 months ago, so I put my bag down, slipped off my sandals and climbed aboard. Much to my surprise, the scale read "56.5 kg" (For those stragglers who haven't climbed aboard the metric train yet, that's 124.3 pounds). This means I've either shed 7 or 8 kg's (about 16 pounds), or this woman's scale is spinning lies.

Assuming the scale is mechanically sound, I attribute this mainly to a period of about 3 weeks when I was having gut issues, or as some dear friends back home used to say after eating several taco bell chilli cheese burritos, "watery shits". During this period I couldn't stomach Indian food and was subsisting mainly on bananas and yoghurt.

Happily, this ailment is but a distant memory, and I'm once again eating whatever slop I can scrounge up for 8 rupees on the street, being sure to chew carefully (gotta watch out for those rocks).

From Street Food to Street Everything
Who can resist it: piping hot chicken rolls, chow mein, egg sandwiches, teas, sugar cane juice, coconuts, and everything else your greedy little taste buds crave is being hocked on the streets in India. But did you know it's equally easy to get a shave on the road? Or have your ears cleaned? Or a tooth pulled? Almost anything offered in shops can be found a little cheaper out in the elements.

Holi: The full story

Varanasi is one of those places people flock to for the rambunctious celebration of Holi. The main day for celebration was March 4th, and was divided into 2 distinct methods of celebration, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. I was warned continuously from many days before not to go outside the guesthouse during the morning. On the streets during this time the men cut completely loose - no woman would dare to step outside her house until after 2 PM, when all is declared safe, and people take to the streets with their finest threads.

If you've never seen a large group of Indian men at a festival, many of whom are drunk or otherwise intoxicated, it's difficult to convey the enthusiasm. It all starts with water fights, but these waters are infused with industrial strength dye. No part of the body is off limits, and in fact the face is the first target.
When water stops being fun, some groups took to using the piles of trash (which can be found every 20 feet in any Indian town) and tossing them into the air, each other's faces, and down each other's shirts/pants. When the novely of discarded plastic and food wears off, it's on to cow shit, which is no less plentiful. I'm afraid I can't tell you what comes after cow shit, as I don't know any eye-witnesses who dared to stay within the line of sight once the shit storm started. I did hear rumors of water balloons spiked with rocks, and there have been cases in the past of acid being mixed with the water.

As for me, I enjoyed the revelry from the safety of my guesthouse rooftop and ventured out only in the afternoon. I must be loosing my sense of fun. I'll take a good clean S.E. Asian "water only" Songkran over this orgy of madness anyday.

Took the night train to Kolkata and arrived at 8:30 AM today. It's novel and refreshing to be in a major metropolis again. More on my activities here as they develop.

Holi

Varanasi is simmering in anticipation of Holi, the annual festival which celebrates the end of winter. All the corner shops are well stocked with water guns of all shapes and sizes. Mounds of colored powder line the streets. Only the children are wearing clothes stained with the colors of the rainbow today, but come March 4th it will be everyone. Shops will close and the general mayhem will consume the streets.
Hey, wasn't I in varansi in the last post? And the post before? Isn't this supposed to be a travelogue? Oh sorry! Silly me! I bought a ticket to Calcutta for March 6, so fear not.

Hello, Hash?

The touts of the Varanasi ghats don't beat around the bush. I thought no place could ever top Vancouver, B.C. for most-drug-offers-per-city-block, but it seems I was oh-so wrong. Sorry friend, I'm already tripping balls from the living carnival that is Varanasi.

Now is the time to be in Varanasi. The saddhu's or babas as they are affectionately called, have set up camps along the ghats lining the Ganga. They'll stay here until after the Holi festival on March 3rd, after which most will drift to the next holy site, though some, like the naga-baba (naked saddhu) who always seems to draw a massive crowd by twisting his penis around a metal trident while periodically taking long and much-needed draws off his chillum, may well stay.

