Tuesday, July 1, 08
Returning, as leaving, is always a difficult transition. With them come opportunities as well as longing, sadness, excitement... One is never the same, life is not static, and to recognize this, not ignore, bringing forward the energy, is a trick, a process.
There are cultures which understand such shifts and see each doorway as a threshold into something new. This doorway, St. Ives, UK, is such a point. To step out of the past months into the up-coming brings with it an affect on my body and psyche - my skin is dry and a cold sore indicates a chemical change.
To bring what the walk-about continues to teach me, not cling, not abandon, developing a synthesis of the two worlds, is the work of many years, a lifetime. To do otherwise is to be stuck in the netherworld of not in and not out. Beauty, as well as horror, rests in both worlds. As does contentment and struggle, humidity and dryness, fractures and joining... This is the IT of Life - two sides of the same coin.
Quickly, the sharpness of the experience dulls and fades, which is our lot. Yet, I bear all the feelings of vistas, heat, flowers, waiting, illness, friends, hunger, solitude... These are never far away.
So, I close my last entry with portions of a poem by Walt Whitman:
"apart from the pulling and hauling,
amused, complacent, compassionating,
idle, unitary... both in and out of the
game and watching and wondering at it all..."
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Edinburgh, Scotland
Saturday, June 28, 08
With some extra time, I have decided to take the 3 3/4 hour train ride, north, to Edinburgh for a day and a half of Scotland. Boarding the train in Peterborough, 8:51, and this train is on time, I work my way through Doncester, York, Durham, Newcastle, along the North Sea to Alnmouth and on into Edinburgh's Waverley Station.
The countryside is mostly flat with trees along roadways, homes and fields of grain.
This is a proper train, quiet, plush, real porta potties. Broken down castles appear here and again with light houses wading into the sea on a spit of land. The clouds are heavy, showers, but no steady rain. The further north we travel, the more the hills roll. Certainly, a civilized look with fence lines and blocks of land. The Sea shimmers in the sunlight. Small towns, churches, long metal and brick bridges and schools, clump along the way.
Across the aisle are 2 very fat Americans overflowing the seats. Also, behind and across are 2 other Americans, a father and daughter from Pennsylvania, here for a fortnight HS graduation present.
Off the train, I walk the several kilometers and eventually, following 4 askings, arrive at the Ascot GH, a three story, 7 bed B&B.
The afternoon and evening are spent at Edinburgh Castle, lunch at The Witchery ( I order a glass of champagne, with my food, to toast the journey), walking the Royal Mile from the Castle to The Palace of Holyroodhouse, flag up indicating a royal present. Hiking up Salisbury Crag to Arthur's Seat, the highest point overlooking Edinburgh, a drizzle starts and then leaves. On the edge of the downpour, which passes to the west, I find my way down the northeast side and back into the city.
One difficulty in walking Edinburgh is that the streets change names - North Bridge becomes South Bridge, Nicolson St, Clerk St... Another example, going east from downtown; Princes St, Waterloo Place, Regent Rd., Montrose Terrace and on.
Dinner is late, and sleep later. The sun sinks, with darkness only fully in place after 11:00.
With some extra time, I have decided to take the 3 3/4 hour train ride, north, to Edinburgh for a day and a half of Scotland. Boarding the train in Peterborough, 8:51, and this train is on time, I work my way through Doncester, York, Durham, Newcastle, along the North Sea to Alnmouth and on into Edinburgh's Waverley Station.
The countryside is mostly flat with trees along roadways, homes and fields of grain.
This is a proper train, quiet, plush, real porta potties. Broken down castles appear here and again with light houses wading into the sea on a spit of land. The clouds are heavy, showers, but no steady rain. The further north we travel, the more the hills roll. Certainly, a civilized look with fence lines and blocks of land. The Sea shimmers in the sunlight. Small towns, churches, long metal and brick bridges and schools, clump along the way.
Across the aisle are 2 very fat Americans overflowing the seats. Also, behind and across are 2 other Americans, a father and daughter from Pennsylvania, here for a fortnight HS graduation present.
Off the train, I walk the several kilometers and eventually, following 4 askings, arrive at the Ascot GH, a three story, 7 bed B&B.
The afternoon and evening are spent at Edinburgh Castle, lunch at The Witchery ( I order a glass of champagne, with my food, to toast the journey), walking the Royal Mile from the Castle to The Palace of Holyroodhouse, flag up indicating a royal present. Hiking up Salisbury Crag to Arthur's Seat, the highest point overlooking Edinburgh, a drizzle starts and then leaves. On the edge of the downpour, which passes to the west, I find my way down the northeast side and back into the city.
One difficulty in walking Edinburgh is that the streets change names - North Bridge becomes South Bridge, Nicolson St, Clerk St... Another example, going east from downtown; Princes St, Waterloo Place, Regent Rd., Montrose Terrace and on.
Dinner is late, and sleep later. The sun sinks, with darkness only fully in place after 11:00.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
St. Ives, UK
Thursday, June 26, 08
Suddenly, the mosquitoes are gone, a smoke detector appears in the room, clean walls, carpeting, order in traffic, manicured lawns, no filthy smells, clean, graffiti, curbs, plenty of power points, and feeling fat from being overfed. Welcome to the 1st world. No longer a gecko in the room to click at me. Streets which are deserted, not a car, pedestrian or dog. I have a knife and fork to feed myself. A spoon certainly allowed for volume bites.
All goes well at the Chennai airport, and throughout the flight - 10 1/2 hours. On the underground to Kings Cross Station, I ask, and find the train for Huntingdon. There, I have purchased the wrong ticket, which is pointed out to me by the Station Master checking tickets at the exit. Saying he needs to charge me for the balance, I agree. Then, walking to the turnstile, he places and turns a key. As the gate opens he says, "In favor of International Cooperation!" and lets me pass with a smile. Two pay phones, one on each side of the station door, are used to call John. Two phones because neither one of them will work properly. A woman, sitting on a bench, asks me which number I'm trying. As I repeat it, she dials and hands me her mobile phone. John's wife, Kay, answers saying John is on his way. St. Ives is only a few miles up the road. My room is upstairs in a three bedroom house on the edge of town.
Sleep comes easy. Yet, I'm up long before anyone else. After breakfast, John and I walk into town for some shopping. He has some insurance issues with a local company. I want to look for several long sleeved shirts. One, found in a thrift store, costs me £3, and I'm feeling in style, again. Riding the train, I felt conspicuously out of place with my travel worn clothes. Dressed in my dark red shirt and Bangkok long shorts, I was woefully 3rd world dressed.
Walking along the Great Ouse, the river which cuts through the town, we cross the bridge and enjoy talk and companionship. How was Vietnam? What about Laos? Pictures follow when we return home. A schedule is being planned for the days ahead, York, Cambridge, London. And lots of relaxing. Rain is beginning to fall, it is 7:30 pm, and the evening is settling in. I'm feeling the effects of jet lag and will need an early bedtime.
Suddenly, the mosquitoes are gone, a smoke detector appears in the room, clean walls, carpeting, order in traffic, manicured lawns, no filthy smells, clean, graffiti, curbs, plenty of power points, and feeling fat from being overfed. Welcome to the 1st world. No longer a gecko in the room to click at me. Streets which are deserted, not a car, pedestrian or dog. I have a knife and fork to feed myself. A spoon certainly allowed for volume bites.
All goes well at the Chennai airport, and throughout the flight - 10 1/2 hours. On the underground to Kings Cross Station, I ask, and find the train for Huntingdon. There, I have purchased the wrong ticket, which is pointed out to me by the Station Master checking tickets at the exit. Saying he needs to charge me for the balance, I agree. Then, walking to the turnstile, he places and turns a key. As the gate opens he says, "In favor of International Cooperation!" and lets me pass with a smile. Two pay phones, one on each side of the station door, are used to call John. Two phones because neither one of them will work properly. A woman, sitting on a bench, asks me which number I'm trying. As I repeat it, she dials and hands me her mobile phone. John's wife, Kay, answers saying John is on his way. St. Ives is only a few miles up the road. My room is upstairs in a three bedroom house on the edge of town.
Sleep comes easy. Yet, I'm up long before anyone else. After breakfast, John and I walk into town for some shopping. He has some insurance issues with a local company. I want to look for several long sleeved shirts. One, found in a thrift store, costs me £3, and I'm feeling in style, again. Riding the train, I felt conspicuously out of place with my travel worn clothes. Dressed in my dark red shirt and Bangkok long shorts, I was woefully 3rd world dressed.
Walking along the Great Ouse, the river which cuts through the town, we cross the bridge and enjoy talk and companionship. How was Vietnam? What about Laos? Pictures follow when we return home. A schedule is being planned for the days ahead, York, Cambridge, London. And lots of relaxing. Rain is beginning to fall, it is 7:30 pm, and the evening is settling in. I'm feeling the effects of jet lag and will need an early bedtime.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Travel Plans?
Sunday, June 22, 08
Here's a short explanation of my travel plans. It will be difficult to find time for an entry so here's where I'll be. Today, I spent the day in Chidambaram, around 1 1/2 hours south of Pondy.
Monday - Leave at 8:00 for Tiruvannamalai.
Tuesday - Leave at 8:00 for Mamallapuram and on to Chennai (Madras).
Wednesday - British Airways flight at 8:05, arriving London, Heathrow Airport, at 14:20. There, I will board the Piccadilly Line into Kings Cross Station, switch to the above ground line and on to Huntingdon Station, 1+ hour north. John and I will meet and spend the next 8 days looking around the area.
Here's a short explanation of my travel plans. It will be difficult to find time for an entry so here's where I'll be. Today, I spent the day in Chidambaram, around 1 1/2 hours south of Pondy.
Monday - Leave at 8:00 for Tiruvannamalai.
Tuesday - Leave at 8:00 for Mamallapuram and on to Chennai (Madras).
Wednesday - British Airways flight at 8:05, arriving London, Heathrow Airport, at 14:20. There, I will board the Piccadilly Line into Kings Cross Station, switch to the above ground line and on to Huntingdon Station, 1+ hour north. John and I will meet and spend the next 8 days looking around the area.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Detente
Saturday, June 21, 08
Two stories:
-Filing through the food line at the Dining Hall, I carry my tray to the 4 person tables which occupy the area closest to the outer courtyard. There, I find a table with 2 people sitting opposite each other, and a tray in the middle of the section which is to their right. Where is this man sitting? As I stand, confused, the tray owner, a short, stocky man in his 60s arrives with water. I ask him where he is seated. He continues through and sits facing the inside of the building. Ok, the only seat left is facing outward. More than 5, but less than 10, minutes later, he suddenly looks at me and begins, "Why did you want my seat?" My reply, "I didn't want your seat! The tray was in the middle and I didn't know where you were sitting." He points to the ceiling fan and seems to be indicating that my seat is the better one. I continue, "I didn't want to sit where you were sitting." He replies, "Thank You," with a blank look.
-Following breakfast, as is my habit, I take 2 small cups of black coffee in the Park GH canteen and read the local paper. The lady seated behind the register is in her 40s with orange highlights in her hair. Since I forgot to purchase a meal ticket for the Dining Hall, this morning's breakfast will be here. I order yogurt with papaya and my usual 2 cups of black coffee. The total is Rs 46. Flipping through my money clip I hand her a Rs 50 note. She holds it up and says it has a small tear on the top middle, and that she won't accept it. My reply is, "It's your money." "Did you get it here?" "It's your country's money!" "It passes through many hands" she finishes and hands it back. Well, then she will need to find change for a Rs 100 note.
There are times when East does not meet West. And ships do pass in the night!
Two stories:
-Filing through the food line at the Dining Hall, I carry my tray to the 4 person tables which occupy the area closest to the outer courtyard. There, I find a table with 2 people sitting opposite each other, and a tray in the middle of the section which is to their right. Where is this man sitting? As I stand, confused, the tray owner, a short, stocky man in his 60s arrives with water. I ask him where he is seated. He continues through and sits facing the inside of the building. Ok, the only seat left is facing outward. More than 5, but less than 10, minutes later, he suddenly looks at me and begins, "Why did you want my seat?" My reply, "I didn't want your seat! The tray was in the middle and I didn't know where you were sitting." He points to the ceiling fan and seems to be indicating that my seat is the better one. I continue, "I didn't want to sit where you were sitting." He replies, "Thank You," with a blank look.
-Following breakfast, as is my habit, I take 2 small cups of black coffee in the Park GH canteen and read the local paper. The lady seated behind the register is in her 40s with orange highlights in her hair. Since I forgot to purchase a meal ticket for the Dining Hall, this morning's breakfast will be here. I order yogurt with papaya and my usual 2 cups of black coffee. The total is Rs 46. Flipping through my money clip I hand her a Rs 50 note. She holds it up and says it has a small tear on the top middle, and that she won't accept it. My reply is, "It's your money." "Did you get it here?" "It's your country's money!" "It passes through many hands" she finishes and hands it back. Well, then she will need to find change for a Rs 100 note.
There are times when East does not meet West. And ships do pass in the night!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Pondy and North
Friday, June 20, 08
I forgot to purchase a meal ticket for the Dining Hall, so I am walking out past where I usually turn and continue on to where the Esplande (ocean front walkway) ends - on into the squalor of thatched lean-tos and broken down brick homes. Trash, and filthy water, drains into the sea as women drop white chalk from their fingers creating the designs which front many homes and businesses. Children are making a push for school, their uniforms pressed, the girls in braids. A teenager hikes her younger brother on a bicycle and turns down a narrow connecting street. Washing behind a short wall, a man scrubs as a temple blares sacred music. Fishermen are out, some in. Kneeling over their nets, they sort through their catch pulling off the ones stuck in the netting, mostly sardine size. Women sit on their haunches anticipating the catch - limited when considering how many mouths it must feed. Reaching the end of the pavement, I turn through a dirt path to the ocean front and look north where rocks have been dumped in against erosion. Back along the Esplanade, the exercising crowd is out. Near the GH is a public toilet and shower facility where a gathering of city folk are preparing for the day - brushing of teeth, showers and talk. It's 8:00 AM.
