Hello blogger! Yesterday was the 3 month marker on my time in India. Only a little over 1 more. It feels unreal that I've been here only 3 months. It feels like it's been much more. I'm so glad of the time I still have. And this month is going to be fun, and full of trips, to the North (to see the Ganges, the Taj Mahal, Kolkata, and the Himalayas. and MamaJ does say it right. kudos acknowledged.) Amazingly classes and projects seem to be wrapping up here, which is funny because it honestly feels like I've just started to get into what I'm learning. I still have some to go, but one of classes, for instance, isn't meeting anymore until our final at the end of April...
Many things have happened lately. Last weekend CIEE took us on another trip, all 30 of us, to Mysore and Bangalore this time. Both are places to the west of Hyderabad, and I liked them a lot, more than Hyderabad in many ways in fact. We went to a Tibetan Resettlement Community for refugees fleeing Tibet, where this man told us all about their community. Tibetans are not Indian citizens unless they officially apply for citizenship, and instead they have to reapply for visitor-settled visas each year. The community, and others like it all over India, were given a certain amount of land back when China invaded Tibet, and they have established their own schools and temples, monasteries, state and government, etc. It's so so really interesting how they have continued to have a country exist, just resettled in a totally different location, AND they are all spread out all across India. They told us how they are always thinking about going home, always seeking and reminding themselves of how they are only visiting India until they get Tibet back--that seems a weird way to put it, but literally that is the only way I can think of putting it. They are not about to "take it back, because it's all about nonviolence, so they are just waiting for China to get the hell out! it's complicated, obviously and I don't know enough about it yet. We were told that at first the fleeing Tibetans who came to India didn't want to build sturdy or good homes, or buy too much food because they thought it would go to waste since they didn't expect to be in India for too long. That was 40 years ago. And they still are waiting, just using the area given to them by the Indian government, hoping always to get to go home.
Later we went to one of their Buddhist monasteries, which is full of all Tibetan men, dressed in the traditional maroon and yellow robes, shaved heads, no shoes. Candles everywhere, temples with giant Buddha statues. It felt like a trip to a totally different country, and in a way that is what we were doing. That is the point of these resettlement communities: it is Tibet just on a different plot of land. It has the culture, the food, the religion, the people, the customs, the language, the agriculture, the buildings, all of it is Tibetan, just in India. The whole place had a wonderful feel to it, so peaceful and relaxing. Really amazing. It made me wish I had actually done thathet Buddhist monastery semester abroad in Dharmasala...but I can still do that another trip. I realized simultaneously that if I were to go live in a Buddhist monastery for 5 months I would have to change so much of the craziness in myself, and get more calm, and relaxed. And while I am sure that one day I will do that and it will be great, I'm not actually ready to give up the insanity of my mind just yet. I'm only 21. I don't need to be quiet and peaceful and one with the universe just yet. maybe later. maybe.
We also went to a temple town, saw a lot of poop on the ground, and walked around a cute, small town area in the rain. Later that day we celebrated Holi. Holi is a national holiday in India. It is not associated with any one religion, but is in fact one of the coolest spiritual festivals. During Holi all of India comes out to the streets wearing white clothes, to spray and smear each other with colored water, and to throw colors of pigment onto each other. The idea behind Holi is that by putting color on someone else you are erasing the lines of skin color that divide us. In India that is a really strong message because of the history here of so many types of people, religions, races, and groups--all living together. The belief is that if you put colors on your enemy during Holi all the past hatred between you is to be forgotten and you are to be friends from then on. I like this idea so much. It is a holiday that seems to capture what I love about how tolerant Indian culture is.
We played Holi at our hotel in the street with all us white kids, and of course locals came to "watch" but we chased them with buckets of water and some of them joined in to play with us. CIEE had organized for these traditional drummers to come and play while we played. So it was like this giant colored water fight-dance party! It was such a blast and of course, being Americans we took it probably farther than usual and starting dumping whole buckets on each other and getting the packets of color pigment and throwing the powder on each other. It was amazing.
The next day was Easter and they took us to a church in Mysore. Of course I had the wrong idea of church here. It's so ingrained in me to think of churches representing a quiet place of spirituality. WRONG. Even though I've been to a church here already, I was still shocked to find it draped in streamers, with really loud music blasting from giant speakers on the inside and outside, crazy tiny lights everywhere inside, and SO SO SO many people. and Mary wears a sari.
It was a crazy weekend of thinking about how India sees spirituality. There was the quietness of the Buddhists, a place I felt so comfortable just sitting in and thinking in quiet; there was the insanity of the Hindu temple with all the incense, flowers colored dust and pushing people with babies in their arms; and there was the equally jostling church covered in streamers, loud music blasting, and Mary in a sari. I realized how here in India religion, like everything else, is not a private affair. I think of being spiritual as this time when we can sit and think and be alone with our thoughts. But here, there are just so many people that it is unrealistic to assume that you are ever going to get a moment of quietness alone in a temple where you could 'see' GOD! that seems ridiculous actually, that such quiet contemplation could happen frequently in one of the churches or temples I've been to so far...So instead people here have at to adapt their spirituality and religion so that they are able to feel that unity with their beliefs even in 100 degree heat, with music blasting, surrounded by a hundred people all pushing to get close to the shrine.
That weekend was very auspicious. That is a favorite word in India. Everything is auspicious. But really, last weekend was a crazy combination of so many things happening at once. It was a full moon. And it was the prophet Mohammed's birthday. And it was Holi. and it was Good Friday and Easter. And it was a Jewish holiday I can't remember the name is. And it was a new year celebration in another culture I also can't remember. If that isn't auspicious, I don't know what is.