Belly Aches, the Kumbh Mela, and Love in the Time of Cholera

I don't like seeing doctors, and I know I'm not the only one, yes I'm looking at you Mr. Willoughby, but after a few stabs at self-diagnosis and treatment of my chronically loose bowels I swallowed my pride and visited what passes for a modern medical facility in Varanasi. The diagnosis was simple - my initial self-treatment with antibiotics had destroyed the good bacteria in my system, causing my continuing and worrisome digestive ills. A few days treatment with a pro-biotic was all it took to set me straight and put the brick factory back in business. Cost for the consultation: a mere 10 rupees, about the price of a frothy lassi. The pro-biotics: 65 rupees, or the price of a tikka butter masala and naan at a mid-priced restaurant. The main expense was the 150 rupees I paid to the auto-rickshaw driver to take me there and back, an expense I justified by imagining it was an ambulance.

One significant advantage I reap by living outside the United States is that I can visit the doctor without sacraficing my savings. A simple visit to an ER in the U.S. would cost, say, minimum $200, and any sort of lab work or medication could easily send the bill to between $500-$1000. Being without insurance, it's risky for me to return home for a visit. In most cases it would be cheaper to fly to Bangkok and get treatment there.

Rest assured I'm fine and fit now in my beautiful airy room overlooking the Ganga ghats where the children fly kites and play cricket with no shoes. The only danger I face is the army of monkeys that live on the rooftops, and will snatch up anything I leave on the table near the window by reaching their little arms through the metal grates. It's a fine environment for reading, writing, and relaxation. In the mornings and evenings I grab my camera and take photos along the ghats. I rarely go without a siesta, and I have the feeling that I've stayed here a month.

The truth is I came here on the night of Shiva, February 16th. Varanasi is the city of Shiva, and I don't have to remind you that Indians love a good celebration, and what more appropriate occasion could one imagine. It was the most lively and boisterous parade of night life I've seen for some time, with floats, fireworks, dancing, dozens of brass bands, and enough loudspeakers to fill every narrow alleyway in the city with the vibrations of Hindu techno.

That same day I had been in Allahabad soaking up the atmosphere of the Ardh Kumbh Mela, where thousands of pilgrims come; not only the babas and saddhus but family upon family who had come from all across India to bathe in the water where 3 holy Indian rivers come together, on the day which the vedic astrologers had pinpointed as the most auspicious.

Just 2 days and a 12 hour train ride before, I had been in Agra, more famous for it's being home to the Taj than for it's general unpleasantness. And before Agra it was Jaipur.

Thanks to those who played "make a story from the pictures", I'll have to do that again. I've also put some more photos up on flickr (find the link on the right).

Photo Special

J-J-J-Jaipur!!!

Having spent 2 weeks in simple and salty Dwarka, it was time for a major shift. It turns out there's no starker contrast to dreamy Dwarka than smelly and desperate Jaipur, capitol of the tourist trap state of India, Rajasthan. After a surprisingly bearable 20 hour train ride without an assigned seat, I was besieged by vulture-like auto-rickshaw (tuk-tuk) drivers upon my arrival at 4 AM. These guys must feed on green travelers like a cow on cardboard. My chosen vulture tried every trick in the book to steer me to "his" hotel, from which he would recieve a hefty commission, with me, of course, footing that bill. Uncharacteristally, I had made a hotel reservation (the first of this trip), which I was mighty thankful for during this battle of wits with the driver.

It's unfortunate that 95% of the people in a country can be wonderful, genuine, honest people, but 95% of the people who approach you while walking down the street are blood-sucking touts or rickshaw drivers, just dying to rip you off. Many visitors get defensive after dealing with these unscrupulous vagabonds, and cease to trust any local with a friendly smile and welcoming tone. This is a mistake, but one that's taken me years to realize, and something which I have to constantly strive to correct. Of the utmost importance on the sub-continent is keeping a good attitude because if you loose it, you're on a downward spiral my friend.

To be honest, I'd have left Jaipur by now, but I have to stick around until Monday when the Air India office is opened to take care of some ticket-changing business. I had one satisfying day here, and it's best to quit while one's ahead.