I forgot to purchase a meal ticket for the Dining Hall, so I am walking out past where I usually turn and continue on to where the Esplande (ocean front walkway) ends - on into the squalor of thatched lean-tos and broken down brick homes. Trash, and filthy water, drains into the sea as women drop white chalk from their fingers creating the designs which front many homes and businesses. Children are making a push for school, their uniforms pressed, the girls in braids. A teenager hikes her younger brother on a bicycle and turns down a narrow connecting street. Washing behind a short wall, a man scrubs as a temple blares sacred music. Fishermen are out, some in. Kneeling over their nets, they sort through their catch pulling off the ones stuck in the netting, mostly sardine size. Women sit on their haunches anticipating the catch - limited when considering how many mouths it must feed. Reaching the end of the pavement, I turn through a dirt path to the ocean front and look north where rocks have been dumped in against erosion. Back along the Esplanade, the exercising crowd is out. Near the GH is a public toilet and shower facility where a gathering of city folk are preparing for the day - brushing of teeth, showers and talk. It's 8:00 AM.
Auroville, India
Thursday, June 19, 08
Today, I have planned a visit to Auroville.
At the Autocare Department, north 2 streets from Jain Street, then 2 doors west, I find a small room. Pressed against the back wall are 2 desks with the sides of the room lined with benches. Inside, I buy my ticket to Auroville and back, Rs 60. Departure is 2:00. Return around 5:45. One Western woman sits opposite me, I'm seated on the right near the opening, and 15 locals occupy the remaining space, standing and sitting. Outside 4 more, plus the driver, stand under two trees looking looking for shade. Maps of Pondy and Auroville, along with photos of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother cover the walls. A small AC unit attempts to cool the room - not much help. Outside is a 24 passenger blue and white bus with "Contract Carriage" across the front. We wait, sweating!
Auroville is not a tourist attraction. Built, a project in "human unity" it is spread over 20 km. with 2000 residents from 39 countries. At the physical and spiritual center of this community is the Matri Mandir, a golden dome of meditation. Inside is the largest crystal (70cm) in the world surrounded by white marble. Casual visitors, such as I, are not allowed inside except with special permission which I don't have.
Arriving at
the information center, the group is shown a video of the origins of Auroville and the creation of the Matri Mandir. Then, walking the 1 km, we stand on a small knoll and glance from a distance. Even from here, the size and stature of such an undertaking is felt.
Someone near me asks what I'm feelin
g. Feeling? There is a sense in me that the dome should be open so that the light can shine - more like a lotus.
The return trip is to visit a Kali temple - no photos allowed. All men are told to remove their shirts, down to bare chests, and shoes, naturally, and walk down steps into an interior chamber. Cost Rs 1. Here, standing along a railing we gaze at the image of Kali the Destroyer. An attendant walks among us placing red kumkum powder on our foreheads or in our palms. This is my first forehead powder since arriving in India, a very common sight. Retrieving my banian and kurta, flip flops later, we are led to a symbol of Lord Shiva and then to look at the standing image of Kali, 73 m tall.
Back in Pondy, I have a cup of coffee and walk the waterfront home.
Today, I have planned a visit to Auroville.
At the Autocare Department, north 2 streets from Jain Street, then 2 doors west, I find a small room. Pressed against the back wall are 2 desks with the sides of the room lined with benches. Inside, I buy my ticket to Auroville and back, Rs 60. Departure is 2:00. Return around 5:45. One Western woman sits opposite me, I'm seated on the right near the opening, and 15 locals occupy the remaining space, standing and sitting. Outside 4 more, plus the driver, stand under two trees looking looking for shade. Maps of Pondy and Auroville, along with photos of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother cover the walls. A small AC unit attempts to cool the room - not much help. Outside is a 24 passenger blue and white bus with "Contract Carriage" across the front. We wait, sweating!
Auroville is not a tourist attraction. Built, a project in "human unity" it is spread over 20 km. with 2000 residents from 39 countries. At the physical and spiritual center of this community is the Matri Mandir, a golden dome of meditation. Inside is the largest crystal (70cm) in the world surrounded by white marble. Casual visitors, such as I, are not allowed inside except with special permission which I don't have.
Arriving at
the information center, the group is shown a video of the origins of Auroville and the creation of the Matri Mandir. Then, walking the 1 km, we stand on a small knoll and glance from a distance. Even from here, the size and stature of such an undertaking is felt.Someone near me asks what I'm feelin
g. Feeling? There is a sense in me that the dome should be open so that the light can shine - more like a lotus.The return trip is to visit a Kali temple - no photos allowed. All men are told to remove their shirts, down to bare chests, and shoes, naturally, and walk down steps into an interior chamber. Cost Rs 1. Here, standing along a railing we gaze at the image of Kali the Destroyer. An attendant walks among us placing red kumkum powder on our foreheads or in our palms. This is my first forehead powder since arriving in India, a very common sight. Retrieving my banian and kurta, flip flops later, we are led to a symbol of Lord Shiva and then to look at the standing image of Kali, 73 m tall.
Back in Pondy, I have a cup of coffee and walk the waterfront home.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Simanta Chatterjee
It's 4:00, I'm standing at the watchman's small desk just inside the large gate which is the entrance to the Ashram Nursing Home. Waiting, as he pulls on his socks and shoes, a boredness fills the air. Shoes on, he points up the short stairs to the ground floor where I find nothing. No reception desk. No nurse. Where is Simanta? Walking through the hall I find a door open, Library/TV Room, reads the sign. Two women, dressed similarly, my guess is they are orderly, are flopped on a divan. I ask. They point upstairs and say, "1st floor." Through the sanitary halls, white walls and tile floors, I find the stairs and climb the short distance to the empty floor. I wait as a man is being wheeled into an elevator, another buzzes around giving instructions to a man on the stairs. As the instructions are completed, I try to sneak in a word. No good! He's off, not concerned with me. Waiting, looking around, I see a young girl with her arm bandaged, sitting in a large room with partitions. Stepping in, several staff look to be filling trays, offering water, and such things, I ask for help. The little girl brightens when I give the name. Leading me, she steps around the partition and points to a bed against the wall where a man is lying on his side. I approach, he sits up, and I know instantly, from photos, that I have found Simanta. He first, then I, bring our hands together in Namaste, and shake each other's hands with both pressed tightly. Saying that I am a friend of Robert's, and my name, he motions for me to sit next to him. He is frail, dark rings around his eyes, and tells of his bout with some fever. Graciously, as I see is his custom, he makes me feel welcome. We talk of friends, wishes, hopes, and am sent off to find a man named Bob who works in the Ashram Archives. But, not before I promise to return tomorrow. All I know of Bob is that he is tall. Tall Bob is located in Archives. Following a 30 minute search through the library and other such places he is located. A native of Wisconsin, Tall Bob and I sit at a table, drinking water, and become friends. Tomorrow, we will meet for a joint Simanta visit. 4:00!
Where, oh where...
Tuesday, June 17, 08
Since my arrival, I have searched for Simanta Chatterje. He is of the Brahman caste and a dear friend of a friend. Today, I have been directed to an apartment 30 minutes walk from my Guest House. Arriving at the white 4 story building, I enter the gate and find the watchman. Yes, Simanta lives here. But, he has been in the Ashram Nursing Home (hospital) for the past 13 days. The Nursing Home is back along the waterfront, across the street from Park GH. So, I am told! This should be easy. 30 minutes later I arrive across from Park and find a building being renovated. With no English, a young man, carry a large plate of cement through the open gate, tells me it's 3 something that way. Three what? Streets, buildings... I walk a few buildings, till I find an open gate, and ask this watchman where? He points on down the street. Two blocks further and I ask 2 autorickshaw drivers. Continue on. One more block and I ask a policeman. No, back across from the GH. This time I'm taking no chances. Walking up to the reception desk at Park GH, I ask. Where? 3 buildings from here. Back I walk, slowly, counting, looking for something I had earlier missed. There, at the open gate, where I had earlier asked the watchman, is the sign of the Ashram on the inside wall. How could the watchman misunderstand me. This is how so many inquiries flow. If I spoke Tamil, all of this could be avoided.
Visiting hours are 4:00-7:00. Come back later! It's now past noon, too tired and too late for the Dining Hall, not wanting to walk the 15 minutes both ways, I sit at La Terrassee waiting for some lunch. That's my morning.
Since my arrival, I have searched for Simanta Chatterje. He is of the Brahman caste and a dear friend of a friend. Today, I have been directed to an apartment 30 minutes walk from my Guest House. Arriving at the white 4 story building, I enter the gate and find the watchman. Yes, Simanta lives here. But, he has been in the Ashram Nursing Home (hospital) for the past 13 days. The Nursing Home is back along the waterfront, across the street from Park GH. So, I am told! This should be easy. 30 minutes later I arrive across from Park and find a building being renovated. With no English, a young man, carry a large plate of cement through the open gate, tells me it's 3 something that way. Three what? Streets, buildings... I walk a few buildings, till I find an open gate, and ask this watchman where? He points on down the street. Two blocks further and I ask 2 autorickshaw drivers. Continue on. One more block and I ask a policeman. No, back across from the GH. This time I'm taking no chances. Walking up to the reception desk at Park GH, I ask. Where? 3 buildings from here. Back I walk, slowly, counting, looking for something I had earlier missed. There, at the open gate, where I had earlier asked the watchman, is the sign of the Ashram on the inside wall. How could the watchman misunderstand me. This is how so many inquiries flow. If I spoke Tamil, all of this could be avoided.
Visiting hours are 4:00-7:00. Come back later! It's now past noon, too tired and too late for the Dining Hall, not wanting to walk the 15 minutes both ways, I sit at La Terrassee waiting for some lunch. That's my morning.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Park Guest House, Pondy
Sunday, June 15, 08A three and four story complex set 100 ft from the crashing waves of the Bay of Bengal, Park GH is part of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, as was International GH. It is not set up to make or lose money. It's existence rests in being available to the Ashramites, and travellers like me. Cost? Bottom floor is Rs 200 ($5)/night. The other floors are double this. My room, 42, is on the bottom toward t
he middle. Out my room, between me and the crashing waves of the ocean, is a small porch, a walkway, a slender garden, a 5 ft fence and another walkway. One special addition, over that of International GH, is a canteen where I can sit with the paper and a cup of coffee. Snacks can also be purchased, as well as a simple 
breakfast. Out the left side is a large gate, a children's park, a community bathroom and I'm a short walk to the ocean. I would say beach, but there isn't any. 30-40 years ago there was a large beach and one could wade out on a sloping bottom for 1 km. For the past 10 years this has disappeared. All of it! No one quite knows why. The city has brought in large rocks to stop the erosion. That now is the Pondy waterfront. 
Laundry is picked up and turned in between 8:30-9:30, and must be paid for upon retrieval. No cleaning of the room is done without the guest's presence. There must have been an incident for such a policy to be enacted.
The room has 2 twin beds, bathroom, cold water, a small closet where I can secure my valuables and sundry shelves, tables and chairs. Tile floors throughout. With no screens, bugs and mosquitoes fly freely. A net, for night, is imperative. As soon as I can stop the Doxycycline, mosquito prophylaxis, I certainly will. The main side effect is light sensitivity. Although I smear 50 SPF sun block every morning, I still am experiencing a redness every now and again.
Guests are only allowed in the meeting room between 3:30-6:00, and the gate closes tightly at 10:30 PM.
The ocean breezes help to lessen the effects of the still warm summer, especially during the evening. Although the temperature isn't what it was 2 weeks ago, it's still warm. A very pleasant GH.
Today is Father's Day. I wouldn't have known it except that I called my son Matt and he wished it on me. And an email from son Andrew. Where, oh where is third son Steven?
Saturday, June 14, 2008
New Plans and Health
Saturday, June 14, 08
New Plans - Being scheduled to fly through London early July, I have emailed John and asked if he would be agreeable for a visit. Yes! Cutting my India time by one week, I am now scheduled to fly into London on June 25, with a flight out on July 2, into LAX. The UK is planning a petrol strike as I arrive. So it goes!
Health - I have been in excellent health. The only illness, during this complete period of travel, came during a 24 hour period in Ukarumpa, PNG. This past trip into the hills of India left me with two finger pokes. One became infected, but was quickly dealt with. No sinus problems. No scrapes, bruises, cuts, or sores. I now will quickly find a piece of wood to knock on!
During the hill trip, I left my backpack in Milan's office. Retrieving it today, I walked the 15 minutes to Park GH. It felt familiar!
New Plans - Being scheduled to fly through London early July, I have emailed John and asked if he would be agreeable for a visit. Yes! Cutting my India time by one week, I am now scheduled to fly into London on June 25, with a flight out on July 2, into LAX. The UK is planning a petrol strike as I arrive. So it goes!
Health - I have been in excellent health. The only illness, during this complete period of travel, came during a 24 hour period in Ukarumpa, PNG. This past trip into the hills of India left me with two finger pokes. One became infected, but was quickly dealt with. No sinus problems. No scrapes, bruises, cuts, or sores. I now will quickly find a piece of wood to knock on!
During the hill trip, I left my backpack in Milan's office. Retrieving it today, I walked the 15 minutes to Park GH. It felt familiar!
Friday, June 13, 2008
Prakash, the Driver
The nine day trip, Pondy, through the hill stations and return, is done, for convenience, in a taxi. I will be depended on for diesel money (advances), and so come prepared. This taxi driver does not own the car. He drives for someone. However, to make sure that the advances do not outstrip the actual costs is very important. That money would be irretrievable. The costs are negotiated and we are off. There is a car charge, a hill charge (extra money for driving in the hills), a set amount for the driver per day, and a kilometer charge. All this comes to $25/day.