So that was the weekend. And now it's been another week, where some friends from CIEE and other university students put on the Vagina Monologues, which was amazing to watch in India. I had thought it would just be another production, but it was really remarkable to watch and hear it in the context of this country. It was the first time I've ever heard an Indian accent say the word 'vagina' which is strange in itself. It was really powerful and meant a lot that it was put on here on our campus. It had a different ring to it, femininity in the context of the VMons in INdia is like talking about something so hushed up and quiet its become habit to pretend it does not exist in any form. It was really powerful to have the topic spoken about in the open within the context of this culture.
And now it's the weekend and I did work the whole time. WHAT? Yes, homework. At coffee shops around Hyderabad, where they only serve the intense drinks--can't seem to get a simple iced coffee, and where they play techno music at full volume all day. And serve overly intense chocolate cake. India is so proud of itself when it is able to have all this stuff at once. So it does it. If you could have a coffee blended with ice and ice cream and whipped cream and chocolate syrup, WHY would you ever want a simple iced coffee???
Good question, India, good question.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
9 more things about India
1) On the newest 1 rupee coin is printed a hand giving the thumbs up. On the 2 rupee coin is printed a hand giving the peace sign. There are lightshows in everything here, even in government institutions, like coinage. By this I mean that someon had to say, "Hey I have a great idea, let's put the thumbs up and peace sign on our money!" and everyone agreed.
2) Entire families ride on one motorcycle through overcrowded streets. By this, I mean: the father drives, the mother sits behind him, holding a tiny baby in her arms. Between them is a girl sleeping smushed between her parents. And sometimes, there's even another person behind the mother. This is a regular motorcycle, no bigger than any we have in the US. OR one bike with 4 grown men on it, sometimes sitting backwards to keep from falling off.
3) When I get a package here, it comes after a long time of course. When it finally reaches my hands it looks like it's been through a war. It is falling apart, and the tape is coming off. In fact, there is a stamp on it that reads "Examined" and "Free." So, at some point, my package was opened up, examined, shifted through, put back together, but then instead of re-taping it, they tie it up with knotted rope. Then (for quality purposes? security purposes?) they drip melted wax or tar (more likely tar) and stamp it over the rope--old school letter style. So I get my package and it is devastated, and and it has been tied up in rope, and each side of rope has a tar seal on it...COOL
4) The amazing names of stores (like Light and Lights), mistaken words on menus (like pouched eggs), and unbelievable pictures of terrifyingly happy children, etc.
5) The entire experience of going to the movie theater here. Movie theaters in Hyderabad are like being transported to the US but only partially. 4 or 5 floors, with subways and maybe even pizza!! and coffee and cookies and ice cream. And now it gets good: a rock climbing wall. and a check your blood pressure, your sugar levels, and your mood machines. and an LG retail store. and a Haunted House (which reads: This is a copyrighted haunted institution, on the sign). The process of ordering food, also deserves a note here. Instead of just going up to order what you want, you have to go to the other side of the room to order with the cashier and pay him. Then another man gives you your ticket and you bring it over to the other side where the food is and you hand one man the ticket, and he yells out to another man, who comes and takes the ticket. And then he gives it to the actual food man, who gets what you want, who brings it to the first man at the food counter who gives it to you. We are all convinced that this whole process is somehow a combination of two factors. One, it is efficient ONLY in the sense that it is all very organized, yet goes so far in such a classically overachieving Indian way that it all falls apart. And two, it gives more people more jobs...
6) Our adventures with ordering coffee at Cafe Coffee Day, which is a chain coffee store in India. First of all, we order 3 black coffees and 2 vegan shakes. On the menu it says: black coffee: double shot of espresso with hot water, with milk on the side; and it reads, vegan shake: milk not your thing? no problem with our non-dairy shake. So she brings us 3 espresso shots with no milk, and (get this) iced coffe with whipped cream and ice cream as the vegan shakes. So we say, these are supposed to not have milk. and she says, "o they don't have milk. they have whipped cream" oh ok. and our coffees, "no we don't have black coffee, we only have espresso shots and no you can't get milk with it" BUT IT'S A COFFEE SHOP! thanks India!!
7) KOPPHEECHAIIII KOPPHEEECHAIIII. This is what train sellers say in a nazalized voice ALL 27 hours of the train ride. This means: Coffee (which has morphed into kop-heee) and Chai (tea) together. loudly. all the time. they are trying to sell coffee and tea.
8) Hot tea in 95 degree weather
9) Adorable things that professors say by accident or mistranslated. Like, "give me a little tinkle" (call him in the phone), "the phenomenon of the hugging of the trees" (for tree-huggers), and suitable pronounced "sweetable"
2) Entire families ride on one motorcycle through overcrowded streets. By this, I mean: the father drives, the mother sits behind him, holding a tiny baby in her arms. Between them is a girl sleeping smushed between her parents. And sometimes, there's even another person behind the mother. This is a regular motorcycle, no bigger than any we have in the US. OR one bike with 4 grown men on it, sometimes sitting backwards to keep from falling off.
3) When I get a package here, it comes after a long time of course. When it finally reaches my hands it looks like it's been through a war. It is falling apart, and the tape is coming off. In fact, there is a stamp on it that reads "Examined" and "Free." So, at some point, my package was opened up, examined, shifted through, put back together, but then instead of re-taping it, they tie it up with knotted rope. Then (for quality purposes? security purposes?) they drip melted wax or tar (more likely tar) and stamp it over the rope--old school letter style. So I get my package and it is devastated, and and it has been tied up in rope, and each side of rope has a tar seal on it...COOL
4) The amazing names of stores (like Light and Lights), mistaken words on menus (like pouched eggs), and unbelievable pictures of terrifyingly happy children, etc.