Yesterday was spent, among other things, researching pashmina shawls: their price, quality, etc., not because I plan to buy one, just out of curiosity. Basically, a real pashmina shawl comes from the wool of the Himalaya-dwelling goat. There's heaps of imitators: shawls made from sheeps wool, synthetic fibers, or a combination, costing US$5-150 but the real deal will cost about US$300 for a full-sized one. The quality only goes up from there. A pashmina made from only the neck and back fur of the baby goat will run into the thousands of dollars. I'll stick to my $7 imitation, but place any orders in the comments section of this post, or mail me personally.

There's not a lot more to say about Jaipur. It's a good place for shopping if you like getting ripped off, or can bargain harder than a concrete wall. Jaipur is known far and wide as the "pink city" as all the building in the old city are painted "pink, actually more of a fading rusty-orange color. For sightseeing, there's the impressive Amber Fort, a massive palace and former home of the Maharaj (prince), perched overlooking the surrounding hills, 8 km from Jaipur. You can explore all the hidden passageways, take in the extraordinary view from intricately latticed windows, and prance about in the large courtyards.

From here it's on to Agra or Delhi.

Dhaval, the pan chewing priest

One of the interesting things about staying in a small town for a long time is the colourful characters that crop up and reappear day to day. There's certainly no shortage here in Dwarka.

But first, allow me to explain "pan". It's a concoction of betel nut, herbs, and often tobacco all rolled into a leaf and stuffed into the mouth. It's users are distinctive for their red and black stained teeth and inability to annunciate. All over India, you'll see bright red splotches on the walls, asphalt, pavement - the byproduct from the mouths of pan users.

This brings us to Dhaval, the pan-addict Hindu priest of Dwarka. Dhaval is a young man, 23 years of age, and a Brahmin priest working in the main temple here. He speaks passable English and is eager to speak with foreigners.

Being a pan-hound priest must present some difficulties. When you have a mass of leaf, betel nut, and tobacco the size of a mini-snickers bar (like the ones you get at Halloween) it becomes difficult to speak. Being a priest involves reciting a lot of phrases during the daily blessings and puja (special prayers, usually payed for, to help with some specific problem). Lucky for him it's all in sanskrit which nobody (including him) will understand anyway., so he can memble his way through them. The only remaining danger is that someone will notice the red juices he's been spraying all over Shiva's phallus as he speaks.

Well, time's up here at Dwarka's only internet cafe, which brutally exploits it's monopoly on internet access.

Milking the Buffalo

Today I realized another of my dreams: To milk a buffalo. OK, mostly I watched the professionals, but I got my virgin hands on those rubbery utters for a little while.
Here in India the drinking of cow and buffalo milk is widespread. Milk goes into many an Indian specialty and, sorry vegans, here a "pure veg" restaurant means they don't use eggs. Most people in the west are familiar with lassi, the refreshing yoghurt drink (and if you ever want to try and introduce your kids to it, I recommend starting with the sweet variety), but the full range of uses is astonishing. Naturally butter is one popular derivative, but also ghee (purified butter, often spread on chapatis for eating, but also used during cremation and other rituals), and the leftover buttermilk, served with the meal at many restaurants.

There is another precious mana which the cow and buffalo provide. The poo, when formed into a pancake and dried, makes for an excellent fuel for cooking over a fire (and makes excellent fertilizer).

And so, my day with the illiterate buffalo milk family was a truly memorable and enjoyable one.

On the literary front, yesterday I finished reading City of Joy about the slum in Calcutta (now Kolkata) of the same name, on which the movie is based. It's great fun to read, and I recommend it whether you've seen the movie or not. Quite gruesome in parts, it manages to be both ecstatically happy and miserably sad all at the same time.