From the outset, the driver is conniving, manipulative and difficult. I make the mistake of inviting him in to join us for breakfast, lunch and chai. Big mistake! In his mind I am an easy mark. The first morning in Kodaikanal, he says he has nowhere to bathe. We allow him to use our bathroom. The lodge objects. It turns out they had offered a facility for him but he had refused. He begins free-lancing, taking cash for rides during the times we aren't using him and not knowing that I've written down the odometer reading. This behavior continues. His story changes when it suits him. At one point, he asks Milan to have me advance him Rs 2000 ($50) so he can buy things for the family. That will not happen. On and on, it goes. Thursday, he claims he has no money for food when I have given him Rs 100 just the previous evening. Filling in diesel, with 4 hours to go on our return to Pondy, he wants the change from the fill-up. I refuse, which sends him into a rage. His response is to refuse to start the vehicle. Milan and I talk of collecting our things and taking another taxi, leaving him to drive back passenger empty. He climbs back into the driver's seat and now drives angry. He stops when he wants for chai, 30 minutes, and acts childishly. Glaring at us in the mirror, he drives on. Just get me to Pondy! As he drops us off, he goes into a rage wanting his tip. We have called his boss and will settle all this on Sat. This time Milan doesn't say, "This is India." Instead, he uses a barrage of words which one keeps in reserve for such occasions.
From the outset, the driver is conniving, manipulative and difficult. I make the mistake of inviting him in to join us for breakfast, lunch and chai. Big mistake! In his mind I am an easy mark. The first morning in Kodaikanal, he says he has nowhere to bathe. We allow him to use our bathroom. The lodge objects. It turns out they had offered a facility for him but he had refused. He begins free-lancing, taking cash for rides during the times we aren't using him and not knowing that I've written down the odometer reading. This behavior continues. His story changes when it suits him. At one point, he asks Milan to have me advance him Rs 2000 ($50) so he can buy things for the family. That will not happen. On and on, it goes. Thursday, he claims he has no money for food when I have given him Rs 100 just the previous evening. Filling in diesel, with 4 hours to go on our return to Pondy, he wants the change from the fill-up. I refuse, which sends him into a rage. His response is to refuse to start the vehicle. Milan and I talk of collecting our things and taking another taxi, leaving him to drive back passenger empty. He climbs back into the driver's seat and now drives angry. He stops when he wants for chai, 30 minutes, and acts childishly. Glaring at us in the mirror, he drives on. Just get me to Pondy! As he drops us off, he goes into a rage wanting his tip. We have called his boss and will settle all this on Sat. This time Milan doesn't say, "This is India." Instead, he uses a barrage of words which one keeps in reserve for such occasions.
Bandipur to Pondicherry
Thursday, June 12, 08
Breakfast and then off on the pot-holed road. Driving on the dirt shoulder is faster than staying on the road. After 20 km, we finally hit a respectable road. Well, somewhat respectable. The climb through the Ghats is gentle with a hair-pin descent on the east side. India has little respect for nature and less for the environment. This may be slowly changing. But, the cutting of large old trees, which line the roads, is a painful sight. Trash is thrown out with little regard for the consequences. Piles of everything are everywhere.
We pass old forgotten temples eroding from ages of neglect and fields of sugar cane, bananas, corn and sunflowers. Our driver enters towns at 60 km/hr and may slow to 30 weaving and dodging cows, carts, pedestrians, motorbikes, and grumbles when he is stopped.
Ten hours of this, my fingernail marks are in the seat in front of me, and we arrive back in Pondicherry. I'm in the Park Guest House, bottom floor, room 42. Rate per night is Rs 200 ($5). On the ocean front, this GH is within 100 ft of the crashing waves. The smell of saltwater is obvious. The crash of the surf sounds even over the whirl of the ceiling fan.
Breakfast and then off on the pot-holed road. Driving on the dirt shoulder is faster than staying on the road. After 20 km, we finally hit a respectable road. Well, somewhat respectable. The climb through the Ghats is gentle with a hair-pin descent on the east side. India has little respect for nature and less for the environment. This may be slowly changing. But, the cutting of large old trees, which line the roads, is a painful sight. Trash is thrown out with little regard for the consequences. Piles of everything are everywhere.
We pass old forgotten temples eroding from ages of neglect and fields of sugar cane, bananas, corn and sunflowers. Our driver enters towns at 60 km/hr and may slow to 30 weaving and dodging cows, carts, pedestrians, motorbikes, and grumbles when he is stopped.
Ten hours of this, my fingernail marks are in the seat in front of me, and we arrive back in Pondicherry. I'm in the Park Guest House, bottom floor, room 42. Rate per night is Rs 200 ($5). On the ocean front, this GH is within 100 ft of the crashing waves. The smell of saltwater is obvious. The crash of the surf sounds even over the whirl of the ceiling fan.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Otty to Mudumalai, India
Wednesday, June 11, 08
We are off for Mudumalai Tiger Reserve. First, we look out over the vallies from
Doddabetta Peak, 2633 m, the highest peak in all of South India, and visit the Govy Botanical Gardens in Otty. Both of these are spectacular. From the peak the view is clouded, poor picture weather through the haze and mist. But the Gardens are 22 acres of manicured lawns and flowers along a hillside in Otty. The monkeys are creating a problem by sorting through the trash bins and leaving a mess. They wouldn't last past dinner in Congo!
I haven't written much about the weather in these hill resorts. Kodaikanal was in the lower 50s at night. Otty seems colder. I did not bring clothes along for such weather. Luckily, I have a wind breaker. In Otty, I use two blankets to stay warm at night. Returning to Pondy will be a system shocker. Asking for a tea, I find I've been drinking Orange Pekoe tea.
At the entrance to the Gardens is a sign, "Hebron School - Lushington Hall." Then below, "Co-educational, boarding school for children aged 5 to 18 years." This is the present home of Hebron School. I don't take the time to walk the hill to the campus.
Mudumalai Tiger Park is not in the hills, so the weather is mild, not cool. The 321 sq. km park is grasslands to semi-evergreen forests. The park actually is split over two Indian States. Mudumalai is in Tamil Nadu and Bandipur National Park is in Karnakata. Odd that they would name the park differently simply because it spreads over two states. But, they have. There are all sorts of promises as to what we will see. Driving slowly we see two large herds of Chitals (spotted deer), together around 80 deer. What a sight!
There is not a room to be had in the simple lodging in Mudumalai, so we continue on into Bandipur. Also, nothing! Exiting the park, we find lodging at MC Resort, a group of 20 rooms in a U with a large yard between the buildings with trees. Their main emphasis is taking groups into the parks on safaris. Tomorrow, rather, we will be returning to Pondy.
As we enter the room, no number on the door, a small gecko moves behind the beds. Oh, I have missed my little friends.
As night sets in electricity is supplied. Here, it is sporadic, on off, as the night progresses. Hot water? Not possible. Back to the cold shower.
Dinner is offered 7:00-9:30. Milan has asked for as table and 2 chairs to be set outside. Here we sit, enjoying the mild evening.
Mosquitoes! I have plenty of lotion. During the night, we will have a mosquito coil lit in the room. It smells like incense but is deadly on the flying creatures. A gecko chirps during dinner but is silent in the room. Dogs bark at passing wild pigs. Hope that doesn't keep up all night!
We are off for Mudumalai Tiger Reserve. First, we look out over the vallies from
Doddabetta Peak, 2633 m, the highest peak in all of South India, and visit the Govy Botanical Gardens in Otty. Both of these are spectacular. From the peak the view is clouded, poor picture weather through the haze and mist. But the Gardens are 22 acres of manicured lawns and flowers along a hillside in Otty. The monkeys are creating a problem by sorting through the trash bins and leaving a mess. They wouldn't last past dinner in Congo!
I haven't written much about the weather in these hill resorts. Kodaikanal was in the lower 50s at night. Otty seems colder. I did not bring clothes along for such weather. Luckily, I have a wind breaker. In Otty, I use two blankets to stay warm at night. Returning to Pondy will be a system shocker. Asking for a tea, I find I've been drinking Orange Pekoe tea.
At the entrance to the Gardens is a sign, "Hebron School - Lushington Hall." Then below, "Co-educational, boarding school for children aged 5 to 18 years." This is the present home of Hebron School. I don't take the time to walk the hill to the campus.
Mudumalai Tiger Park is not in the hills, so the weather is mild, not cool. The 321 sq. km park is grasslands to semi-evergreen forests. The park actually is split over two Indian States. Mudumalai is in Tamil Nadu and Bandipur National Park is in Karnakata. Odd that they would name the park differently simply because it spreads over two states. But, they have. There are all sorts of promises as to what we will see. Driving slowly we see two large herds of Chitals (spotted deer), together around 80 deer. What a sight!
There is not a room to be had in the simple lodging in Mudumalai, so we continue on into Bandipur. Also, nothing! Exiting the park, we find lodging at MC Resort, a group of 20 rooms in a U with a large yard between the buildings with trees. Their main emphasis is taking groups into the parks on safaris. Tomorrow, rather, we will be returning to Pondy.
As we enter the room, no number on the door, a small gecko moves behind the beds. Oh, I have missed my little friends.
As night sets in electricity is supplied. Here, it is sporadic, on off, as the night progresses. Hot water? Not possible. Back to the cold shower.
Dinner is offered 7:00-9:30. Milan has asked for as table and 2 chairs to be set outside. Here we sit, enjoying the mild evening.
Mosquitoes! I have plenty of lotion. During the night, we will have a mosquito coil lit in the room. It smells like incense but is deadly on the flying creatures. A gecko chirps during dinner but is silent in the room. Dogs bark at passing wild pigs. Hope that doesn't keep up all night!
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Hebron
If there is one part of this trip which stands out for me, it is the visiting of the schools where friends have spent time. These have the unique distinction of being missionary boarding schools. Hebron is one of these, located, so many years ago, in Coonoor, India. Now, it is a boarding spot for orphaned children. Driving through the large, circular, moon gate, we stop at the office. Yes, they will be very happy to let me wander, with a guide. Pictures all around, till my batteries run out. Why don't I remember to bring extras? I can hear the patter of small feet, the games on the courts, the swimmers in the pool and bathers on the cool deck and so much more. Stepping into the dorms brings back especially poignant visions and memories. The bunk bed, thin mattress, little privacy, games, some in fun, others not, house parents, some parent-like, others with a grudge. My own memories inter-mingle with those present. How did so many fit into such small spaces? On a partition are clothes in their appropriate boxes. These could have been placed there for Joan or Pat. This is part of their story, and mine. Time has stopped!
Hebron pics:http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/Hebron
Hebron pics:http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/Hebron
Coonoor and the Miniature Train
Tuesday, June 10, 08
The day begins cloudy with a wind. The flowers at the front of the two story line of rooms sway in the breeze - chrysanthemum, dahlias, zinnias, snaps, hibiscus, creepers, berries and many more. The lodging is up the slope from the main house where the family resides.
These hill towns are much more Christian. A Christian church is a frequent sight. The houselady has Christian mottos on the wall in the entryway and dining room.
We walk the town, we change hotels and hustle to the train station for the queue at 11:30. Rs 4 buys a ticket Otty to Coonoor - 3rd class. This is the World Heritage Miniature Train. The crowds are too much for Milan and he asks to be excused. The taxi driver will meet me in Coonoor, the best way to get things seen quickly. I find my way, after the unloading frenzy, and find a fine seat at the window across from a family of 4. The young boy and I make friends. This is a meter train and we crawl down the short distance, 1 hour to Coonoor passing stations like Lovedale, Ketti, Aravankadu and Wellington. Over bridges, under bridges, through tunnels, into gum tree groves, sights overlooking valleys and hillsides of tea, past tile, tin, eternite, and thatched roofs, temples, houses of the rich and poor, with soot and whistles all the way. Through trees fallen and trees standing, decidulous, and evergreen, we stop at a station where the family offers me a small portion of Bonda, a spicy hunk of deep fat fried dough. Finally Coonoor, where Milan and the driver greet me. Where next? To find Hebron!
Otty and Miniature Train pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/UdagamandalamOttyIndia
The day begins cloudy with a wind. The flowers at the front of the two story line of rooms sway in the breeze - chrysanthemum, dahlias, zinnias, snaps, hibiscus, creepers, berries and many more. The lodging is up the slope from the main house where the family resides.
These hill towns are much more Christian. A Christian church is a frequent sight. The houselady has Christian mottos on the wall in the entryway and dining room.
We walk the town, we change hotels and hustle to the train station for the queue at 11:30. Rs 4 buys a ticket Otty to Coonoor - 3rd class. This is the World Heritage Miniature Train. The crowds are too much for Milan and he asks to be excused. The taxi driver will meet me in Coonoor, the best way to get things seen quickly. I find my way, after the unloading frenzy, and find a fine seat at the window across from a family of 4. The young boy and I make friends. This is a meter train and we crawl down the short distance, 1 hour to Coonoor passing stations like Lovedale, Ketti, Aravankadu and Wellington. Over bridges, under bridges, through tunnels, into gum tree groves, sights overlooking valleys and hillsides of tea, past tile, tin, eternite, and thatched roofs, temples, houses of the rich and poor, with soot and whistles all the way. Through trees fallen and trees standing, decidulous, and evergreen, we stop at a station where the family offers me a small portion of Bonda, a spicy hunk of deep fat fried dough. Finally Coonoor, where Milan and the driver greet me. Where next? To find Hebron!
Otty and Miniature Train pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/UdagamandalamOttyIndia
Kodaikanal to Udagamandalam (Otty)
Monday, June 9, 08
Leaving Kodai at 9:00, we head down the winding, hair pin curves. To go to Otty, we must first re-enter the plains. But, these plains are on the western side of the continent, west side of the Ghats. Palani, where we stop for gas, I see, for the first time, "Elephant Crossing." On a bridge the right lane is closed because a woman is drying some seeds on the cement. All simply move around her as she sweeps the strays which have been blown away by the passing cars. Again a first, just outside of Palani, large windmills generating electrical power.
On to Tirupur, hosiery capital of India. Oh, the pollution being generated. The streams are smelly, discolored from the dyes and strong chemicals. Sweat shops are being used, but not visibly.