5) The entire experience of going to the movie theater here. Movie theaters in Hyderabad are like being transported to the US but only partially. 4 or 5 floors, with subways and maybe even pizza!! and coffee and cookies and ice cream. And now it gets good: a rock climbing wall. and a check your blood pressure, your sugar levels, and your mood machines. and an LG retail store. and a Haunted House (which reads: This is a copyrighted haunted institution, on the sign). The process of ordering food, also deserves a note here. Instead of just going up to order what you want, you have to go to the other side of the room to order with the cashier and pay him. Then another man gives you your ticket and you bring it over to the other side where the food is and you hand one man the ticket, and he yells out to another man, who comes and takes the ticket. And then he gives it to the actual food man, who gets what you want, who brings it to the first man at the food counter who gives it to you. We are all convinced that this whole process is somehow a combination of two factors. One, it is efficient ONLY in the sense that it is all very organized, yet goes so far in such a classically overachieving Indian way that it all falls apart. And two, it gives more people more jobs...
6) Our adventures with ordering coffee at Cafe Coffee Day, which is a chain coffee store in India. First of all, we order 3 black coffees and 2 vegan shakes. On the menu it says: black coffee: double shot of espresso with hot water, with milk on the side; and it reads, vegan shake: milk not your thing? no problem with our non-dairy shake. So she brings us 3 espresso shots with no milk, and (get this) iced coffe with whipped cream and ice cream as the vegan shakes. So we say, these are supposed to not have milk. and she says, "o they don't have milk. they have whipped cream" oh ok. and our coffees, "no we don't have black coffee, we only have espresso shots and no you can't get milk with it" BUT IT'S A COFFEE SHOP! thanks India!!
7) KOPPHEECHAIIII KOPPHEEECHAIIII. This is what train sellers say in a nazalized voice ALL 27 hours of the train ride. This means: Coffee (which has morphed into kop-heee) and Chai (tea) together. loudly. all the time. they are trying to sell coffee and tea.
8) Hot tea in 95 degree weather
9) Adorable things that professors say by accident or mistranslated. Like, "give me a little tinkle" (call him in the phone), "the phenomenon of the hugging of the trees" (for tree-huggers), and suitable pronounced "sweetable"
Friday, March 14, 2008
Kerala, part II: Munnar
On the morning of 4 March (the most commanding day of the year, and my wonderful mother's birthday!) we woke up early, left our new Mr. Das to pile into a white 1950's looking olds-mobile (is that even a kind of car?) with Augustine (father figure number 2), our hired driver for the day. We had hired him to drive us out east from the coast towards the mountains and hill areas near the town of Munnar. He stopped along the way at various natural spots, like a waterfall (where we clmbed around huge rocks for about an hour), a spice plantation (where we saw Eucalyptus trees and ate passion fruit! Kenya!!, and tasted all sorts of spices and herbs), and many grand landscape views. Augustine was great to have because he was able to take us wherever we wanted to go, whenever we wanted to go (on top of which, the roads in Munnar and the surrounding area are so windy, being in a bus is just terrifying). Augustine took us to a homestay, owned by father figure number 3, named George. George himself came to take us in his jeep the very steep and muddy quarter of a mile from the road and his home. Our room looked out from the middle of a hill; and across the valley, there were rolling hills covered in tea plants, and beyond that, mountains. mountains mountains!
Munnar grows the tea of the world. It certainly grows a majority of India's tea, as well as much of the exported products. The tea plants are never ending: they are bright green, and all cut short and flat. Dotted within the fields are workers who spend all day walking up and down the extremely steep slopes cutting the newly grown tea leaves. Augustine took us to a tea factory, (made particularly easy to follow as it was geared for tourists) which was fascinating, because it showed how tea had been introduced to India.
We stayed with George, and for no reason except that he was amazing, George gave us an extra room for no cost! His homestay was the nicest we stayed at, and though it took some convincing, when we realized that even this "pricey" place was actually costing us $6 each a night, it became a non-question about finding a new place. The next morning we all woke up at 5:30 to watch the sun rise over the mountain across the valley and to do yoga on the roof. We were, in fact, too early for the sun at that time, and then slept through yoga time. But it was a valiant effort. At around 10am we met a new figure in our lives. His name is Joseph. He, like all these Christian named men, is an Indian, but the first and only so far, Indian to have a lisp. It was adorable. And he didn't speak much English at all. He was to be our guide up the mountain, which we decided would be our activity of the first part of the day. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into.
There seems to be something about me and mountain climbs in foreign countries, being guided by native Christian-named men who speak poor english, with some type of speech issue (think Grandpa, Christopher, going up Mt. Kenya). And, just as Mt. Kenya was way more intense than I had ever anticipated, our hike/climb was certainly more than we thought we were getting into. We started off, 3 liters of water for 6 people for the "4 hour" hike, in our hands, all armed with nothing but the clothing we were wearing, a few cameras, and sandals. Yes, sandals for most of us. Indeed, Davita and I wore our chokos (I am true convert now, and am planning on becoming a sponsored advertiser for the wonderful brand of all purpose shoe made by the one and only Choko company). And so we began. We went up into a treehouse where we could stay for lots of money, we hiked steep inclined paths through the forest. Mallory lost her sunglasses somewhere in the jungle. we were sweating by 10 minutes in. And Joseph was leaping ahead, wearing a lungi (a cloth tied around his waste, tradition in Kerala) and cheap sandals.
Joseph needs some explaining in fact. Not only was his name Joseph. not only did he only wear a lungi and cheap sandals, not only did he have a lisp and poor english comprehension. not only was he our guide up a mountain, which turned out to not to have trails that we followed. he also jumped up vertical rocks like he had Frank's grippy toes, trotted down vertical dirt avalanches, and sprinted up waist high lemon-grass covered hills that had no foot holds, he also only had one cup of coffee all day, and he also smoked cigarettes.