I've slowed the pace of travel and dug in here in the ancient city of Dwarka on the coast in the far west of Gujarat state. Krishna is the main man around these parts. As the story goes, he was born in north of India by the Ganges, but later came here to work and established the city of Dwarka. It's extremely hard to seperate the truths preached by the local stories and the truths preached by the archaeologists, and from what I can gather it's not exactly known how old some of the important temples here are. The locals will usually say 5000 years old.

The place has a special atmosphere. It's very traditional and almost untouched by tourism, except for the pilgrims who flock here for auspicious days. There always seems to be a festival happenning, both day and night. Yesterday was an important holiday for the Sunni Muslims, and was the cause of great celebration. To my great surprise, loudspeakers and drums came alive in the darkest depths of the night last night, directly outside my guesthouse. The main celebration for this festival just finished an hour ago.

A few days before was January 26th, India's independance day, which was the cause of a massive celebration. To fill the gaps there is always a wedding or anniversary party dancing in the streets and filling the air with the sounds of a casio synthesizer and a raging drum line.

Don't know when I'll be able to pull myself away...

Brahmins and Dalits

A couple of friendly chaps in Mumbai sparked up a conversation with me in the street. Turns out they work for an NGO which is struggling to provide equality for the minority "untouchable" caste, the dalits. They were dalits themselves, and were very passionate about the subject. Though the caste system has been officially abolished in the Indian constitution, according to these gentleman it is still very much alive, especially in the rural areas that stick to tradition and which the politicians ignore.
I won't go into all the ins and outs of the caste system here, but they did throw a few shocking bits of information my way. On the night of a marriage between a dalit man dalit woman, the woman will go home not with her new husband, but with the brahmin landowner of their property.
There are seperate glasses and plates at the restaurants for Dalits, seperate parts of the town (like a "ghetto" they explained) for the dalits, and everything else that goes along with extreme segregation.
I asked how one knows the caste of another person, since there is no physical distinction between a brahmin and a dalit, or any other caste. According to them "it's all in the name", that is, your surname would give away which caste you belong to. I was grateful for their infomative conversation. Traveling about as I do, I don't see the discrimination with my eyes, but it is very much alive under the surface. Best of luck to you gentlemen on your mission!
In stark contrast to it's northern neighbor Rajasthan (which I will be heading to next), Gujarat state is utterly devoid of foreign tourists. In addition I'm noticing a steep deterioration of English ability as I plunge into the western depths of the state. I just may have to break down and learn some words in Hindi. Well I know a few, but "namaskar sardarji" (good evening sir) only gets me so far though "bas" (enough) comes it quite handy with the aggressive hordes of begging children. Really it's an exciting and long overdue proposition. I've grown lazy because of the brilliant English spoken here thus far.
Today marks me first camel sighting in India. Can't wait to ride one of those suckers around the deserts of Rajasthan.

Ahmedabad: Day One

After a mildly grueling 9 hour train ride in 3rd class without a seat reservation I've arrived in the bustling, polluted, but incredibly welcoming city of Ahmedabad, in Gujarat state. The train ride provided a sneak peak into the people of Gujarat: friendly, outgoing, and hospitable. You're never in want of food on an Indian train, even in a decked out 3rd class compartment. Vendors hawking samosas, rice, chai, and fruit board the compartment at every station, even if that means they have to jump in and out of the emergency window because the entry ways are inaccessible. On top of that, the family that "took me in" and offered my a little space on their upstairs loft bench seat had come well prepared with chapatis, curd, and a potato and vegetable masala.
Arriving at 2 AM in an unknown city is never my first choice, but sometimes that's the way the cookie crumbles, so I put myself in the hands of an autorickshaw driver to whisk me off to the promised "cheap and good" hotel. After a few tries I found a suitable room with the only downside being the gang of pigeons that live directly above the room and march around from early morning to dusk, periodically shitting on the windows and losing feathers through the small hole in the roof where the fan is mounted.
With remarkably few foreign tourists here, the people are friendly and genuine. In the space of a few hours I've been invited into several homes, had a free of charge "heritage tour" of the old city, and learned quite a bit about the history of the place. One striking thing is how divided the Muslim and Hindu parts of the city are, though they are both warm and welcoming (to me anyway, though not to each other).
I've also had a good run-down of the other places to visit in the state. It's a significant place for Hindus as it is [supposedly] Krishna's old stomping grounds. On the far western end of the state which borders the Arabian Sea, several successively older cities are submerged underwater, flooded and abandoned as the oceans levels have risen over the centuries. There's also a handful of wildlife sanctuaries, including Sasan Gir, which is the main home in India of the Asian lion.
Wild lion anyone?