We begin the climb back into the Ghats, this part known as the Nilgiris, re known for its teas. These hair-pins make the descent out of Kodai look tame. Driving through Coonoor, I take notice, knowing I will return here tomorrow on the train. The distance now is only around 19 km and that part goes quickly. But, just before entering Otty, we stop for some tea. This tea is orange, rather than milky, and has a unique taste. The chai maker can't speak much English and is just pleased to see us there at his road side shop.
Otty is more of a hill town than Kodai which felt like a hill resort. Otty is in a bowl so the town opens up whereas Kodai is steeper hills which hides the town from itself. An amusement park is at the edge of the lake. The bus station and train station are near each other which is handy. A racecourse is at the bottom of the bowl, near the lake, across from the bus station. Horses, donkeys and cows share the road with the rest of us. The lake is further across than in Kodai, but there aren't the fingers. This is Otty, the Queen of the Hill Resorts, as the sign reads.
Leaving Kodai at 9:00, we head down the winding, hair pin curves. To go to Otty, we must first re-enter the plains. But, these plains are on the western side of the continent, west side of the Ghats. Palani, where we stop for gas, I see, for the first time, "Elephant Crossing." On a bridge the right lane is closed because a woman is drying some seeds on the cement. All simply move around her as she sweeps the strays which have been blown away by the passing cars. Again a first, just outside of Palani, large windmills generating electrical power.
On to Tirupur, hosiery capital of India. Oh, the pollution being generated. The streams are smelly, discolored from the dyes and strong chemicals. Sweat shops are being used, but not visibly.
We begin the climb back into the Ghats, this part known as the Nilgiris, re known for its teas. These hair-pins make the descent out of Kodai look tame. Driving through Coonoor, I take notice, knowing I will return here tomorrow on the train. The distance now is only around 19 km and that part goes quickly. But, just before entering Otty, we stop for some tea. This tea is orange, rather than milky, and has a unique taste. The chai maker can't speak much English and is just pleased to see us there at his road side shop.
Otty is more of a hill town than Kodai which felt like a hill resort. Otty is in a bowl so the town opens up whereas Kodai is steeper hills which hides the town from itself. An amusement park is at the edge of the lake. The bus station and train station are near each other which is handy. A racecourse is at the bottom of the bowl, near the lake, across from the bus station. Horses, donkeys and cows share the road with the rest of us. The lake is further across than in Kodai, but there aren't the fingers. This is Otty, the Queen of the Hill Resorts, as the sign reads.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
New Relationships
Saturday, June 7, 08
With a Poori, puffy donut without the hole, and dips, Milan and I head out for more sight seeing. These include Suicide Point, where again we have a long view of the valley with its towns, agricultural plots, peaks, sholas (forests), lake, clouds and mist, and red dirt clearings. On to Pillar Rocks with a garden of the largest hydrangeas I've ever seen, poppys, chrysanthemums, and others. On to another view of the valley and we are ready for lunch.
Again at the Punjabi restaurant, we have fish and black pepper curry with rice and nan. Milan returns to the room for a nap, it is 3:00. I need to get more exercise. Eat, chai, eat, chai, eat, chai, that has been the theme of the past days.
Walking past the Tibetan stalls which are stretched along the end of one of the four fingers of the lake, I raise my umbrella against the rain. Anticipating the rain, I sport my blue wind breaker, hat (always my hat, which a monkey was seriously eyeing 2 days ago) and my umbrella, which was purchased in Bangkok (it hasn't seen much service since arriving in India). As I round the finger's end and pass the boat house where a variety of paddle boats have been rented, it begins to pour. Five young men from Trichy run whooping over to join me under my small umbrella. It's beyond a tight fit. Our heads are dry. The rest of us is not. We share the usual questions - Where are you from? And you? Do you like India?... They peel off one by one till only 2 remain, then one. I point to the standing room only at the boat house tin roof's edge. He pulls himself close with one hand around my waist and one on my left shoulder. Again, with him whooping, we run for the shelter. Having deposited him, we laugh and say our good-byes. Scrambling, as if they aren't already as wet as they ever will be, the boat renters hurry. Women drape edges of sarees over their heads and the men gallantly paddle.
On I walk, finally stopping under a large tree along the hillside edge of the road. Two men have taken shelter under a cement culvert along the roadside. Two others are leaving the tree, where they have sought shelter, and come to stand with me, again, under my small umbrella. When the two culvert men see this, they come to join us - 5 of us. We laugh, and again share our stories, and they leave. They are from Chennai. Now alone, I cross to the lake side walkway just in time to receive a splash up to my knees from a passing car. Well, I was that wet already.
Continuing on, past two cows, lotus, groups of young men and women bicycling with the usual laughs, heads into the wind and rain and fun written all over their wet outfits. Excitement is contagious.
I press on past the 2nd, 3rd and finally round the 4th, the bridge, and take the bottom road back to the Kodaikanal Boat Club canteen where I have two small cups of coffee - no milk, no sugar - surrounded by talkative youths. Someone says the lake walk is 5 km, not to be believed. It can't be over 3.
It's still raining. It's only the degree which varies. Rain brings out an energy and vitality which is softened in the sunny, calmness of the usual. It's that which catches us unawares which brings with it an opportunity. I now have a new relationship with 9 young men and 2 cows.
Kodaikanal pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/KodaikanalIndia
With a Poori, puffy donut without the hole, and dips, Milan and I head out for more sight seeing. These include Suicide Point, where again we have a long view of the valley with its towns, agricultural plots, peaks, sholas (forests), lake, clouds and mist, and red dirt clearings. On to Pillar Rocks with a garden of the largest hydrangeas I've ever seen, poppys, chrysanthemums, and others. On to another view of the valley and we are ready for lunch.
Again at the Punjabi restaurant, we have fish and black pepper curry with rice and nan. Milan returns to the room for a nap, it is 3:00. I need to get more exercise. Eat, chai, eat, chai, eat, chai, that has been the theme of the past days.
Walking past the Tibetan stalls which are stretched along the end of one of the four fingers of the lake, I raise my umbrella against the rain. Anticipating the rain, I sport my blue wind breaker, hat (always my hat, which a monkey was seriously eyeing 2 days ago) and my umbrella, which was purchased in Bangkok (it hasn't seen much service since arriving in India). As I round the finger's end and pass the boat house where a variety of paddle boats have been rented, it begins to pour. Five young men from Trichy run whooping over to join me under my small umbrella. It's beyond a tight fit. Our heads are dry. The rest of us is not. We share the usual questions - Where are you from? And you? Do you like India?... They peel off one by one till only 2 remain, then one. I point to the standing room only at the boat house tin roof's edge. He pulls himself close with one hand around my waist and one on my left shoulder. Again, with him whooping, we run for the shelter. Having deposited him, we laugh and say our good-byes. Scrambling, as if they aren't already as wet as they ever will be, the boat renters hurry. Women drape edges of sarees over their heads and the men gallantly paddle.
On I walk, finally stopping under a large tree along the hillside edge of the road. Two men have taken shelter under a cement culvert along the roadside. Two others are leaving the tree, where they have sought shelter, and come to stand with me, again, under my small umbrella. When the two culvert men see this, they come to join us - 5 of us. We laugh, and again share our stories, and they leave. They are from Chennai. Now alone, I cross to the lake side walkway just in time to receive a splash up to my knees from a passing car. Well, I was that wet already.
Continuing on, past two cows, lotus, groups of young men and women bicycling with the usual laughs, heads into the wind and rain and fun written all over their wet outfits. Excitement is contagious.
I press on past the 2nd, 3rd and finally round the 4th, the bridge, and take the bottom road back to the Kodaikanal Boat Club canteen where I have two small cups of coffee - no milk, no sugar - surrounded by talkative youths. Someone says the lake walk is 5 km, not to be believed. It can't be over 3.
It's still raining. It's only the degree which varies. Rain brings out an energy and vitality which is softened in the sunny, calmness of the usual. It's that which catches us unawares which brings with it an opportunity. I now have a new relationship with 9 young men and 2 cows.
Kodaikanal pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/KodaikanalIndia
Friday, June 6, 2008
Lake Kodai
Friday, June 6, 08
Breakfast is at a vegetarian restaurant - vadai, idli, and coffee. One thing my system is not used to, all the sugar. There is sugar is everything, and lots in the chai and coffee. I love a lemon soda. But, again, sugar.
Milan and I decide that today is a do nothing day. We walk to the lake and bargain with a man in a row boat. How much? He quotes us rs 100 for 30 minutes. Milan gets him to agree to the same amount for one hour. The agreement made, Milan and I step into the row boat. Then begins the moaning. The boatman is angry with us for having bargained him down and says he should be charging over twice the amount. Then, he exits the boat, says he has other things to do, and leaves us in the charge of a 15 year old boy who struggles with the oars. So it goes! Lotus, the mist on the lake, families together in paddle boats fills our hour. At the bank, the boatman holds the boat as we step ashore. Milan hands him the agreed on amount as the boatman asks where the money is for the boy. Milan responds that the rs 100 belongs to him. The boat leaves with an angry, still angry, boatman. Later, as we walk to the Kodai Boat Club canteen, I hand the boy rs 10 without the old man seeing.
Staying at the canteen till 12:30, we lake and people watch - lemon tea. Flies are everywhere.
Lunch is again at the Punjabi restaurant - black pepper chicken and garlic chicken curry, rice, and nan.
The afternoon, I walk to the Kodai International School and ask for a tour. Hurried to the Admissions Office, I find it occupied by one woman who says there isn't anyone to help me. Then, she calls the watchman and asks him to fill in. He does. It turns out that he knew my cousin Paul who worked at the school during the early 70s. What a stroke of luck. Instead of a hurry through, he takes me around, as the rain chases us between buildings and walkways, and shows all I want to see. Unfortunately, my camera batteries run out toward the end. But, it is grand to have found such a knowledgeable guide. The rain has stopped and the sky has cleared. Coolness is in the air. Pictures tomorrow
Breakfast is at a vegetarian restaurant - vadai, idli, and coffee. One thing my system is not used to, all the sugar. There is sugar is everything, and lots in the chai and coffee. I love a lemon soda. But, again, sugar.
Milan and I decide that today is a do nothing day. We walk to the lake and bargain with a man in a row boat. How much? He quotes us rs 100 for 30 minutes. Milan gets him to agree to the same amount for one hour. The agreement made, Milan and I step into the row boat. Then begins the moaning. The boatman is angry with us for having bargained him down and says he should be charging over twice the amount. Then, he exits the boat, says he has other things to do, and leaves us in the charge of a 15 year old boy who struggles with the oars. So it goes! Lotus, the mist on the lake, families together in paddle boats fills our hour. At the bank, the boatman holds the boat as we step ashore. Milan hands him the agreed on amount as the boatman asks where the money is for the boy. Milan responds that the rs 100 belongs to him. The boat leaves with an angry, still angry, boatman. Later, as we walk to the Kodai Boat Club canteen, I hand the boy rs 10 without the old man seeing.
Staying at the canteen till 12:30, we lake and people watch - lemon tea. Flies are everywhere.
Lunch is again at the Punjabi restaurant - black pepper chicken and garlic chicken curry, rice, and nan.
The afternoon, I walk to the Kodai International School and ask for a tour. Hurried to the Admissions Office, I find it occupied by one woman who says there isn't anyone to help me. Then, she calls the watchman and asks him to fill in. He does. It turns out that he knew my cousin Paul who worked at the school during the early 70s. What a stroke of luck. Instead of a hurry through, he takes me around, as the rain chases us between buildings and walkways, and shows all I want to see. Unfortunately, my camera batteries run out toward the end. But, it is grand to have found such a knowledgeable guide. The rain has stopped and the sky has cleared. Coolness is in the air. Pictures tomorrow
Kodaikanal, India
Thursda
y, June 5, 08
Sleeping in till 7:15, it feels so good to pull covers up and scrunch to the bottom of the bed, what decadence, we decide to see some of the waterfalls around Kodai. Finding our way to Bear Shola Falls, we are enjoying the eucalyptus forests and water cascading off the large rock and through fissures. Hydrangeas and butterflies cover large areas as we return and are off to the next, Fairy Falls, which is on the grounds of a Horticultural Research Center. Lastly, Vattakanal Falls, which splash into a pool where lovers are having their pictures taken. Some one says, Dolphin's
Nose is near and a fine sight. This is apparently a rock formation. How far? 2 km one way from Vattakanal Falls. What isn't said is that the path is mostly very steep over roots of gigantic eucalyptus trees and stones. After 1 1/2 km, we arrive at a lookout which shows the valley extending out to Pondy, too far to see, and the Bay.
A spectacular view, sitting in a small spot where chai and coffee can be had. We indulge and spend more time than needed, could either be our hesitation of climbing the steep return, or is it the vista holding us? We decide not to go the additional 1/2 km to the rock formation. Returning up the steep climb we return to Kodai for lunch at a Punjabi restaurant on the second floor (Indian 1st floor) looking over a small valley. Later, a walk at the lake and some soup for dinner. This spot of beauty may take several days to absorb. We have the time. The only drawback, again said, is the noise which seems to accompany India.
y, June 5, 08Sleeping in till 7:15, it feels so good to pull covers up and scrunch to the bottom of the bed, what decadence, we decide to see some of the waterfalls around Kodai. Finding our way to Bear Shola Falls, we are enjoying the eucalyptus forests and water cascading off the large rock and through fissures. Hydrangeas and butterflies cover large areas as we return and are off to the next, Fairy Falls, which is on the grounds of a Horticultural Research Center. Lastly, Vattakanal Falls, which splash into a pool where lovers are having their pictures taken. Some one says, Dolphin's
Nose is near and a fine sight. This is apparently a rock formation. How far? 2 km one way from Vattakanal Falls. What isn't said is that the path is mostly very steep over roots of gigantic eucalyptus trees and stones. After 1 1/2 km, we arrive at a lookout which shows the valley extending out to Pondy, too far to see, and the Bay.
