backwaters

alleppey, india

ah, kerala. this southwestern indian state would provide wonderful pictures to adorn any calendar, especially for a year consisting of 12 july's. partially because the weather here is definitely sweat-inducing (though not rare in this country), but mostly because the idyllic landscapes of verdant palms and narrow channels would make anyone's annual vacation dreams come true. named the backwaters, this label refers to an intricate network of interconnected, natural waterways extending from the coast of the arabian sea well into the interior of the country. for centuries, locals and colonizers have navigated these canals and lagoons to transport the spices, coconuts, and crops produced by its fertile soils. these days, i am just one of many tourists being shuttled through for pure pleasure.

my past few days have included an afternoon canoe tour, a full-day ferry ride between two of the region's principal centers, and an evening of watching the sunset over a beautiful beach with locals. all have been exactly what the doctor ordered. besides the delicious consistent setting of soaring green palms over blue waters, there is the local flavor. there are the fishermen in their canoes, casting out or reigning in their nets. there are the men at waterside chai stands, drinking and smoking with their dress shirts tucked into the mundus (sarongs) wrapped around their lower halves. there are the women smacking their laundry against the rocks at the waters edge in what looks to be a more tedious process that one i use involving quarters. add to this the passing of the occasional shrine/church/mosque (they've got all three here, and a subtlely named 'jew town' as well), the loudspeaker playing traditional music or making a political announcement surrounded by serene silence on either end, and the clusters of schoolchildren frantically waving hello and you have my idea of transportation as entertainment.

misnomer?
in the heart of the eisenhower era, the people of kerala elected one of the earlier communist governments and has since maintained a system akin to democratic socialism. of course, the idealistic academics who ushered in a system that included land reform and increases in education have given way to kleptocrats using blue-collar speech while lining their own pockets with money from the connections only power can provide. still, kerala enjoys one of the highest standards of living in india (despite not really having industry or major commodities to export) and the literacy rate is well above 90. again, the system is far from infallible. yet i can't help but admire the timing of being in a state with some basic healthcare provisions for its populace while i read reports from u.s. america of people shouting down representatives in defense of thousand dollar ambulance rides. maybe this place is not quite the 'backwaters' it is supposed to be?

fashion and function
let's put the matter to rest. in the battle between style and comfort, india has to be the best place to be a woman. there is no place in the world (that i have seen) where the women are dressed so beautifully. they are clad in the richest, most vibrant colors and accessorize with some of the most refined accoutrements, all of which appear to be loose, flowing, and ridiculously comfortable. basically, if i were to crossdress, i would do it here (i haven't......yet). since they have the clothing, all they need are for their civil liberties to ascend from those of the medieval ages and the women here are good to go!

contact info
for those of you needing to get a hold of me tomorrow, i will be in bangalore during the course of the night in u.s. america. just call the tech support number provided the last time you bought a computer/television/phone/appliance/anything and tell them to look for the long guy with the long beard. can't wait to talk to you!

in case you were wondering
i would kill for a burrito. i would mame for a barbecue burger cooked medium rare with swiss. i would level whole villages to have a huge slab of vermont cheddar cheese or a fresh spicy tuna roll.

varkala

varkala, india

sometimes the first one is the charm. having just dropped off my bags at the guest house, i had barely made the right turn along the pathway when i came to hilal's shop. i was really just sizing up the offerings, but he suggested i go inside in the least aggressive manner i've encountered in an indian shopkeeper. he asked how much i thought a particular item was worth. i told him the highest price i could afford. he told me his price. i repeated my ceiling. he lowered his and said sweet, deferential things such as 'the customer is always right'. i told him that this mantra is what transformed my nation of pioneers and roughnecks into a babbling band of obsequious, pant-wetting apologists. i think he understood. nothing was purchased in the few minutes of negotiation or after the ten minutes of comfortable conversation that ensued.

i spent the next forty hours wandering along the varkala cliff. beautiful. thin palms hang over the 100-ft tall cliff that drops precipitously to the breaking waves below. by day it looks like a proficient students coloring book where the green rushes straight to and not beyond the edge, just to where it encounters the royal blue of the arabian sea. i came for this and a little bit of relaxation as the sunset of my trip nears ever closer. to let the jaded part of me speak: unfortunately, so have many others.

the edge of the cliff is never more than one meter from a trampled brick path, on the other side of which are restaurants, shops, hotels, restaurants, shops, hotels, restaurants...... inside these restaurants, shops, hotels are tourists, tourists, tourists, and people who make their living catering to tourists. i've enjoyed myself immensely sitting at the front of one of these restaurants, drinking ginger tea, staring out into the ocean and devouring a good book. but then i heard a neighboring table of four yorkshire-accented female college students weigh in on the important matters of the day such as wishing they could be 'one of those' who eats anything and remains rail thin and then the intricate, intimate processes of the college application process. i realized that if i stayed her any longer than a few days and heard more of this drivel, i might end up throwing myself off the cliff.