So. yes, after the jungle we just went higher, and it got harder. Going through lemongrass fields/slopes, that don't have places for your feet, and then out of the tall grass, and onto the planes, where there are crop fields actually growing food on the steep side of the mountain. It looked like a normal field where crops might be grown (tho nothing was), that had just been tipped 90 degrees, and was now vertical. Still, even in the heat and my exhaustion, I do remember putting my hand into the hot, dry soil and thinking wow! that feeling of true dirt reminded me so much of all the farming I've done. It felt amazing, nothing like the way dry soil feels on dry hands, especially when you're hiking up a mountain in India! We soon realized that we had not brought enough water. not at all. Joseph took one of our empty bottles and filled with stream water that was falling down the mountain side, but we all declined, of course, knowing the dangers that unfiltered water can have on our frail American immune systems. Yet, by the time we had reached the top, all of us (except Olga) were drinking that stream water. And who knows if it has given us all a thousand and one diseases, or if it was flowing over elephant poop, but we drank it, unpurified, unfiltered, didn't even add iodine tablets (because oh right, I left mine down at George's house!). I think we're fine from the water, actually because it was probably the cleaned we could get, besides bottled or filtered of course. It was running water from a little stream and it was delicious, and somewhat murky but necessary because I think we would have all started going crazy if we hadn't had it. Needless to say, we took about 6.5 hours to do the whole hike, and were so hungry and thirsty by the time we reached the bottom, we had to take an auto the 2km back to our homestay from the base of the mountain.
The hike itself was breathtakingly beautiful. When we first got to Munnar I saw these huge mountains surrounding us on all sides, and I saw the ridges that connect the peaks together and I said, that is where I want to be. walking along those ridges. And then we were there! It is so open in Munnar, and for once you can finally see farther than just two peaks away, because there isn't that terrible pollution of the cities. It was so refreshing to be up around the peaks of the mountains for change.
The next day we hired an auto to take us to the Chinar Wildlife Sanctuary. Driving through the mountains take so much longer of course because we had to wind up and wind down, and go over and in and out and then finally we were there. Our guide's name was Bajin, he was a tribesman, who wore a full green uniform, and flipflops. He hunted down five wild elephants just by listening to the sounds of them eating in the far far distance. It was really remarkable.
We spent our last day at a beach back near Fort Cochin, which was fun--though draining because where there aren't many tourists, being at a beach is just a chance for people to stare at us more than ever. We were smart about it, but still it's exhausting when you can't really enjoy the beach because there are people just sitting on the rocks nearby doing nothing but watching us.
Getting back of course was another 27 hour train ride. It was pretty much a fiasco of feeling bombarded by people asking us "which country are you coming from?" and other the like. Many people here do not pick up on the very obvious fact that we don't want to talk to them. A perfect example was when this guy sat down on our bench on the train, squishing us all, sitting too close (because the whole idea of a "personal bubble" is not applicable here), and asks us all these questions about where we are from, what our names are, etc. We politely respond when necessary, and then (best solution we've found yet), we all pick up our books and start reading. Of course, this one guy then sits there, staring and then pokes me saying, "um sophia, um sophia. you're boring me with your reading." And I look back at him and WANT to say, "oh really? well I didn't know it was my job to entertain you!" but instead say, "o well I'm very interested in my book, so I'm going to read now." It is funny in retrospect, and even at the time, it is funny somewhat. But it is also just so draining and annoying and it never ends. It gets almost unbearable at times, to be honest.
I've been thinking more and more about the trash situation here. Traditional Indian culture wraps their food and eats everything off banana leaves. This is a completely natural way of packaging and eating. In the past then, when everyone used banana leaves, throwing them away at the end wouldn't matter because they would all decompose no problem, wherever they landed. It is just with the introduction of plastic and tin and foil that the issue becomes problematic. This is all very obvious, but I think what I've realized specifically when I see the train people passing out lunches and dinners in foil containers, and then not even providing ANY means for dealing with the wasted containers, that people have continued to deal with trash as if it were still all banana leaves. But it isn't. And so all the trains every day have breakfast, lunch, and dinner, plus all snack packaging and all water bottles thrown out the windows onto the areas around the railways. I am surprised now, that there is even an inch of ground NOT covered in plastic and trash.
I'm sick of writing now.
pictures are up...more to come.
Munnar grows the tea of the world. It certainly grows a majority of India's tea, as well as much of the exported products. The tea plants are never ending: they are bright green, and all cut short and flat. Dotted within the fields are workers who spend all day walking up and down the extremely steep slopes cutting the newly grown tea leaves. Augustine took us to a tea factory, (made particularly easy to follow as it was geared for tourists) which was fascinating, because it showed how tea had been introduced to India.
We stayed with George, and for no reason except that he was amazing, George gave us an extra room for no cost! His homestay was the nicest we stayed at, and though it took some convincing, when we realized that even this "pricey" place was actually costing us $6 each a night, it became a non-question about finding a new place. The next morning we all woke up at 5:30 to watch the sun rise over the mountain across the valley and to do yoga on the roof. We were, in fact, too early for the sun at that time, and then slept through yoga time. But it was a valiant effort. At around 10am we met a new figure in our lives. His name is Joseph. He, like all these Christian named men, is an Indian, but the first and only so far, Indian to have a lisp. It was adorable. And he didn't speak much English at all. He was to be our guide up the mountain, which we decided would be our activity of the first part of the day. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into.
There seems to be something about me and mountain climbs in foreign countries, being guided by native Christian-named men who speak poor english, with some type of speech issue (think Grandpa, Christopher, going up Mt. Kenya). And, just as Mt. Kenya was way more intense than I had ever anticipated, our hike/climb was certainly more than we thought we were getting into. We started off, 3 liters of water for 6 people for the "4 hour" hike, in our hands, all armed with nothing but the clothing we were wearing, a few cameras, and sandals. Yes, sandals for most of us. Indeed, Davita and I wore our chokos (I am true convert now, and am planning on becoming a sponsored advertiser for the wonderful brand of all purpose shoe made by the one and only Choko company). And so we began. We went up into a treehouse where we could stay for lots of money, we hiked steep inclined paths through the forest. Mallory lost her sunglasses somewhere in the jungle. we were sweating by 10 minutes in. And Joseph was leaping ahead, wearing a lungi (a cloth tied around his waste, tradition in Kerala) and cheap sandals.