A spectacular view, sitting in a small spot where chai and coffee can be had. We indulge and spend more time than needed, could either be our hesitation of climbing the steep return, or is it the vista holding us? We decide not to go the additional 1/2 km to the rock formation. Returning up the steep climb we return to Kodai for lunch at a Punjabi restaurant on the second floor (Indian 1st floor) looking over a small valley. Later, a walk at the lake and some soup for dinner. This spot of beauty may take several days to absorb. We have the time. The only drawback, again said, is the noise which seems to accompany India.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Pondicherry to Kodaikanal
Wednesday, May 4, 08
A choir of birds sends me out the door. What a harmony. I have found that the birds which have been singing the loudest are mynah birds.
Milan and driver, we have hired a taxi, pick me up at 7:00, and we are off. Well, first comes gas and a few other details. Off is really 7:20.
Stopping for breakfast in Villappurum, we have a dosai and itly. The first is a pancake with onion and curry. The second is a circular pressed rice patty. These are accompanied by coconut, corriander, sambar, and something else. I would tell you what sambar is, but I don't know!
The going is slow. There is continual road work for 250 km. Trichy, who's real name is Tiruchchirappalli, see why it's called Tricky, on to Dindigul, and a start into the Western Ghats (hills). Driving through hill market towns, we arrive, 5:00, in Kodaikanal.
This hill town is a bustling, noisy vacation spot, cool, having rained earlier, and gives me the feeling of Tanah Rata in the Malaysian Cameron Highlands - On the way we have passed tea plantations.
Our reservation, we booked since rooms are at a premium, is at the Snooze Inn. Glimpses of British architecture is everywhere in the lake area. Kodaikanal International School, which my cousins attended in the early 50s, so long ago, faces the lake and is a grand series of stone and rock buildings. I'll make a visit into that site in the next few days. Kodaikanal, or Kodai, Lake is a finger lake which shimmers in the drizzling rain as Milan and I drink chai at the Kodai Boat Club. Two elderly locals are rowed across the lake, it's too long a walk, as the oars dip into the mist. Walking around the lake edge and up to have dinner, soup and vegetable curry/rice, the air has cooled to such a degree that we need jackets. What a contrast to Pondy!
A choir of birds sends me out the door. What a harmony. I have found that the birds which have been singing the loudest are mynah birds.
Milan and driver, we have hired a taxi, pick me up at 7:00, and we are off. Well, first comes gas and a few other details. Off is really 7:20.
Stopping for breakfast in Villappurum, we have a dosai and itly. The first is a pancake with onion and curry. The second is a circular pressed rice patty. These are accompanied by coconut, corriander, sambar, and something else. I would tell you what sambar is, but I don't know!
The going is slow. There is continual road work for 250 km. Trichy, who's real name is Tiruchchirappalli, see why it's called Tricky, on to Dindigul, and a start into the Western Ghats (hills). Driving through hill market towns, we arrive, 5:00, in Kodaikanal.
This hill town is a bustling, noisy vacation spot, cool, having rained earlier, and gives me the feeling of Tanah Rata in the Malaysian Cameron Highlands - On the way we have passed tea plantations.
Our reservation, we booked since rooms are at a premium, is at the Snooze Inn. Glimpses of British architecture is everywhere in the lake area. Kodaikanal International School, which my cousins attended in the early 50s, so long ago, faces the lake and is a grand series of stone and rock buildings. I'll make a visit into that site in the next few days. Kodaikanal, or Kodai, Lake is a finger lake which shimmers in the drizzling rain as Milan and I drink chai at the Kodai Boat Club. Two elderly locals are rowed across the lake, it's too long a walk, as the oars dip into the mist. Walking around the lake edge and up to have dinner, soup and vegetable curry/rice, the air has cooled to such a degree that we need jackets. What a contrast to Pondy!
Rs 10
Tuesday, June 3, 08
Walking toward the waterfront, it's that time of day again, 6:30 PM, the light is thinning. At the park a conveniently wide two lane street, the sidewalks are not for pedestrians, guides me along the west side. As I approach the SW corner, the street splits, one running ahead to make a square intersection and the other cutting along the park since it is rounded here, I see a woman in her twenties, 2 young children looking on, attempting to keep a camp stove lit. As I slowly pass, the 4 year old girl, with little clothing, stoops watching eagerly her mother's effort. Behind her mother stands little brother, dressed in nature's finest. The mother pumps air into the gas bottle intently working to push the last vapors out the stove. A man from around the corner, these are street, or more correctly, sidewalk dwellers, says something and disappears back to his mat and family. On the cement sits a pot filled with a few vegetables and lots of water - dinner. As I cross the street in front of her, she works the empty bottle as the flame lessens, flickers and dies. Even now, she continues. The little boy stands unconcerned, too young to know. The little girl continues her stooped gaze. Across the street, I stand in the sinking light as the mother's efforts remain known. Reaching into my pocket, I search out Rs 10 and returning across the street, leaning, with my holy hand, extend my offering. As she recognizes what is happening, she takes it, holy to holy, and smiles a "Thank You, Mista" as I point to the empty bottle. Walking the angled street, cut for the rounded park, I want to look back, but don't. Why this time? What touched me, poked me, to respond? Many, everyday, ask for a hand out, and I don't. But this time... Was it the children with dinner waiting uncooked? A mother doing her best, which isn't enough.
We are programmed to return a greeting. Here, it often is to look into palms extended. My usual response to myself is, "Get over it!" Not this time! There is no getting over it. This will not balance the score. But, it balanced something within me!
I searched for my soul
But, my soul I could not see.
I searched for my God
But, my God eluded me.
I searched for my brother
And found all three (Anonymous)
Walking toward the waterfront, it's that time of day again, 6:30 PM, the light is thinning. At the park a conveniently wide two lane street, the sidewalks are not for pedestrians, guides me along the west side. As I approach the SW corner, the street splits, one running ahead to make a square intersection and the other cutting along the park since it is rounded here, I see a woman in her twenties, 2 young children looking on, attempting to keep a camp stove lit. As I slowly pass, the 4 year old girl, with little clothing, stoops watching eagerly her mother's effort. Behind her mother stands little brother, dressed in nature's finest. The mother pumps air into the gas bottle intently working to push the last vapors out the stove. A man from around the corner, these are street, or more correctly, sidewalk dwellers, says something and disappears back to his mat and family. On the cement sits a pot filled with a few vegetables and lots of water - dinner. As I cross the street in front of her, she works the empty bottle as the flame lessens, flickers and dies. Even now, she continues. The little boy stands unconcerned, too young to know. The little girl continues her stooped gaze. Across the street, I stand in the sinking light as the mother's efforts remain known. Reaching into my pocket, I search out Rs 10 and returning across the street, leaning, with my holy hand, extend my offering. As she recognizes what is happening, she takes it, holy to holy, and smiles a "Thank You, Mista" as I point to the empty bottle. Walking the angled street, cut for the rounded park, I want to look back, but don't. Why this time? What touched me, poked me, to respond? Many, everyday, ask for a hand out, and I don't. But this time... Was it the children with dinner waiting uncooked? A mother doing her best, which isn't enough.
We are programmed to return a greeting. Here, it often is to look into palms extended. My usual response to myself is, "Get over it!" Not this time! There is no getting over it. This will not balance the score. But, it balanced something within me!
I searched for my soul
But, my soul I could not see.
I searched for my God
But, my God eluded me.
I searched for my brother
And found all three (Anonymous)
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Floor Lady
Tuesday, June 3, 08 
There are 80 rooms on 4 floors of International Guest House. Each floor has several women who divide up the rooms and cover for each other during their scheduled days off. Besides cleaning my room daily, which also includes disinfecting the tile floors of the room, hallway and stairs, she brings me chai, takes my laundry for washing and ironing and watches out so that my stay is comfortable.
Although chai is available throughout the day, I have two cups each morning as I journal and read the paper at the open courtyard.
There are 80 rooms on 4 floors of International Guest House. Each floor has several women who divide up the rooms and cover for each other during their scheduled days off. Besides cleaning my room daily, which also includes disinfecting the tile floors of the room, hallway and stairs, she brings me chai, takes my laundry for washing and ironing and watches out so that my stay is comfortable.
Although chai is available throughout the day, I have two cups each morning as I journal and read the paper at the open courtyard.
-Her day off is Saturday.
-In addition to being disinfected, the hallway is swept several times daily with a grass broom.
-Only she has access to my room, I lock all valuables in a closet, or carry them on me.
-No visitors are allowed so she keeps a sharp lookout for strangers.
-This is an Ashram GH so there is no smoking or drinking allowed on the premises. It is also her duty to monitor for such activities.
-This is an Ashram GH so there is no smoking or drinking allowed on the premises. It is also her duty to monitor for such activities.
-I'm not sure of her hours, since she's here when I rise and disappears sometime late afternoon. But,her day is long.
When I first arrived, there was a failure to place a light weight blanket on my bed (I did not think anything was amiss, since not having a blanket has happened before). The next morning she found that I had simply spread and used my sarong. I returned from lunch to find 2 blankets on the second bed. There they remained, the sarong continuing to see service for 5 days. Each morning I would fold up the sarong and place it at the end of the bed. This is common in SE Asia. She corrected me by spreading it across the full bed. One morning, I returned to find the blanket opened with a folded lump underneath it, my sarong. The sarong went into the closet. A gentle nudge from the floor lady.
The same happened with an incense burner I had placed on the small table separating the two twin beds. One afternoon, I found it moved to a proper spot, a small triangular slate piece which is near the door and where bottles of water and the key are dropped.
She takes her job seriously, shaping up the guests who need shaping.
When I first arrived, there was a failure to place a light weight blanket on my bed (I did not think anything was amiss, since not having a blanket has happened before). The next morning she found that I had simply spread and used my sarong. I returned from lunch to find 2 blankets on the second bed. There they remained, the sarong continuing to see service for 5 days. Each morning I would fold up the sarong and place it at the end of the bed. This is common in SE Asia. She corrected me by spreading it across the full bed. One morning, I returned to find the blanket opened with a folded lump underneath it, my sarong. The sarong went into the closet. A gentle nudge from the floor lady.
The same happened with an incense burner I had placed on the small table separating the two twin beds. One afternoon, I found it moved to a proper spot, a small triangular slate piece which is near the door and where bottles of water and the key are dropped.
She takes her job seriously, shaping up the guests who need shaping.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Same ole, Same ole
Monday, June 2, 08
How lazy can I get? That appears to be the predominant question for the past several days, possibly longer. Take this morning, for instance. I slept in to 6:45, quickly showered and threw on some clothes, and walked the 2 blocks to the Dining Hall. That done, I stop at the chai maker for a tea and paper, walk up the 3 flights of stairs to my room #71, and pull a chair out to the courtyard, this is an open space in the interior of the building all the way through, top to bottom, a palm tree grows out the top. The floor lady brings me my second dose of chai. I journal and scan the paper. On to my room to listen to music and read till 9:30, I take a cooling shower and walk out along Nehru Street for an hour. Milan and I meet at his desk, where one of his employees brings me a coffee, and we talk. The conversation turns to our upcoming trip into the hills. Tomorrow, we will book a room and Wednesday begin what possibly could be a 10 day vacation into Kodaikanal and beyond. Lunch follows, with me again spending the afternoon resting, reading, and listening to music. At 4:00, I return to see Milan, for 10 minutes at his work, and walk on to Coffee.com, an internet cafe several blocks south.
Every late afternoon and into the evening, I take a several hour walk along the waterfront people watching.
With such limited activity, I have been opting to take dinner in my room, several mangoes and several oranges, valencias from California.
So, that's the day. It's a good change.
How lazy can I get? That appears to be the predominant question for the past several days, possibly longer. Take this morning, for instance. I slept in to 6:45, quickly showered and threw on some clothes, and walked the 2 blocks to the Dining Hall. That done, I stop at the chai maker for a tea and paper, walk up the 3 flights of stairs to my room #71, and pull a chair out to the courtyard, this is an open space in the interior of the building all the way through, top to bottom, a palm tree grows out the top. The floor lady brings me my second dose of chai. I journal and scan the paper. On to my room to listen to music and read till 9:30, I take a cooling shower and walk out along Nehru Street for an hour. Milan and I meet at his desk, where one of his employees brings me a coffee, and we talk. The conversation turns to our upcoming trip into the hills. Tomorrow, we will book a room and Wednesday begin what possibly could be a 10 day vacation into Kodaikanal and beyond. Lunch follows, with me again spending the afternoon resting, reading, and listening to music. At 4:00, I return to see Milan, for 10 minutes at his work, and walk on to Coffee.com, an internet cafe several blocks south.
Every late afternoon and into the evening, I take a several hour walk along the waterfront people watching.
With such limited activity, I have been opting to take dinner in my room, several mangoes and several oranges, valencias from California.
So, that's the day. It's a good change.
Friday, May 30, 2008
John Peatman
Friday, May 30, 08 (Pondy, India)Today, John is returning home to the UK from Bangkok.
Having travelled together for 9 days (April 11-20) through Malaysia, meeting first in Melaka and parting in Tanah Rata, we made plans to reconnect two weeks later in Bangkok, if our paths intersected. He went his way, crisscrossing Thailand, visiting a friend who was ailing, and I took Thailand through a different path. Staying in touch through texting, we found ourselves both in Bangkok on Sunday, May 4. (One of the oddities of such travel is finding those I have met in one location showing up in another. Anna and I crossed paths in Sumatra and found each other again in Brunei, same hostel. Allan and I travelled a short while on a bus to Penang, Malaysia and I passed him on the street in Chiang Mai, Thailand.)
Bangkok is a very large city. Where and how to find each other can only be done through knowing a simple layout of the capital. Having arrived from Lopburi on the train, I call John while riding a tuk tuk from Hualamphong Railway Station to Khao San Rd and find that he is already on his way. Khao San Rd is not long, 2 blocks, but I failed to tell John where on this road to find me. Not wanting to book a room until we can look it over together, I stand on the river side of Khao San. I've been carrying my packs for several hours and am tired. My shoulders and feet are hurting, I'm sweating in the heat, and need to find something to drink - fresh orange juice. Unloading my packs under a small tree for shade, I wait. Ten minutes drift by as I glance through the foot traffic. A kerplunk and I recognize the blue daypack thrown onto my bags. Turning, I see John on my right shoulder. A joyous greeting and a familiar face, the first one in two weeks traveling. Off to look for a room, John also finds an orange juice (These are vendors who squeeze them fresh.) and we catch up on so much. Two weeks apart, when traveling hard, is an enormous amount of time and experiences. The next day, we will retrieve my passport, with my India visa, and the following, with John's son Stewart and his girlfriend Claire, we will travel into Cambodia. Good to see John again!