but then i returned to visit hilal yesterday morning. we reached an agreement on a few items [undisclosed as they are for a member or two of this blogs readership] and business was done in a matter of three minutes. after that little matter, he gave me a chair and he took his own behind the counter. he smoked cigarettes and i drank chai. he told me all about kashmir and he did so in the way that only people who truly love love love a place can describe their homes. we sat for a couple hours and exchanged contact information afterwards. it feels odd to say that my best memory from this paradise was when i had my back turned to its greatest attraction, listening to a shopkeeper compete with the whir of an electric fan.

sunset, sunrise

varkala, india

if one were to capture the atmosphere of a renaissance fair or a less-axe body spray infested portion of the jersey shore, add religious fervor and a rival to the statue of liberty, and then fill the whole thing with indians, you would have kanyakumari. kanye-east, as i like to call it, is found at the very southern tip of the indian subcontinent. the bay of bengal and the arabian sea kiss opposite cheeks of the indian ocean at this point and slightly to the east, no more than a football field from shore, are two miniature islands. on one is found a pair of temples dedicated to the nineteenth century ascetic vivekananda, who spent a few years meditating on these rocks. a couple first downs away is an island with a 133-foot tall statue dedicated to the tamil poet, thiruvalluvar. for twenty rupees, i spent a fair amount of the afternoon shuttling between these two and the lookout point nearby.

architecturally impressive? sure. a worthwhile diversion on a monday? you bet. mindblowing? not quite. i'm sure that were i armed with a greater knowledge of the namesakes for these monuments, i would have a greater appreciation for the monuments themselves. but i found a way to make the destination worth the journey even if i wasn't completely into the subjects commemorated.

anyone can watch a sunset on a beach, but today had to be the first time i'd seen a sunrise over the ocean when i wasn't still celebrating from the night before. i set my alarm for five and left hotel loshi alone, only to join what seemed to be a mass that grew like congealing drops of dew on a leaf. i walked with a growing throng of sadhus and hindu devotees along the main road, rounded the kumari amman temple to join even more, and finally took a spot on the concrete ghat steps that grew denser with early risers. 5:30, i bought myself a chai in a small paper cup and watched more and more people enter, then looked below to see the families and small groups stepping into the mild surf. still dark.

there was no cheering when the sun came into view just beyond the vivekananda temple. there were touts offering their photo services or small necklaces or maps of india and some people appeared absorbed in their minor conversations. but to sit on the ghat steps with a multitude that would be an impressive crowd at any high school playoff soccer game was special. to realize that it was for no greater occasion than to welcome the start of another day: that justified the trip alone. so primitive, so pagan, so indian. if only all morning alarms could evoke so much.

tally from 44-hour train ride
cups of chai: 4
apples: 2
bags of masala potato chips: 2
bananas: 3
disappointing egg biriyanis: 1
thoroughly disappointing egg biriyanis: 1
stale chapatis to accompany that spiced, relatively bland sauce: 3
70 rupee bags of pistachios: 1 (there would have been more had i found them)
cups of coffee: 2
liters of mineral water: 5
issues of economist: 1 (thank you chennai newstand!)
times i was asked if i was married: 3
" " " " why not: 3
times a grown man (older than me, but not by much) asked me if it was true that americans were very sexual people, but asked it in such a way (including whispered, hushed tone) that it felt like he was my 12-year old younger brother: 1
times this has happened before: dozens
pills of cipro taken: 2 (mahatma's revenge had terrible timing)

ridin' the rails

khajuraho, india

i might be certifiably insane. saturday, just after the big hand and the small hand rendezvous at 12 to introduce the afternoon, i will board a southbound train. 44 hours later, this train will run out of track less than 1 km from where the sub-continent will run out of, well, sub-continent. for lack of better terminology, this will be known as the cmonjohnjustbuyaplaneticketyoucantbedoingthistoyourselfanymoreyourealmost30anditstimetostopseeinghowmuchdiscomfortyourbodycanendure- part of the trip. but it's not as bad as it seems [note: i write this before the ride]. i'll have a fully charged ipod and a pair of books, plus i gave myself a rare splurge and opted for 2-tier ac, the highest class available on this train. rain or shine, leg cramps or fluffed pillows, this will prove to be a memorable trip and perhaps the right occasion to describe one of india's most iconic experiences: travel by rail.

tickets, please
i don't believe one must display such personal strength and determination just to buy a train ticket anywhere else in the world. i am eternally grateful to a cohort of australians who gave me the website where foreigners can purchase rail tickets, otherwise i would have spent far more time doing so at the stations. this process is less than straightforward. for one, the signage is awful. many stations have more than one building and the bookings for foreigners and locals can be in different locations. to not know exactly where to go is to be at the mercy of the sharks circling the parking lot. one directed me to the wrong building, hoping this would make me more susceptible to enlist him as my chauffeur to my destination. carrying 20 kilos on my back in muggy rajasthan, i walked across the rail campus to find the designated window in the correct building. he had left my side meters back, after i lucidly pronounced a succinct phrase in the command form that he appeared to understand immediately.