Joseph needs some explaining in fact. Not only was his name Joseph. not only did he only wear a lungi and cheap sandals, not only did he have a lisp and poor english comprehension. not only was he our guide up a mountain, which turned out to not to have trails that we followed. he also jumped up vertical rocks like he had Frank's grippy toes, trotted down vertical dirt avalanches, and sprinted up waist high lemon-grass covered hills that had no foot holds, he also only had one cup of coffee all day, and he also smoked cigarettes.
So. yes, after the jungle we just went higher, and it got harder. Going through lemongrass fields/slopes, that don't have places for your feet, and then out of the tall grass, and onto the planes, where there are crop fields actually growing food on the steep side of the mountain. It looked like a normal field where crops might be grown (tho nothing was), that had just been tipped 90 degrees, and was now vertical. Still, even in the heat and my exhaustion, I do remember putting my hand into the hot, dry soil and thinking wow! that feeling of true dirt reminded me so much of all the farming I've done. It felt amazing, nothing like the way dry soil feels on dry hands, especially when you're hiking up a mountain in India! We soon realized that we had not brought enough water. not at all. Joseph took one of our empty bottles and filled with stream water that was falling down the mountain side, but we all declined, of course, knowing the dangers that unfiltered water can have on our frail American immune systems. Yet, by the time we had reached the top, all of us (except Olga) were drinking that stream water. And who knows if it has given us all a thousand and one diseases, or if it was flowing over elephant poop, but we drank it, unpurified, unfiltered, didn't even add iodine tablets (because oh right, I left mine down at George's house!). I think we're fine from the water, actually because it was probably the cleaned we could get, besides bottled or filtered of course. It was running water from a little stream and it was delicious, and somewhat murky but necessary because I think we would have all started going crazy if we hadn't had it. Needless to say, we took about 6.5 hours to do the whole hike, and were so hungry and thirsty by the time we reached the bottom, we had to take an auto the 2km back to our homestay from the base of the mountain.
The hike itself was breathtakingly beautiful. When we first got to Munnar I saw these huge mountains surrounding us on all sides, and I saw the ridges that connect the peaks together and I said, that is where I want to be. walking along those ridges. And then we were there! It is so open in Munnar, and for once you can finally see farther than just two peaks away, because there isn't that terrible pollution of the cities. It was so refreshing to be up around the peaks of the mountains for change.
The next day we hired an auto to take us to the Chinar Wildlife Sanctuary. Driving through the mountains take so much longer of course because we had to wind up and wind down, and go over and in and out and then finally we were there. Our guide's name was Bajin, he was a tribesman, who wore a full green uniform, and flipflops. He hunted down five wild elephants just by listening to the sounds of them eating in the far far distance. It was really remarkable.
We spent our last day at a beach back near Fort Cochin, which was fun--though draining because where there aren't many tourists, being at a beach is just a chance for people to stare at us more than ever. We were smart about it, but still it's exhausting when you can't really enjoy the beach because there are people just sitting on the rocks nearby doing nothing but watching us.
Getting back of course was another 27 hour train ride. It was pretty much a fiasco of feeling bombarded by people asking us "which country are you coming from?" and other the like. Many people here do not pick up on the very obvious fact that we don't want to talk to them. A perfect example was when this guy sat down on our bench on the train, squishing us all, sitting too close (because the whole idea of a "personal bubble" is not applicable here), and asks us all these questions about where we are from, what our names are, etc. We politely respond when necessary, and then (best solution we've found yet), we all pick up our books and start reading. Of course, this one guy then sits there, staring and then pokes me saying, "um sophia, um sophia. you're boring me with your reading." And I look back at him and WANT to say, "oh really? well I didn't know it was my job to entertain you!" but instead say, "o well I'm very interested in my book, so I'm going to read now." It is funny in retrospect, and even at the time, it is funny somewhat. But it is also just so draining and annoying and it never ends. It gets almost unbearable at times, to be honest.
I've been thinking more and more about the trash situation here. Traditional Indian culture wraps their food and eats everything off banana leaves. This is a completely natural way of packaging and eating. In the past then, when everyone used banana leaves, throwing them away at the end wouldn't matter because they would all decompose no problem, wherever they landed. It is just with the introduction of plastic and tin and foil that the issue becomes problematic. This is all very obvious, but I think what I've realized specifically when I see the train people passing out lunches and dinners in foil containers, and then not even providing ANY means for dealing with the wasted containers, that people have continued to deal with trash as if it were still all banana leaves. But it isn't. And so all the trains every day have breakfast, lunch, and dinner, plus all snack packaging and all water bottles thrown out the windows onto the areas around the railways. I am surprised now, that there is even an inch of ground NOT covered in plastic and trash.
I'm sick of writing now.
pictures are up...more to come.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Kerala, part I: train & Fort Cochin
The moments before I stepped back into my room after the 9 day self-prescribed vacation to Southern India I just returned from, all I could think about were the critters who undoubtedly had moved back into my abode during my absence. While readers are, I am sure, sick of hearing about Frank and the rest, in addition to the fact that I am growing more accustomed to the ideas of sharing my living space with other animals of the world, I just don't feel right, posting without at least some reference to the fact that, yes, Frank had taken back his corner, and yes, ants were making their way through the cracks in the walls. I think what I like the most about the situation is the fact that I knew they would all be back because I've come to realize that without constant assertion of my presence as head of the food chain (so to speak) in my room, the animals of India are always at the doorstep (literally) of all human areas, ready to take back the spaces that were once trees and forests, but now are filled with these strange new structures, also known as houses.