It is not a rarity to find someone to travel with. But, to find someone compatible is a treasure. I have been fortunate to find good traveling companions from Anna and Shannon, to Paul and Csanad, Iain, Pat, Bill, and the longest, 17 days, with John.
-Sunsets across the Strait of Melaka.
-12 hour train and 10 hour boat rides. Others which were shorter and felt longer.
-The horrors and exquisite sublime of Choeng Ek and Angkor Wat.
-The coolness of the Cameron Highlands and the deadening heat of Ta Prohm.
-A beach to ourselves at Pantai Irama and a swim in the South China Sea.
-The humor, anger, and disgust of Poi Pet.
-Rain drenching days in Penang and dark nights in Gua Museng, with its eerie outcroppings.
-The art of looking for a room.
-Eating the best food ever all over. John knows how to eat.
-Relishing sweet/condensed milk in coffee in Penang, John expre
ssing his pleasure by smacking his lips.-A steamboat in Tanah Rata.
-Much laughter all along and a fine friendship.
Now, on his way home, Safe Travels!
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Benevolent Love
27/05/08 PM
At 6:30, while walking to the ocean front, I turn a corner on a busy street and witness a man lying on the center line pushing himself in circles with his left foot. At first, I think this may be a beggar. Quickly, it becomes apparent this is a man in distress. How do I respond in this culture? I knew how to respond in Kanchanaburi, Thailand, when Mark Thomas was in need of help. All walk past except one. Closing in on the scene, I see him directing traffic around the flailing sufferer. Now a second man has joined the first. While the first still directs traffic, the second kneels and looks at the sufferer. Passersby are collecting, all looking, an oddity, no one responding. From across the street, I stand as a heavy set man stands next to me. I say, He's having a seizure. Yes, he responds, I think so. The man leaning over the sufferer now has decided to pull or help him to the curb. As the seizure lessens, after some long minutes, the heavy set man looks about to leave. I say, He needs medical care. Yes, is the response. Should we possibly solicit the help of the tuk tuk driver? I ask and point to a vehicle only 20 ft away. No, is the reply. There is a clinic around the corner. He can walk there. With that he makes one more comment, Looks like he's better, and leaves. By now the sufferer is at the curb and is beginning to come around. 12-15 lookers on do just that as two men pull him onto the sidewalk. For the next 20 minutes I stand frozen in my flip flops waiting to see if someone will offer help. I don't know what is said. But finally, the crowd has dwindled to one and I leave. Returning 45 minutes later, the sufferer is gone.
This experience will take much time to process...
At 6:30, while walking to the ocean front, I turn a corner on a busy street and witness a man lying on the center line pushing himself in circles with his left foot. At first, I think this may be a beggar. Quickly, it becomes apparent this is a man in distress. How do I respond in this culture? I knew how to respond in Kanchanaburi, Thailand, when Mark Thomas was in need of help. All walk past except one. Closing in on the scene, I see him directing traffic around the flailing sufferer. Now a second man has joined the first. While the first still directs traffic, the second kneels and looks at the sufferer. Passersby are collecting, all looking, an oddity, no one responding. From across the street, I stand as a heavy set man stands next to me. I say, He's having a seizure. Yes, he responds, I think so. The man leaning over the sufferer now has decided to pull or help him to the curb. As the seizure lessens, after some long minutes, the heavy set man looks about to leave. I say, He needs medical care. Yes, is the response. Should we possibly solicit the help of the tuk tuk driver? I ask and point to a vehicle only 20 ft away. No, is the reply. There is a clinic around the corner. He can walk there. With that he makes one more comment, Looks like he's better, and leaves. By now the sufferer is at the curb and is beginning to come around. 12-15 lookers on do just that as two men pull him onto the sidewalk. For the next 20 minutes I stand frozen in my flip flops waiting to see if someone will offer help. I don't know what is said. But finally, the crowd has dwindled to one and I leave. Returning 45 minutes later, the sufferer is gone.
This experience will take much time to process...
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Going Postal
Tuesday, May 27, 08
Here in India, I've broken a personal travel rule. Possibly, it's because I know this is the last stop, and I don't need to carry what I buy. Or, it's my nature. But, I've picked up books to read, a mug, and other heavy things. Not having the backpack space, I have decided to send a package. Checking at the Post Office, several days ago, I know the limits and will be well within. I approach the Post Office door with my cloth wrapped, 10"X10"X12", addressed box, my mother's address in the to and from spots, feeling fairly confident I can negotiate this process. Milan has forewarned me that the clerks may not speak my English. The lobby is narrow and long with small booths where postal clerks are seated behind short glass dividers. There, a lady frees up at the first booth. Advancing, I ask how I send this package to the US. We stare at each other for a time, then she points behind her. Seeing nothing but packages, I wait. She leads me behind the packages to a floor scale. Package on the scale, she writes 6.39 (kg) in the weight spot of a form and returns to her chair. OK? After half a minute, I walk to the front of the booth and ask what happens now? Waiting a while, computing my confused look, the clerk leads me back to the scale, points to the package, and points to the lobby. Now, I understand that. But, what do I do with the package from this point? Our eyes meet with no communication. Finally, I decide that I should fill out the rest of the form. That done, I return to her window. She points to the form and the front of my package and says "Tape". OK, I understand this, but why? Why would the form go on the front when the address is already on the top in black marker? Looking at the form I see it is a Custom's Declaration. That solved, I look around wondering if this service, tape for a fee, is here or elsewhere. Seeing no tape, or anyone with that inclination, I shrug my shoulders, give her a figure 8 head shake and leave not having accomplished a very simple task. Too much for one day, which was only 10 minutes. Tomorrow!
Here in India, I've broken a personal travel rule. Possibly, it's because I know this is the last stop, and I don't need to carry what I buy. Or, it's my nature. But, I've picked up books to read, a mug, and other heavy things. Not having the backpack space, I have decided to send a package. Checking at the Post Office, several days ago, I know the limits and will be well within. I approach the Post Office door with my cloth wrapped, 10"X10"X12", addressed box, my mother's address in the to and from spots, feeling fairly confident I can negotiate this process. Milan has forewarned me that the clerks may not speak my English. The lobby is narrow and long with small booths where postal clerks are seated behind short glass dividers. There, a lady frees up at the first booth. Advancing, I ask how I send this package to the US. We stare at each other for a time, then she points behind her. Seeing nothing but packages, I wait. She leads me behind the packages to a floor scale. Package on the scale, she writes 6.39 (kg) in the weight spot of a form and returns to her chair. OK? After half a minute, I walk to the front of the booth and ask what happens now? Waiting a while, computing my confused look, the clerk leads me back to the scale, points to the package, and points to the lobby. Now, I understand that. But, what do I do with the package from this point? Our eyes meet with no communication. Finally, I decide that I should fill out the rest of the form. That done, I return to her window. She points to the form and the front of my package and says "Tape". OK, I understand this, but why? Why would the form go on the front when the address is already on the top in black marker? Looking at the form I see it is a Custom's Declaration. That solved, I look around wondering if this service, tape for a fee, is here or elsewhere. Seeing no tape, or anyone with that inclination, I shrug my shoulders, give her a figure 8 head shake and leave not having accomplished a very simple task. Too much for one day, which was only 10 minutes. Tomorrow!
Monday, May 26, 2008
Move Along
Monday, May 26, 08
Returning from breakfast, I stop for a paper and chai, as is my habit, at the vendor nearest the GH. No words or expressions, except eye contact, and he knows. Two men read the paper seated in a small area between this stall and the next. Handed the paper, I scan and notice movement. A large rat has emerged from under some boards and is walking up the open drainage next to my feet. One of the readers notices and makes a gesture of disgust by muttering and swinging his open palm toward the rat, who appears confused. I swing my paper and the rat retreats. Both readers leave, no other exchanges. Chai is ready!
Returning from breakfast, I stop for a paper and chai, as is my habit, at the vendor nearest the GH. No words or expressions, except eye contact, and he knows. Two men read the paper seated in a small area between this stall and the next. Handed the paper, I scan and notice movement. A large rat has emerged from under some boards and is walking up the open drainage next to my feet. One of the readers notices and makes a gesture of disgust by muttering and swinging his open palm toward the rat, who appears confused. I swing my paper and the rat retreats. Both readers leave, no other exchanges. Chai is ready!
Evening Out
25/ 05/08 PM
Driving to dinner, I notice flowers on the roadway. Not long after, we pass a large cart with a frame decorated in flowers of all colors - a funeral procession. Death is followed, most often within 24 hours, by cremation. These burning ghats are on the outskirts of town. Mourners follow silently behind and before. An 8 piece band plays behind a cart filled with flowers. This cart leads the procession. Flowers from the cart are thrown onto the roadway. Such a display signals a man of means. He lies on the "hearse" draped in white.
Milan and I do not go directly to the restaurant, Appu. Detouring to the ocean front, north of Pondy, to where there used to be a fishing village, we search for a man named Babu. The tsunami destroyed most of the buildings and what is left is no longer recognizeable as it once was. Even the road, which used to service the area, has been moved. Rocks have been heaped into jetties and breakwaters along what little beach remains. The fishing village, as it existed not many years past, is no more. The inhabitants have moved to other spots along the beach, north and south.
Driving to dinner, I notice flowers on the roadway. Not long after, we pass a large cart with a frame decorated in flowers of all colors - a funeral procession. Death is followed, most often within 24 hours, by cremation. These burning ghats are on the outskirts of town. Mourners follow silently behind and before. An 8 piece band plays behind a cart filled with flowers. This cart leads the procession. Flowers from the cart are thrown onto the roadway. Such a display signals a man of means. He lies on the "hearse" draped in white.
Milan and I do not go directly to the restaurant, Appu. Detouring to the ocean front, north of Pondy, to where there used to be a fishing village, we search for a man named Babu. The tsunami destroyed most of the buildings and what is left is no longer recognizeable as it once was. Even the road, which used to service the area, has been moved. Rocks have been heaped into jetties and breakwaters along what little beach remains. The fishing village, as it existed not many years past, is no more. The inhabitants have moved to other spots along the beach, north and south.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Nehru Street
Sunday , May 25, 08
Having received back my black trousers from the laundry, I notice a shiny look down the leg - ironed. These pants are 100% nylon.
Taking a walk north of the GH, I find three boys retrieving bottl
es and plastic from an extremely polluted waterway. They want some coins - none given. The giving of coins to those who ask, we call them beggars, is a voluntary act, personal. There is room for some.
Jasmine
is strung together and sold for decorating one's hair, an offering at the temple, or any general use.
I pass a shop owner "consecrating" his establishment by walking through every part with incense. He opens drawers, pulls aside curtains, and waves it about liberally. At another shop, the owner
lights incense before an altar. His young son looks on. Someday, it will be his good fortune to carry on the tradition and perform this ritual.
Having received back my black trousers from the laundry, I notice a shiny look down the leg - ironed. These pants are 100% nylon.
Taking a walk north of the GH, I find three boys retrieving bottl
es and plastic from an extremely polluted waterway. They want some coins - none given. The giving of coins to those who ask, we call them beggars, is a voluntary act, personal. There is room for some.Jasmine
is strung together and sold for decorating one's hair, an offering at the temple, or any general use.I pass a shop owner "consecrating" his establishment by walking through every part with incense. He opens drawers, pulls aside curtains, and waves it about liberally. At another shop, the owner
lights incense before an altar. His young son looks on. Someday, it will be his good fortune to carry on the tradition and perform this ritual.Kepis, red hats, a carry over from the French colonizers, policemen stand around waiting for someone or something. A traffic cop, dressed in a brown military uniform, stands center intersection performing hand signals.
In front of many houses and businesses, m
andalas are drawn in white chalk leading up steps and into the doorway. Each is different, all represent life.
andalas are drawn in white chalk leading up steps and into the doorway. Each is different, all represent life. Two cows pulling a cart make the corner as motorized vehicles speed past. There are times when I find it necessary to step around pies and further around cows. This isn't one of those, 
however.
however. There is so much to take in, a hundered things buzzing around
my senses - smells of a meat market, passersby standing over a beggar unhappy about something, wind swept chunni of a woman riding past, vendors calling out their location with bells, an open sewer, workmen mixing cement, sand, and gravel and then placing the mixture on large pans carried away on the tops of women's heads, cobblers parked on the sidewalk doing instant duty on torn sandals, juices at a corner cart, colors, whistles, honks, more honks (the unusual catches attention so every type of sound is found for the horn), men arm in arm or arm on shoulder laughing, a rickshaw with too much. By the end of a 2 hour walk, I need a rest.
my senses - smells of a meat market, passersby standing over a beggar unhappy about something, wind swept chunni of a woman riding past, vendors calling out their location with bells, an open sewer, workmen mixing cement, sand, and gravel and then placing the mixture on large pans carried away on the tops of women's heads, cobblers parked on the sidewalk doing instant duty on torn sandals, juices at a corner cart, colors, whistles, honks, more honks (the unusual catches attention so every type of sound is found for the horn), men arm in arm or arm on shoulder laughing, a rickshaw with too much. By the end of a 2 hour walk, I need a rest. About Experience
24/05/08 PM
Arriving for dinner at a restaurant, I'm the first in and seated. As I wait two families enter. Three servers surround me as I explain what I want. They switch me to a different choice since there is no gravy with this choice. I had pointed to "Mutton pepper fry". (Gravy is for putting over the rice.) I now am going to receive something I can read but can't understand. Sometimes having a Roman alphabet isn't much help. My lemon juice arrives followed shortly by two servers telling me, What? I catch the word rice and nan. I try to convey to them that I understand and yes, I'll make the switch. They leave unconvinced. That's their body and head language. Thanks to a dinner with a Canadian named Dan, one month ago in Penang, Malaysia, I know what nan is and also know how it's eaten - with your fingers. That is most likely what they were trying to convey. Does this Westerner really understand nan? Yes! Thanks Dan. The meal is delicious, mutton and gravy, and so is a second glass of lemon juice.