Coming from which country?

I managed to pull myself out of sandy tropical Goa yesterday on a train bound for Mumbai. The train is far better than the bus in India, especially for long distance travel, but it conflicts with my general aversion to planning because you generally have to make a reservation a few days in advance to have a guaranteed seat. It's worth the effort though, because it's cheaper, smoother, faster, and funner than bus travel. This time I got lucky and secured a seat having bought my ticket a half hour before the train was to depart.
Mumbai! Bombay! Whatever you want to call it, it's a magnificent place teeming with life and excitement around every corner. Grand architecture, brilliant cuisine from around India (and the world) and a shopper's paradise (I bought a trumpet today...), it's the kind of place I can see myself living. Today I aquainted myself with just one small area of the city. Imagine all the hidden secrets, gems and horrors that dwell in this sprawling megalopolis of 16 million people (give or take).
The winds have turned and from here I'm drifting north through the states of Gujarat and Rajisthan before hitting Delhi around the beginning of February. This means I'll be staying in India a fair bit longer than the initial 6 weeks I'd planned for, and I'll be able to hit Kashmir and Pujabi to the north of Delhi, and later Varanesi before going back to Chennai at the end of the trip.
Here's some of the highlights from the last week or so:
I saw the biggest rat ever.
Saw more cows eating more cardboard.
Took a therapeutic mud-bath in Goa.
Perfected my clothes hand-washing technique.
The train ride along the Konkan coast of India.
The magnificent sunsets over the sea in Goa every night.
Saw a really dated American horror movie called The Body Counters in the cinema (ok not really a highlight but I thought you should know) Tonight I'll correct that blunder by seeing a quality flick here in the film capitol of India.

Next stop - somewhere in Gujarat state

wobble wobble

Indians have a very direct way of communicating that I find so refreshing. Their speech is very polite, but many of the tiring extra goodbyes and thank yous have been cleanly snipped away.
My favorite element of communication with Indians is non-verbal. It's the side to side bobbing of the head that is so uniquely Indian. I was completely baffled as to it's meaning for the first couple of days here. Is it no? yes? maybe?
It has a range of subtle meanings. One clear bob to the side is a definite "yes", while a gentle back and forth bobbing could mean, "yeah", "perhaps", "This is possible", "it remains to be seen", etc.
I'm only beginning to decipher the subtleties. It can also mean "thanks" (as when you are served something at a restaurant), or "you're welcome" and "no problem".
These last few days have been spent indulging in a tropical beachside lifestyle. This beach (Arambol) is the northernmost developed beach in Goa, and doesn't have the burned out, washed up feel of Anjuna and the British expat beaches to the south.
There is fierce competition among the new age health programs and courses here, with possibilities to take reiki, yoga, capoeira, tai chi, thai massage, and meditation. Somehow, the proliferation of options turns me off to the whole idea. I did take a tabla lesson from a guy named "raj", and if I can get my hands on some to practice with, I'll continue the studies.
Gotta run, time for a Chai.

Hello Sir Banana Pineapple Papaya

Disclaimer: The formatting of this post is at the mercy of the "Zenith PC" brand computer I'm currently using, and any irregularities should be disregarded.