I get ahead of myself completely however, because this post is actually about my recent travels, the wonders of Southern India, and how much I love living and being here right now. After turning in my (first) paper (of the semester), I left Hyderabad Central Univeristy campus around noon on Friday 29 February. (yes once more, Leap Years are fun). The process of getting to the train itself requires taking other trains and is tedious and taxing and only worth mentioning as an example of how getting around Hyderabad is more difficult than getting to the other coast of India. I don't like cities very much in this country, is really the point that I've come to realize from all this. Anyway, we boarded our train ready and eager...and then we sat. And then we ate. and sat some more. and ate some more. and sat. and slept. then we got bored. and so we practiced yoga, to the amazement of those around us and ourselves. And we flossed. and we played word games. and the Embodiment game (the form of transportation my personality best embodies is, according to Jordan, simultaneously being at the front and back of a line of people.) and we learned more about trash systems in India: coming to terms with the reality that there is none and it's actually worse to keep garbage by our seats because of ants. Instead, out the window it all goes. It breaks my heart. And frustrates me more than I can say. But much more on this later.
And so we sat and then we slept. Olga's purse was almost stolen in the night. and we ate some more. and we were asked by a man on the train, "are you communists?" no, sir, we are just friends. "oh but are you communists also?" and 27 hours later we all got off the train and we were in the hot, humid, dirty and populated city of Ernakulam, Kerala. (which, incidentally, is a communist state.)
After walking in confusion and becoming lost, we found our way aboard a ferry, headed to the island town of Fort Cochin. And, just as the Rough Guide (or Lonely Planet, if you care to make the distinction..hmhm), says, we could feel the collective sigh escape our beings, just to find ourselves in a place of relaxation. Fort Cochin is adorable. It is pretty much exactly what I think most of us had all envisioned when we pictured ourselves studying abroad in India. It is clean (by Indian standards) and is surrounding by water. It is a wonderful mix of truly feeling like a vacation spot, while still maintaining its pride and distinction as a part of the country of India. Instead of hotels or hostels, there are dozens of home stays, where families rent rooms out to travelers. It's a great system because not only did we get the homey feel of a family, we were immediately set up with a set of activities and things to do through our short-term host father (who, amazingly was named Das, which is also the name of our figurative father on campus back in Hyderabad). So the second Mr. Das was our first father figure (first in a long string of wonderful men we met on our adventures) of the Kerala trip; he gave us a tiny room (for Rs600) with only one double bed, and two extra mattresses. but only a fan and no screens and it was HOT and stuffy. Five people is a lot of bodies in one small 150sqft (?) room. In the middle of the first night I moved out into the hallway and slept on a couch, blinded by the street light outside and the flashing shrine dedicated to Jesus that would not turn off. (Besides being communist, Kerala as a state in India is also almost entirely Christian). That first night, it was Saturday night, we went walking around the town, which is the perfect size for walking and exploring. We got Aryuvedic massages (fully naked, which was definitely surprising. but, true to the sign out front "men for men, and women for women") and we bought fresh pineapple and mangoes and ate them in a park using my wonderful leatherman knife. (fyi: my two most prized processions in India from back home are my sleep-sack and my leatherman.) Nearby, the All-India National Badminton Tournament was being played inside a blue-tarp gym. I mean, why not?
Sunday we woke up early to board a bus full of white tourists (organized by Mr. Das, thank you), and headed for a day of touring the backwaters of Kerala, one of the attractions that draws tourists (both foreign and Indian) to the state. The backwaters are a series of streams and rivers that rise and sink with the tides (I think) of the oceans. They filter throughout the state and you can take boats and canoes to explore them. We spent the day at first riding in canoes through tiny streams in the middle of the jungle basically, which felt like taking a walk through someone's backyard because we were constantly passing by homes and families just leading their normal lives. The backwaters there, we were told, are used for transportation. We went on a few excursions into some of the homes, to see string being made from coconut fibers, and toured a forest to find spices and roots which are used in all the dishes we have been eating for the last 2 months. (For those interested, the green papaya is used in Aryuvedic medicine for "menstruation and the abortions." so take that, planned parenthood.) We stopped for lunch, which we ate off banana leaves, and true to both our status as Americans and as college students being offered "free" food, we ate a lot, I think to the surprise of the other tourists (who were all Germany related. And by Germany related, I mean, of course Swedish and the like. Whatever, they all have blond hair and blue eyes, and all look like they are siblings.) After lunch we spent the rest of the day sitting on a houseboat, gliding around the bigger lakes and rivers. The boats are propelled by two men, one on each end, who have long long poles, which they use their entire body weight against to pry the boat forward. Near the end, Jordan and I decided it was high time for a swim, so we jumped in. Only to discover a) only about 2 feet of water below which lay endless feet of silt and mud and grossness, and b) a super fast current. So we swam/i tried to swim to the boat, and made a big commotion (how American of us), and made it back on board. And it was so much fun. After the backwaters, we went to a local performance of the traditional Kerala dance form, called Kathakali, in Fort Cochin. The dance is a whole story told through direct hand, body, facial and leg movements that each depict specific words. It was weird, creepy even, because mostly the focus is on how the face of the performer changes from displaying one emotion to another. It was unnerving how drastically he could switch between elation and tears; yet the whole thing was so contrived and weird. i didn't like it. Afterwards, walked around Fort Cochin, discovered a coffee shop that sold iced coffee and chocolate cake. and had dinner. It was a great day.