Arriving for dinner at a restaurant, I'm the first in and seated. As I wait two families enter. Three servers surround me as I explain what I want. They switch me to a different choice since there is no gravy with this choice. I had pointed to "Mutton pepper fry". (Gravy is for putting over the rice.) I now am going to receive something I can read but can't understand. Sometimes having a Roman alphabet isn't much help. My lemon juice arrives followed shortly by two servers telling me, What? I catch the word rice and nan. I try to convey to them that I understand and yes, I'll make the switch. They leave unconvinced. That's their body and head language. Thanks to a dinner with a Canadian named Dan, one month ago in Penang, Malaysia, I know what nan is and also know how it's eaten - with your fingers. That is most likely what they were trying to convey. Does this Westerner really understand nan? Yes! Thanks Dan. The meal is delicious, mutton and gravy, and so is a second glass of lemon juice.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Dressing the part
Saturday, May 24, 08
Every culture has its dress. India's dress is more varied and colorful than I've yet experienced.
Women
1. Saree - This is what most people think of when they think India - and it's true.
2. Salwar (bottom) and Kameez (top) - Thin cotton pants with a top which extends to the knees.
Chunni - A light shawl which accessories the outfit.
3. Western clothing - Worn mostly by some of the younger set.
Men
1. Kurta and Pajamas - A long top to just above the knees which most often buttons up the front. Pajamas are a draw string, light weight, cotton trouser.
2. Lungi - A long cloth which is wrapped around the waist and dropped to the ankles. Or, it can be doubled up, pulled up, and tucked in the waist.
3. Western clothing - Anything a Western man would wear can be seen here, including suits (rarely).
A woman can wear any of the above, even men's clothing. But, a man is limited to those assigned to men. Hopefully, in the pictures you can see some of the differences.
Pondicherry pics:http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/PondicherryIndia
Every culture has its dress. India's dress is more varied and colorful than I've yet experienced.
Women
1. Saree - This is what most people think of when they think India - and it's true.
2. Salwar (bottom) and Kameez (top) - Thin cotton pants with a top which extends to the knees.
Chunni - A light shawl which accessories the outfit.
3. Western clothing - Worn mostly by some of the younger set.
Men
1. Kurta and Pajamas - A long top to just above the knees which most often buttons up the front. Pajamas are a draw string, light weight, cotton trouser.
2. Lungi - A long cloth which is wrapped around the waist and dropped to the ankles. Or, it can be doubled up, pulled up, and tucked in the waist.
3. Western clothing - Anything a Western man would wear can be seen here, including suits (rarely).
A woman can wear any of the above, even men's clothing. But, a man is limited to those assigned to men. Hopefully, in the pictures you can see some of the differences.
Pondicherry pics:http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/PondicherryIndia
Friday, May 23, 2008
New Friends and Re-stocking
Friday, May 23, 08
A robin sized bird has taken a liking to me. Early morning, he greets me with a prolonged and loud call. With his dark colored body, white under wings with a yellow beak and yellow under his eyes, he drinks nectar from the flowers of the frangipani tree near my window. Except for the hottest part of the day, he is there, sometimes joined by his neighbors. Also, a crow has been coming to my open window, open when it isn't the hottest, and brings me flowers. Cawing loudly he beckons me to his gift. Across the way, two men search a large mango tree for today's ripe harvest.
Two assignments: One to be completed today and the other tomorrow.
Having scratched my glasses during the most rowdy parts of the trip, I need new lenses. Yet, to replace the lenses means to part with my glasses - that isn't even a possibility. Milan has been telling me that the Ashram is self-sufficient. He's right. There's an eye clinic. Having my eyes tested, it's been 2 years since my last eye exam, I find that my eyes have slightly changed. With a paper from the examiner, I head to Optical Center, a store on Gandhi street about 5 blocks walking. The paper ensures that I will receive the Ashram price for new frames and lenses and not have to negotiate with them. I choose frames and ask for Verilux lenses with UV protection. Everything is checked, distance between eyes and those sorts of things, and I'll have them one week from now.
The other issue is, putting a package together for mailing, deciding what must stay and what must go. Again, it is the Ashram that will package it and see to the mailing. I will be saying good-bye to some of my clothes which have faithfully served me thus far. But, my lighter shirts are stained beyond cleaning and my rusty red ones are threadbare. The continual wear on fabric from carrying a backpack shows. I know, why send clothes home which are worn out? I can't bear to part with them! Not now. Also, I will send back my long shorts purchased in Bangkok. Four Indian outfits have already been purchased and will take me the rest of the way. Pictures tomorrow, hopefully.
A robin sized bird has taken a liking to me. Early morning, he greets me with a prolonged and loud call. With his dark colored body, white under wings with a yellow beak and yellow under his eyes, he drinks nectar from the flowers of the frangipani tree near my window. Except for the hottest part of the day, he is there, sometimes joined by his neighbors. Also, a crow has been coming to my open window, open when it isn't the hottest, and brings me flowers. Cawing loudly he beckons me to his gift. Across the way, two men search a large mango tree for today's ripe harvest.
Two assignments: One to be completed today and the other tomorrow.
Having scratched my glasses during the most rowdy parts of the trip, I need new lenses. Yet, to replace the lenses means to part with my glasses - that isn't even a possibility. Milan has been telling me that the Ashram is self-sufficient. He's right. There's an eye clinic. Having my eyes tested, it's been 2 years since my last eye exam, I find that my eyes have slightly changed. With a paper from the examiner, I head to Optical Center, a store on Gandhi street about 5 blocks walking. The paper ensures that I will receive the Ashram price for new frames and lenses and not have to negotiate with them. I choose frames and ask for Verilux lenses with UV protection. Everything is checked, distance between eyes and those sorts of things, and I'll have them one week from now.
The other issue is, putting a package together for mailing, deciding what must stay and what must go. Again, it is the Ashram that will package it and see to the mailing. I will be saying good-bye to some of my clothes which have faithfully served me thus far. But, my lighter shirts are stained beyond cleaning and my rusty red ones are threadbare. The continual wear on fabric from carrying a backpack shows. I know, why send clothes home which are worn out? I can't bear to part with them! Not now. Also, I will send back my long shorts purchased in Bangkok. Four Indian outfits have already been purchased and will take me the rest of the way. Pictures tomorrow, hopefully.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Buddha Moon
21/05/08 PM
It's 6:00, dinner at 8:00, I walk to the ocean front and take notice of the crowd. Children are climbing on the Gandhi statue. All along are ice cream carts, with this heat business is brisk, cooked corn placed in a styrofoam container for on the go eating, balloons and fruit. The surf is high with the the moon rising near 7:00, Families are camped on the sandy walkway eating their dinner. Couples and friends stand near the crashing surf and are soaked. They laugh and wait for the next. Boys scamper after toys which are slingshot into the dark night, and whirl in twirling colored light back to earth. Lightning flashes out past where the lighthouse rotates its beacon. Fun is everywhere, a carnival atmosphere. This is the Buddha moon, full moon in May. It is the moon under which he was born, attained Englightenment, and died. His birth? 2552 years ago.
Dinner is the standard; vegetarian curry, rice and yogurt. Bread and porridge are also available - not this time. I have asked Milan about the utensils, stainless steel. Now that's settled!
It's 6:00, dinner at 8:00, I walk to the ocean front and take notice of the crowd. Children are climbing on the Gandhi statue. All along are ice cream carts, with this heat business is brisk, cooked corn placed in a styrofoam container for on the go eating, balloons and fruit. The surf is high with the the moon rising near 7:00, Families are camped on the sandy walkway eating their dinner. Couples and friends stand near the crashing surf and are soaked. They laugh and wait for the next. Boys scamper after toys which are slingshot into the dark night, and whirl in twirling colored light back to earth. Lightning flashes out past where the lighthouse rotates its beacon. Fun is everywhere, a carnival atmosphere. This is the Buddha moon, full moon in May. It is the moon under which he was born, attained Englightenment, and died. His birth? 2552 years ago.
Dinner is the standard; vegetarian curry, rice and yogurt. Bread and porridge are also available - not this time. I have asked Milan about the utensils, stainless steel. Now that's settled!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The Cobbler and the Insanity bug
Wednesday, May 21, 08
How does it happen that insanity can strike so quickly? Walking Pondy, the government has decided to change the name to Puducherry, but it doesn't appear to have taken hold, I sit a half hour with a cobbler making sandals. These have been ordered by school children and range in sizes from 1 to 9. He cuts out the straps, razor blades each size using a template, glues what needs gluing and now the bottoms. As he works he proudly hands me a plaque issued by the equivalent of the Better Business Bureau commending him on his work ethic. Then the insanity bug strikes. Seated on the sidewalk, he reaches to the side and pours out a few drops from a whiskey bottle and offers me a drink of water. I take several swallows, careful not to touch my lips to the opening. But, the water? What about the water? I shiver thinking about what I've done. 24 hours from now will give me the answer!
How does it happen that insanity can strike so quickly? Walking Pondy, the government has decided to change the name to Puducherry, but it doesn't appear to have taken hold, I sit a half hour with a cobbler making sandals. These have been ordered by school children and range in sizes from 1 to 9. He cuts out the straps, razor blades each size using a template, glues what needs gluing and now the bottoms. As he works he proudly hands me a plaque issued by the equivalent of the Better Business Bureau commending him on his work ethic. Then the insanity bug strikes. Seated on the sidewalk, he reaches to the side and pours out a few drops from a whiskey bottle and offers me a drink of water. I take several swallows, careful not to touch my lips to the opening. But, the water? What about the water? I shiver thinking about what I've done. 24 hours from now will give me the answer!
Decision making
Tuesday, May 20, 08
How does one know what is right for the moment? In Christian thought we refer to this as "Knowing the Will of God". In me, it usually begins as an unease. Locating the source of the unease leads to then process through and find an answer. Should I leave the calm and restfullness of India to volunteer to help the cyclone victims in Myanmar? (I've most often still heard it called Burma) This is the question. I have proximity, energy, and time. I have opportunity. There is a falsehood which often is accepted, "If I can, I should!" Although I agree that this is sometimes true, it is also as true that this is a heresy. The difficulty of such a decision comes in that this is seldom only a question of capability. This decision is already known. It's the removal of that which covers it so it can be revealed. Sitting with the question for 2 hours, I have found the response to be - No! All decisions have elements of for and against. This decison is for rest, for calm. Each of these decisions are specifically designed for the asker. What others will choose is not relevant. For now, I will remain in India.
There is another question which has been answered. I will not continue to Africa. July 1, I am returning to California. Africa will have to wait.
How does one know what is right for the moment? In Christian thought we refer to this as "Knowing the Will of God". In me, it usually begins as an unease. Locating the source of the unease leads to then process through and find an answer. Should I leave the calm and restfullness of India to volunteer to help the cyclone victims in Myanmar? (I've most often still heard it called Burma) This is the question. I have proximity, energy, and time. I have opportunity. There is a falsehood which often is accepted, "If I can, I should!" Although I agree that this is sometimes true, it is also as true that this is a heresy. The difficulty of such a decision comes in that this is seldom only a question of capability. This decision is already known. It's the removal of that which covers it so it can be revealed. Sitting with the question for 2 hours, I have found the response to be - No! All decisions have elements of for and against. This decison is for rest, for calm. Each of these decisions are specifically designed for the asker. What others will choose is not relevant. For now, I will remain in India.
There is another question which has been answered. I will not continue to Africa. July 1, I am returning to California. Africa will have to wait.
Monday, May 19, 2008
4 more words
Monday, May 19, 08
I have been generally cautious with taking pictures. But, this morning, I ask the chai maker and the floor lady to allow me.They consen
t. The floor lady has asked for a copy. That will require some research. I do remember seeing a photo shop down Nehru St.
t. The floor lady has asked for a copy. That will require some research. I do remember seeing a photo shop down Nehru St.On the way to see Milan at 10:30, I find myself transfixed at a game of carrom. Carrom, oh, I remember that board game from my youth. It takes some research through my memory archives, however. I believe we played it at Kafumba. These four men are the happiest on earth.
At lunch, I find another series of words to remember while traveling. It happens as I am seated at a foursome table with a man next to me and a woman across from him. Lunch over, having sat there for an extra 15 minutes watching the drama, I say to the couple, "Time for a nap" - an innocent enough statement. Except, only receiving back a bewildered look and finally a response from the woman of a hand to the side of her tilted head, I realize my mistake. Nappies are diapers. Time to leave! Four more words for the traveling notebook, "Keep Your Mouth Shut!"
Sunday, May 18, 2008
This is India!
18/05/08 PM
On his motorbike, seated behind Milan, we honk and work our way along streets and through intersections to a bar/restaurant around the corner and down the street from Cottage GH where Milan works. Ordering a beer, we split the not cold beverage with Milan telling the server to please bring a cold one next time. Relationships need time to sprout and grow. Ours is still in its infancy. But, already we have established that no topic is off-limit. Second beer, luke-warm. Milan shrugs and asks if it's OK. Yes. Dinner is some fried rice, fish and chicken curry. We seem to be in a rut with our ordering. Except, each restaurant prepares food differently and the taste, this time, is much hotter. We both are sweating under the heat of the evening and the spice in the food. About sweating, it is accepted as part of life. Everyone carries a cloth to wipe their face and neck.