First to address the questions:
Tea
Tea is extremely popular, but it's a very different animal from back home. The popular and most commonly available tea is chai tea mixed with generous amounts
of sugar and milk. It's delicious and cheap, somewhere between 1 and 10
rupees (www.xe.com)
depending on where you are and how big the glass is. Coffee is almost
as popular, at least in the south. It is powdered but you won't know
the difference after all the milk and sugar is added. In touristy
places, you'll usually be served tea and coffee without sugar, to the
annoyance of those who have developed a taste for the local concoction.
Alcohol
The
availability and price of alcohol varies widely from state to state
within India. In a small town you'll typically have one or two "Wine
Shops", the local
term for liquor store, presumably because wine sounds classier. I
strongly suspect the beer, whiskey, rum, gin, and vodka outsell the
wine by far. The beer is decent. Local brews include the popular Kingfischer
as well as Cobra, Knock Out, and a half dozen others. On the cheap side
you'll pay RS 35-40 in a wine shop (So far I've only found this in Pondicherry, which has an autonomous government outside the reach of the Tamil Nadu alcohol tax) while in most other areas it's RS 60-80, which could be the cost of your hotel room.
Of course if you're really daring and not too attached to your sense of sight, you could content yourself with some uber-dodgy local spirits, probably brewed from cow's piss and coconuts, and save yourself a few dozen rupees.
In some places alcohol is forbidden (Hampi),
while in other places it is frowned upon. Going to the wine shop
sometimes feels like going to the methadone distribution place, with
passersby casting disapproving looks as choose your brew. In contrast,
here in Goa wine shops are abundant and the stigma around alcohol is
all but non-existent. Still, you won't find people drinking outside
publicly in parks or on the street (with the exception of foreigner
tourists), though I presume it is legal.
3) Religion Just being inside the inner sanctum of a hindu temple certainly feels like being a part of an intense ritual. I haven't cast aside all possessions and gone to live with the sidhu's
just yet, but religion is such an integral part of Indian life that
it's really impossible to be here and not have contact with it and feel
the people's devotion.

After one night on Anjuna beach in Goa,
where the prices are double to triple what you would pay a few
kilometers away, and tourists outnumber locals 3 to 1, I've moved
inland to the capitol city of Panaji . I feel I've returned to the real
India now, though Goa has a very different character. The Portuguese
certainly left their mark in the religion and architecture. It's
cleaner here than other cities, and more people dress in the western
style. People speak English very well, and there is more of an
indifference to foreigners rather than the fascination with them (us) in other regions.

Recently
I've been thinking about the influence of tourism on India. In places
with a heavy concentration of tourists, the people have adjusted to a
new economy based almost exclusively around extracting money from them.
This makes sense given the difference in purchasing power between the
rupee and euro, pound, dollar or yen. Something which is nothing to us
could represent a few days of hard work in the rice fields. The locals
in these places can embrace the lifestyle, open a restaurant serving
lasagna, or be left in the dust, and probably be driven out of their
now-prime property by someone with more ambition.
A
few people have confided to me their nostalgia for the way of life in
their village 20 years ago (more in some places), and I suspect whether
consciously or
not, most people led richer, more joyful lives before the arrival of
the white man.

That's ludicrous! The dollars flowing in
could be saving people from starving, providing much needed income for
education,
and health care, and giving people who would otherwise have no
opportunity to travel the chance to interact with people from vastly
different cultures and even
learn their languages.

Well
I can't really argue with that, but when I look at the smiles on the
dirty faces of the poor families in the rural villages and compare them
with the scowls of the
restaurant owners in tourist centers, unhappy because they have no
customers with so much competition, I can't help but think that some of
our obsession with commerce and our greed has rubbed off on the people
there.

Well
if you're such a fanatic about preserving the people's way of life how
can you yourself travel and exacerbate the so-called
problem?

oops.