The next day, being Monday, we decided we all wanted to just walked around the town and do whatever we wanted. Jordan and Davita, accompanied by the Russian Olga, reached out to their heritage and visited the Jewish community in Jew Town, part of Fort Cochin. Apparently it was very sad because there are only 5 Jews left in all of Cochin, and this one very old lady thought they were coming to rescue a the dying community. Meanwhile, Mallory and I spent the day painting in the studio of an artist named Desmond. We had met him the night before, on our walk around the town. Unable to resist the pull of his reggae music that floated through the warm night, we had all gone into his studio to talk with this strange, middle aged, grey bearded and long curly haired artists. Mallory and I returned to his studio that day, and sat and talked with him--about his life, and what its like being an artists and how we both want to screw the idea of a real life, and come live with him and paint for the rest of our lives. He had some really interesting things to say on the subject, not the least of which was the advice that whatever we decide to do, we must be committed to. He reminded me of that Goethe quote I love so much about commitment and hesitation. I can't remember it now, but I'll find it later.
*
Desmond paints while he smokes another joint. He shows me a window into a life of colors among heat. His studio is only about 12 sq ft. It's his gallary too. The floor is littered with paint tubes, unfinished pictures, drawing boards. On a small table close to the ground are a collection of odds and ends; including large black framed oval glasses, a single maraca, and various brushes, scraps of paper and trinkets. Light years away, Peter Tosh and Bob Marley once jammed together on a hot evening like this one. Their recorded pumping rhythms vibrate the exposed and painted (in primary colors) support beams of the ceiling. Tonight, today, those rhythms pump inside the four walls of Desmond's tiny studio; a haven of reggae and color amid the dirt and pollution of India. And that day Desmond gave us a piece of paper and some pastels and we paint a joint picture of whatever comes out of the motions of our hands. We gave the painting to Desmond, but I have a photograph of it. At the end, we spend 20 minutes all three of us looking at it from different sides, deciding what each angle looks like. We see a mermaid, and an octopus. and from one side, all we can see is a fire breathing horse jumping straight out of the picture's boarders.
*
That night, we had more chocolate cake and coffee, continued to search for the cheapest meals we could find (lowest breakfast was Rs120, which is about $3, for all five of us). And then began the sessions of joint poetry, which have filled up our time for much of these past days. Alternating writing lines, and giving only the last word of the previous line, Mallory and I (and occasionally Jordan and the others) spent hours and hours writing poems; and it doesn't matter who wrote each line. What I love about the act of writing a poem with someone else, is that it allows you to be creative, and yet surrender that creation which you produce to be affected completely by the creativity of someone else. It is a chance to produce something, and yet be totally detached from it as necessarily belonging to you--or to belonging to what you originally intended it to mean. Mallory and my creative word-plays were vibrating on the same wavelength this week. The first one we wrote, is typed out below:
There was nothing left
light-shadows filtering between faces and limbs.
Her fingers curled into my skin
a patchwork of fabric making up a being.
"Can't we stay one second longer?"
vertical thoughts pull suns from galaxies
I remember his funky shoes with the silver laces
Back down, full circle, inside of me.
I forget that I'm not supposed to forget
patterning a purple memory of sunsets.
The bell sounded and the birds dispersed.
If the birds dispersed, would the bell sound?
Yes! Those cobwebs filter through my nose.
The view from the window is beautiful
And so we sit, breathing; and we are.
I get ahead of myself completely however, because this post is actually about my recent travels, the wonders of Southern India, and how much I love living and being here right now. After turning in my (first) paper (of the semester), I left Hyderabad Central Univeristy campus around noon on Friday 29 February. (yes once more, Leap Years are fun). The process of getting to the train itself requires taking other trains and is tedious and taxing and only worth mentioning as an example of how getting around Hyderabad is more difficult than getting to the other coast of India. I don't like cities very much in this country, is really the point that I've come to realize from all this. Anyway, we boarded our train ready and eager...and then we sat. And then we ate. and sat some more. and ate some more. and sat. and slept. then we got bored. and so we practiced yoga, to the amazement of those around us and ourselves. And we flossed. and we played word games. and the Embodiment game (the form of transportation my personality best embodies is, according to Jordan, simultaneously being at the front and back of a line of people.) and we learned more about trash systems in India: coming to terms with the reality that there is none and it's actually worse to keep garbage by our seats because of ants. Instead, out the window it all goes. It breaks my heart. And frustrates me more than I can say. But much more on this later.
And so we sat and then we slept. Olga's purse was almost stolen in the night. and we ate some more. and we were asked by a man on the train, "are you communists?" no, sir, we are just friends. "oh but are you communists also?" and 27 hours later we all got off the train and we were in the hot, humid, dirty and populated city of Ernakulam, Kerala. (which, incidentally, is a communist state.)
After walking in confusion and becoming lost, we found our way aboard a ferry, headed to the island town of Fort Cochin. And, just as the Rough Guide (or Lonely Planet, if you care to make the distinction..hmhm), says, we could feel the collective sigh escape our beings, just to find ourselves in a place of relaxation. Fort Cochin is adorable. It is pretty much exactly what I think most of us had all envisioned when we pictured ourselves studying abroad in India. It is clean (by Indian standards) and is surrounding by water. It is a wonderful mix of truly feeling like a vacation spot, while still maintaining its pride and distinction as a part of the country of India. Instead of hotels or hostels, there are dozens of home stays, where families rent rooms out to travelers. It's a great system because not only did we get the homey feel of a family, we were immediately set up with a set of activities and things to do through our short-term host father (who, amazingly was named Das, which is also the name of our figurative father on campus back in Hyderabad). So the second Mr. Das was our first father figure (first in a long string of wonderful men we met on our adventures) of the Kerala trip; he gave us a tiny room (for Rs600) with only one double bed, and two extra mattresses. but only a fan and no screens and it was HOT and stuffy. Five people is a lot of bodies in one small 150sqft (?) room. In the middle of the first night I moved out into the hallway and slept on a couch, blinded by the street light outside and the flashing shrine dedicated to Jesus that would not turn off. (Besides being communist, Kerala as a state in India is also almost entirely Christian). That first night, it was Saturday night, we went walking around the town, which is the perfect size for walking and exploring. We got Aryuvedic massages (fully naked, which was definitely surprising. but, true to the sign out front "men for men, and women for women") and we bought fresh pineapple and mangoes and ate them in a park using my wonderful leatherman knife. (fyi: my two most prized processions in India from back home are my sleep-sack and my leatherman.) Nearby, the All-India National Badminton Tournament was being played inside a blue-tarp gym. I mean, why not?