We talk about the fact that the server is not understanding Milan who is speaking to him in Tamil, the server's mother tongue. I relate that at the internet today I sat next to a Frenchman who did not seem to understand when I said a sentence to him in French. It's curious that when something is not expected, we tend not to hear or see it. Milan is obviously not Tamil and the man can not compute the Tamil, which is fluent, coming from his mouth. I wonder what he would do with me if I were able to speak it? Asking for the bill, the server casually says, "325". Twice more, Milan asks for a bill - only an amount is given. Finally, Milan asks the server the price of each dish as I transcribe it onto a piece of paper and add it up. Taking the paper, Milan shows the server, who looks it over, and gives many figure 8 head shakes. I pay and we leave - 288 rupees. Milan then informs me that this morning, when we stopped for drinks, when the server had said our drinks were 45 rs, he knew it to be 40. How do restaurants keep tabs on their earnings? There are no computer slips to check and no record or copy of sales. Yet, somehow, it works. Who can be sure the money ever arrives at the cashier? I admit, these may be Western questions. There are eateries which don't pay the server knowing rupee are being skimmed. "This is India!" is all Milan says, as he turns his holy hand palm up and cocks his head to the side.
New Angkor Wat pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/AngkorWatCambodia
On his motorbike, seated behind Milan, we honk and work our way along streets and through intersections to a bar/restaurant around the corner and down the street from Cottage GH where Milan works. Ordering a beer, we split the not cold beverage with Milan telling the server to please bring a cold one next time. Relationships need time to sprout and grow. Ours is still in its infancy. But, already we have established that no topic is off-limit. Second beer, luke-warm. Milan shrugs and asks if it's OK. Yes. Dinner is some fried rice, fish and chicken curry. We seem to be in a rut with our ordering. Except, each restaurant prepares food differently and the taste, this time, is much hotter. We both are sweating under the heat of the evening and the spice in the food. About sweating, it is accepted as part of life. Everyone carries a cloth to wipe their face and neck.
We talk about the fact that the server is not understanding Milan who is speaking to him in Tamil, the server's mother tongue. I relate that at the internet today I sat next to a Frenchman who did not seem to understand when I said a sentence to him in French. It's curious that when something is not expected, we tend not to hear or see it. Milan is obviously not Tamil and the man can not compute the Tamil, which is fluent, coming from his mouth. I wonder what he would do with me if I were able to speak it? Asking for the bill, the server casually says, "325". Twice more, Milan asks for a bill - only an amount is given. Finally, Milan asks the server the price of each dish as I transcribe it onto a piece of paper and add it up. Taking the paper, Milan shows the server, who looks it over, and gives many figure 8 head shakes. I pay and we leave - 288 rupees. Milan then informs me that this morning, when we stopped for drinks, when the server had said our drinks were 45 rs, he knew it to be 40. How do restaurants keep tabs on their earnings? There are no computer slips to check and no record or copy of sales. Yet, somehow, it works. Who can be sure the money ever arrives at the cashier? I admit, these may be Western questions. There are eateries which don't pay the server knowing rupee are being skimmed. "This is India!" is all Milan says, as he turns his holy hand palm up and cocks his head to the side.
New Angkor Wat pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/AngkorWatCambodia
How and Where?
Sunday, May 18, 08
Milan arrives mid-morning on his motorbike and we are off to look into bus and train schedules. We want to find our way to Kodaikkanal and on to Udagamandalam, let's just call it Ooty. Train is nearly impossible and bus is out of the question. The first part, to Kodai, will be by taxi. Transport from there will be worked out later. We will most likely be out for a week. When we leave will be decided over dinner. Distances are immense with less options than I've yet found anywhere. Then, following our investigating, Milan has a coffee and I have a lemon soda at La Terrasse, just off the ocean walkway. The fact that the French were here for many years is evident everywhere. Many of the streets have French names like Victor Simonel St., Campagnie St. and Rue Dumas.
In an internet cafe owned by Sharda's sister...Oh, I haven't introduced Sharda. Sharda is Milan's girlfriend. In the internet I have an ice coffee waiting for a computer to become free. Bollywood is on the large screen TV. Young people are spread out enjoying the soap opera movie. Being in Hindi, I understand nothing. There, a computer is free.
Milan arrives mid-morning on his motorbike and we are off to look into bus and train schedules. We want to find our way to Kodaikkanal and on to Udagamandalam, let's just call it Ooty. Train is nearly impossible and bus is out of the question. The first part, to Kodai, will be by taxi. Transport from there will be worked out later. We will most likely be out for a week. When we leave will be decided over dinner. Distances are immense with less options than I've yet found anywhere. Then, following our investigating, Milan has a coffee and I have a lemon soda at La Terrasse, just off the ocean walkway. The fact that the French were here for many years is evident everywhere. Many of the streets have French names like Victor Simonel St., Campagnie St. and Rue Dumas.
In an internet cafe owned by Sharda's sister...Oh, I haven't introduced Sharda. Sharda is Milan's girlfriend. In the internet I have an ice coffee waiting for a computer to become free. Bollywood is on the large screen TV. Young people are spread out enjoying the soap opera movie. Being in Hindi, I understand nothing. There, a computer is free.
Lessons in Travel
17/05/08 PM
Not paying attention to a switch in dinner times, I miss my meal. Walking around the block, I find a restaurant advertising Air Con. I am shown to a small table in the corner. Whereas in Indonesia and Malaysia, direction is shown with the thumb. Here direction is shown by a gentle sweep of the hand. I watch as the tables fill, 8:30. In walks a 20-something, colorfully dressed in a sarong, smart looking woman who sits at the next table and plops plastic bags filled with her evening purchases, on the table and floor. She is waiting for someone. The server asks what her wishes are. Water first, which she receives in a 1 1/2 litre bottle and pewter cup (We have already established that it may not be pewter, but tin. I must remember to ask Milan). She pours and drinks from a straw. Having also ordered, her meal of chicken fried rice arrives. No someone! Her cell phone near, she calls, talks, hangs up and spoons rice into her plate. With her holy hand, her right hand, she cups food into her mouth. After 5 minutes in walks a hurried woman, also in her 20s, very well dressed, also in a colorful sarong, smiling and jabbering. Passing to the rear of the restaurant, she washes at a sink and returns. This is a common sight in all areas I've visited - a wash basin, many eat with their fingers. Returning, they order drinks, lemon juice, and catch up, pointing occasionally to the packages. I must admit I found it odd that she drank her water through a straw and ate her food with her fingers. Eating with your fingers is not an issue of poverty, low-caste, or any such thing. It is cultural!
Comment - We are all, in our essence, the same. We do differ, however, in our behaviour. Learning to distinguish those differences, so I don't offend, is important in traveling. I have found too many Westerners who have been upset, confused and stupefied by certain behavior they believe wrong. To take our cultural expectations and believe them to be what all should hold to is arrogant. In traveling, don't be first, step back and watch. Where do the utensils go following my meal at the Ashram? Wait! Watch! How do I negotiate a busy intersection? Watch! Ask! What are the duties of the floor lady in relation to me? Watch! Listen! These four words, WAIT, WATCH, ASK, LISTEN, may be the most important lessons of travel.
Not paying attention to a switch in dinner times, I miss my meal. Walking around the block, I find a restaurant advertising Air Con. I am shown to a small table in the corner. Whereas in Indonesia and Malaysia, direction is shown with the thumb. Here direction is shown by a gentle sweep of the hand. I watch as the tables fill, 8:30. In walks a 20-something, colorfully dressed in a sarong, smart looking woman who sits at the next table and plops plastic bags filled with her evening purchases, on the table and floor. She is waiting for someone. The server asks what her wishes are. Water first, which she receives in a 1 1/2 litre bottle and pewter cup (We have already established that it may not be pewter, but tin. I must remember to ask Milan). She pours and drinks from a straw. Having also ordered, her meal of chicken fried rice arrives. No someone! Her cell phone near, she calls, talks, hangs up and spoons rice into her plate. With her holy hand, her right hand, she cups food into her mouth. After 5 minutes in walks a hurried woman, also in her 20s, very well dressed, also in a colorful sarong, smiling and jabbering. Passing to the rear of the restaurant, she washes at a sink and returns. This is a common sight in all areas I've visited - a wash basin, many eat with their fingers. Returning, they order drinks, lemon juice, and catch up, pointing occasionally to the packages. I must admit I found it odd that she drank her water through a straw and ate her food with her fingers. Eating with your fingers is not an issue of poverty, low-caste, or any such thing. It is cultural!
Comment - We are all, in our essence, the same. We do differ, however, in our behaviour. Learning to distinguish those differences, so I don't offend, is important in traveling. I have found too many Westerners who have been upset, confused and stupefied by certain behavior they believe wrong. To take our cultural expectations and believe them to be what all should hold to is arrogant. In traveling, don't be first, step back and watch. Where do the utensils go following my meal at the Ashram? Wait! Watch! How do I negotiate a busy intersection? Watch! Ask! What are the duties of the floor lady in relation to me? Watch! Listen! These four words, WAIT, WATCH, ASK, LISTEN, may be the most important lessons of travel.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Comment and tips
Saturday, May 17, 08
- I have been pressing my luck in drinking chai from a street vendor who I watch washing the glasses, not very thoroughly. Again, drinking orange juice from another vendor. I expect at some point that tempting fate will bring the wrath of the gods down upon me. But, for the moment, I'm well, except for a sinus congestion. Even my feet are adapting to my flip flops and until I do experience an issue, I will continue my planned course of enjoying such small pleasures.
-When removing your shoes/flip flops, sandals, pay strict attention to where you lay them. More than once, I have found myself confused and bewildered by not remembering where they are. Today, an Indian woman, searching for her own, laughed with me as we looked together, heads down, locating them, but only after a walk through all the designated shoe deposit spots.
-The yes/no shake is a curious way of answering with the head. It's not a sideways or up and down shake. Put your head into a figure 8 and that's it. The wider the figure 8 the more the unknown, it would appear. Possibly, that's the point, if there is one. "It is what you wish!"
Phnom Penh pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/PhnomPenh
- I have been pressing my luck in drinking chai from a street vendor who I watch washing the glasses, not very thoroughly. Again, drinking orange juice from another vendor. I expect at some point that tempting fate will bring the wrath of the gods down upon me. But, for the moment, I'm well, except for a sinus congestion. Even my feet are adapting to my flip flops and until I do experience an issue, I will continue my planned course of enjoying such small pleasures.
-When removing your shoes/flip flops, sandals, pay strict attention to where you lay them. More than once, I have found myself confused and bewildered by not remembering where they are. Today, an Indian woman, searching for her own, laughed with me as we looked together, heads down, locating them, but only after a walk through all the designated shoe deposit spots.
-The yes/no shake is a curious way of answering with the head. It's not a sideways or up and down shake. Put your head into a figure 8 and that's it. The wider the figure 8 the more the unknown, it would appear. Possibly, that's the point, if there is one. "It is what you wish!"
Phnom Penh pics: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/musungi/PhnomPenh
Manakula Vinayaku/Samadhi
17/05/08 PM
Following dinner, 8:30, I walk north toward the Samadhi of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. These are the names of a famous yogi and his wife. The central courtyard of the main Ashram building has a flower-festooned samadi (memorial) of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother under a frangipani tree. On the way, I pass the Manakula Vinayakau, the famous 18th century shrine of Lord Ganesha - elephant god. An elephant is taking food with his trunk then tapping, or running his trunk, over the heads in blessing. The food is purchased for a donation nearby. At an intersection, 50 ft. away, a holy man is blessing vehicles. I ask a bystander who says that a token is purchased from close to the shrine, 40 rupee for a car, 15 rupee for a motorbike. The holy man keeps a fire burning on a tray and walks around and in the car touching it with blessing. Then, he places a "dot" of red coloring on the drivers concerned and the vehicle is driven over lemons. Walking on, I enter the grounds of the Samadhi. Removing my flip flops, as is customary in virtually every house, I sit against the wall and observe the devotees at the memorial (A white marble rectangular slab app. 6 ftX15 ft). The entire surface is covered in an array of flowers spread in specific order. Devotees touch the memorial with their foreheads. Touching the flowers, they bring their fingers to their head, eyes, hair, chin... Moving around the memorial this may be repeated. A large frangipani tree is on the backside which is also touched and leaned against. Around teh outside, seated in meditation, are 40-50 others. Incense sticks are being placed in the large holder on the opposite side as the tree. The smoke from the incense bathes all around giving it a sense of floating. This is the only spot in town which is quiet.
I return to my room and find it too hot. Next to me is a German woman who returns home in two days. I may ask for her room. Mine has an outside wall which receives sun all day. Hers must be cooler. If I stay it will be because of the 4 inch gecko who has claimed the room. No bothers! He's quite cute and eats mosquitoes.
Following dinner, 8:30, I walk north toward the Samadhi of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. These are the names of a famous yogi and his wife. The central courtyard of the main Ashram building has a flower-festooned samadi (memorial) of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother under a frangipani tree. On the way, I pass the Manakula Vinayakau, the famous 18th century shrine of Lord Ganesha - elephant god. An elephant is taking food with his trunk then tapping, or running his trunk, over the heads in blessing. The food is purchased for a donation nearby. At an intersection, 50 ft. away, a holy man is blessing vehicles. I ask a bystander who says that a token is purchased from close to the shrine, 40 rupee for a car, 15 rupee for a motorbike. The holy man keeps a fire burning on a tray and walks around and in the car touching it with blessing. Then, he places a "dot" of red coloring on the drivers concerned and the vehicle is driven over lemons. Walking on, I enter the grounds of the Samadhi. Removing my flip flops, as is customary in virtually every house, I sit against the wall and observe the devotees at the memorial (A white marble rectangular slab app. 6 ftX15 ft). The entire surface is covered in an array of flowers spread in specific order. Devotees touch the memorial with their foreheads. Touching the flowers, they bring their fingers to their head, eyes, hair, chin... Moving around the memorial this may be repeated. A large frangipani tree is on the backside which is also touched and leaned against. Around teh outside, seated in meditation, are 40-50 others. Incense sticks are being placed in the large holder on the opposite side as the tree. The smoke from the incense bathes all around giving it a sense of floating. This is the only spot in town which is quiet.
I return to my room and find it too hot. Next to me is a German woman who returns home in two days. I may ask for her room. Mine has an outside wall which receives sun all day. Hers must be cooler. If I stay it will be because of the 4 inch gecko who has claimed the room. No bothers! He's quite cute and eats mosquitoes.
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