The long awaited update

Here in Hampi, one can see many temples and ruins dating from the 16th century. It seems the internet connection was installed around the same time, judging from the speed and reliability of the connection. On top of that, the internet shops have a sweet little business going, charging double the rate of a good connection in any other place.
That said, it's been a relaxing period of isolation from the modern world. I've learned how to wash my clothes in the river.
I think I'm giving a rather skewed impression of the place. It's a kind of tourist retreat. I have access to a plethora of banana pancake flavors here, and Israeli food to satisfy even the most oppressive falafel craving.
My weakness for tea and relaxation have gotten the best of my travel ambitions, and I'm peacefully wiling the days away by the river, reading, staring at magnificent boulders and exploring the otherworldly landscapes here. I'm also taking ungodly amounts of photos, which I will upload once I've returned to the land of broadband internet.

Hampi New Year

It's been go-go-go for me over the last few days (not in the Soi Cowboy sense). One day a-piece in small dusty bazaar towns, and we're talking about the real frontier, places the Lonely Planet doesn't even mention. If you whip out that atlas of India I'm sure you have tucked away in your attic, look for the following towns in order: Tiruvanamalai, Vellore, Tirupathi/Tirumala, Cudapa, and now Balani. Three states in which three different languages are spoken. That's India.
If there's one thing about travel I despise, it's the traveling. I mean the real down-and-dirty kind. The absolutely psychotic bus drivers screaming down the wrong lane, narrowly avoiding 100 km/hr head on-collisions. But I seem to be the only one gripping the hand railing so hard my hand bleeds, so maybe these busses are equipped with some sort of bat-mobile technology that makes the bus jump up 20 feet on rolling stilts, allowing the oncoming bus to pass safely beneath.
These little random towns are beginning to mash together in my memory, inseperable from one another, and all sharing the same basic elements: Horns, exhaust, of course chai, garbage, stunning temples.
I'll have more for you after the new year, when my head is clear and I'll be quietly resting near the Krishna river in Hampi.

Meals and Tiffin

One of the greatest joys of staying in India is the marvelous and unbelievably cheap food. Being most familiar with North Indian food from restaurants back home, I've had a chance to try new things at virtually every meal. Basically, South Indian food doesn't use wheat (such as in naan, chapati, roti, etc) but only rice. The rice is mashed, baked, and fried into quite a variety forms such as the spongy idly, popular at breakfast time of for a snack.

It comes down to this: I pretty much laze around various towns and cities sipping chai and coffee, snacking, chatting, and lounging about all day. From time to time I go to see a temple, pet a cow, ride a bike, etc, but my life here mostly revolves around chai and tiffin (a british-raj era term for snack). I'm not one of these travelers that likes to set a strict itinerary and see as many of Lonely Planet's recommended sights as possible. I prefer to just sort of drift about and see where the wind takes me. If one were to take a red pen and draw a line of the course I have taken since landing in Chennai a week ago, they would conclude that I was probably getting lit before every departure, going to the bus station, and picking the place that had the name I liked best. Tiravunamalaiaiaiaiaiai.... mmmmmm.

But no! I have maintained relative sobriety throughout the trip, and complete sobriety while in bus and train stations! And somehow I'm still only 3 hours from Chennai, making a sort of spiral outwards from Chennai. Screw you Lonely Planet, and screw your customized four-to-six-week itinerary. I'll go to the place you describe as a "dusty little bazaar town with little to detain tourists" if I please. And I'll love it, because I'm the only whitey here (because you've scared them all away).

And where am I going with all this? Nowhere, because I don't have to, and if you don't believe me than refer to the first post where I warned this blog would be completely raw, unedited, and probably unreadable. Go ahead, check it.

But getting back to the things I love about India:
1) The food.
2) The wonderful variety of animals roaming about the streets of the villages and cities (cows, water buffaloes, dogs, elephants, the list goes on).
3) The perpetual smell which drifts about in some mixture of incense, shit, coriander, and piss. But it's better than that sounds (the incense is really good).
4) The price (cheap).
5) The concise speaking habits of the locals.
6) The enthusiasm of Indians for having their picture taken - "excuse me sir, one picture please" is a phrase I'm likely to hear whenever I take the camera out.

From here I'll make tracks for Hampi, some place north and west of here, for New Year's. Thanks to all those that have written back and commented on the entries. It's nice to hear from you.