Sunday we woke up early to board a bus full of white tourists (organized by Mr. Das, thank you), and headed for a day of touring the backwaters of Kerala, one of the attractions that draws tourists (both foreign and Indian) to the state. The backwaters are a series of streams and rivers that rise and sink with the tides (I think) of the oceans. They filter throughout the state and you can take boats and canoes to explore them. We spent the day at first riding in canoes through tiny streams in the middle of the jungle basically, which felt like taking a walk through someone's backyard because we were constantly passing by homes and families just leading their normal lives. The backwaters there, we were told, are used for transportation. We went on a few excursions into some of the homes, to see string being made from coconut fibers, and toured a forest to find spices and roots which are used in all the dishes we have been eating for the last 2 months. (For those interested, the green papaya is used in Aryuvedic medicine for "menstruation and the abortions." so take that, planned parenthood.) We stopped for lunch, which we ate off banana leaves, and true to both our status as Americans and as college students being offered "free" food, we ate a lot, I think to the surprise of the other tourists (who were all Germany related. And by Germany related, I mean, of course Swedish and the like. Whatever, they all have blond hair and blue eyes, and all look like they are siblings.) After lunch we spent the rest of the day sitting on a houseboat, gliding around the bigger lakes and rivers. The boats are propelled by two men, one on each end, who have long long poles, which they use their entire body weight against to pry the boat forward. Near the end, Jordan and I decided it was high time for a swim, so we jumped in. Only to discover a) only about 2 feet of water below which lay endless feet of silt and mud and grossness, and b) a super fast current. So we swam/i tried to swim to the boat, and made a big commotion (how American of us), and made it back on board. And it was so much fun. After the backwaters, we went to a local performance of the traditional Kerala dance form, called Kathakali, in Fort Cochin. The dance is a whole story told through direct hand, body, facial and leg movements that each depict specific words. It was weird, creepy even, because mostly the focus is on how the face of the performer changes from displaying one emotion to another. It was unnerving how drastically he could switch between elation and tears; yet the whole thing was so contrived and weird. i didn't like it. Afterwards, walked around Fort Cochin, discovered a coffee shop that sold iced coffee and chocolate cake. and had dinner. It was a great day.
The next day, being Monday, we decided we all wanted to just walked around the town and do whatever we wanted. Jordan and Davita, accompanied by the Russian Olga, reached out to their heritage and visited the Jewish community in Jew Town, part of Fort Cochin. Apparently it was very sad because there are only 5 Jews left in all of Cochin, and this one very old lady thought they were coming to rescue a the dying community. Meanwhile, Mallory and I spent the day painting in the studio of an artist named Desmond. We had met him the night before, on our walk around the town. Unable to resist the pull of his reggae music that floated through the warm night, we had all gone into his studio to talk with this strange, middle aged, grey bearded and long curly haired artists. Mallory and I returned to his studio that day, and sat and talked with him--about his life, and what its like being an artists and how we both want to screw the idea of a real life, and come live with him and paint for the rest of our lives. He had some really interesting things to say on the subject, not the least of which was the advice that whatever we decide to do, we must be committed to. He reminded me of that Goethe quote I love so much about commitment and hesitation. I can't remember it now, but I'll find it later.
*
Desmond paints while he smokes another joint. He shows me a window into a life of colors among heat. His studio is only about 12 sq ft. It's his gallary too. The floor is littered with paint tubes, unfinished pictures, drawing boards. On a small table close to the ground are a collection of odds and ends; including large black framed oval glasses, a single maraca, and various brushes, scraps of paper and trinkets. Light years away, Peter Tosh and Bob Marley once jammed together on a hot evening like this one. Their recorded pumping rhythms vibrate the exposed and painted (in primary colors) support beams of the ceiling. Tonight, today, those rhythms pump inside the four walls of Desmond's tiny studio; a haven of reggae and color amid the dirt and pollution of India. And that day Desmond gave us a piece of paper and some pastels and we paint a joint picture of whatever comes out of the motions of our hands. We gave the painting to Desmond, but I have a photograph of it. At the end, we spend 20 minutes all three of us looking at it from different sides, deciding what each angle looks like. We see a mermaid, and an octopus. and from one side, all we can see is a fire breathing horse jumping straight out of the picture's boarders.
*
That night, we had more chocolate cake and coffee, continued to search for the cheapest meals we could find (lowest breakfast was Rs120, which is about $3, for all five of us). And then began the sessions of joint poetry, which have filled up our time for much of these past days. Alternating writing lines, and giving only the last word of the previous line, Mallory and I (and occasionally Jordan and the others) spent hours and hours writing poems; and it doesn't matter who wrote each line. What I love about the act of writing a poem with someone else, is that it allows you to be creative, and yet surrender that creation which you produce to be affected completely by the creativity of someone else. It is a chance to produce something, and yet be totally detached from it as necessarily belonging to you--or to belonging to what you originally intended it to mean. Mallory and my creative word-plays were vibrating on the same wavelength this week. The first one we wrote, is typed out below:
There was nothing left
light-shadows filtering between faces and limbs.
Her fingers curled into my skin
a patchwork of fabric making up a being.
"Can't we stay one second longer?"
vertical thoughts pull suns from galaxies
I remember his funky shoes with the silver laces
Back down, full circle, inside of me.
I forget that I'm not supposed to forget
patterning a purple memory of sunsets.
The bell sounded and the birds dispersed.
If the birds dispersed, would the bell sound?
Yes! Those cobwebs filter through my nose.
The view from the window is beautiful
And so we sit, breathing; and we are.
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