mind the gap
the rail stations are home to some of the most shocking moments of my experience in india. i knew to expect the stark poverty in this country, but the concentration of destitution on the platforms is obscenely high. there is generally at least one disheveled child under the age of six that will follow until you've ignored them enough, occasionally tugging at your pants and always pleading. old men and women will be sitting on platforms or stairs, hands cupped and extended to all passersby, moaning a weak, pitchless ballad in the hopes of receiving some form of charity. then there are the crippled. i have seen children with s-shaped spines, clubbed feet, several missing limbs, grotesque scars, legs thinner than baseball bats, and am only grateful that i only heard of and did not see the man with elephantiasis of the testicles. it is bad enough that these handicaps exist, but to know that many of these injuries were received to make them effective beggars is horrifying. and since it is their primary source of income, these deformities are pushed in your face to achieve maximum affect (having an arm stub brushing purposely against you is not easily forgotten).

all aboard
the ride itself is nothing short of spectacular. to date, i have opted for the sleeper class, where prices are obscenely low (us$7 for one 900 km trip) and the cultural immersion is the best. these carriages are divided into several open compartments featuring long benches arranged in groups of six, three stacked vertically on either side of the window. in theory, everyone sits on the lowest bench until night, when people get into their respective berths for what i've found to be, surprisingly, a not unbearably uncomfortable nights sleep. there are fans along the ceiling and the temperature is reasonable so long as the train is moving, which, thankfully, it generally is.

so the price is right and its just shy of the amenities of its big brother, 3 tier ac. but what sleeper has is what a republican campaign manager would brand 'the real indians'. my companions between jodhpur and hardiwar, clad in white linen, adorned the window with flowers to signal that they were on a pilgrimage. the children of a nearby family couldn't peel their eyes off of me, the exotic foreigner, during a trip from delhi to jaipur. add to this the men carrying heated thermoses and chanting 'chai/coffee' in their snuggly indian accents, the vendors selling anything from english novels to peanuts to toy guns to playing cards, and then the occasional eunuch parading through to offer blessings and you only need the dancing tigers to have a bona fide circus. all of this may sound chaotic to some, but i'll aver that one train ride in sleeper class is enough to justify the airfare to this corner of the world. having said that, i won't be pining for it when i'm riding in style this weekend ('oh, champagnewallah, more bubbly over here good sir!').

kama sutra

khajuraho, india


three young men are sitting on their respective mattresses in a hostel in varanasi on a saturday night, watching the hbo presentation of 'forgetting sarah marshall'. why? well, the movie is a personal favorite and it was best to take it easy with a 5 am boat tour the following morning. cultural differences were evident as hbo shows commercials here, even one for a morning-after pill (?!). disappointing, yet unsurprising, was that there was censorship. it was expected that the more profane scenes would not be shown, but the real curveball was that shots involving innocuous kissing were blocked.


fast-forward two days to the beautiful town of khajuraho, known for its distinct temples created almost exactly one millenium ago. the dozen or so sandstone and granite structures, varying between 20-40 meters in height, are neatly spread out upon an area no larger than a couple square kilometers with well-manicured lawns around and between. the interior of the temples feature a raised platform, central recess, and a statue of the deity it is dedicated to, but the main attraction is the exterior. the outer walls are covered in thousands (per temple) of intricately carved figures ranging from a few inches in height to a meter. most are beautiful but fairly conventional for those who have a temple or two under their belt: carvings of soldiers, battle, local animals, and flattering images of gods. but in and amongst these more traditional images are a few that would certainly be banned from a midwestern libraries bookshelves or two.


there's the slightly suggestive couple standing hip-to-hip that makes several appearances. there are a few coquettish glances etched in stone. but then it gets steamy. that girl is sitting like....wha? and then what are those two girls doing with his... oh. wow. there are passionate scenes between couples and depictions of orgies that would make the members of motley crue blush. there's even bestiality!


i will admit that i dedicated more time to these temples than i gave the individual structures in palenque or macchu pichu. but what is so interesting is the juxtaposition between these two days. one millenium ago, there existed a culture that seemed to be cloaked in fewer inhibitions, while presently even a kiss between two consenting, clothed individuals is too suggestive. a poll i saw in the times of india showed that 72% of indian respondents believed that homosexuality was a disease. there are still arranged marriages and enough husbands shame their wives into suicide that it is a well-documented phenomenon. that's not to say that these temples are sufficient evidence that all was free and fair back in the day. but it is a reminder that in a world rife with poverty and inequality, we spend a little too much time worrying about seeing a female's hoo-haws or a male's pee pee. i can't help but see the parallels in my own country where too many people are way too concerned about gay marriage or abortion, and not enough about seeing that their fellow citizens can go to a doctor.

varanasi

varanasi, india

where the ganga swallows the varuna and assi rivers is found the holiest city in hinduism, varanasi. the city of shiva is considered so sacred because to die here is to free oneself from moksha, the cycle of birth and death. i don't know that i've noticed an inordinate number of old people here, but there are enough sadhus here to suggest this is like a filthy south asian version of palm springs or florida condominiums. i don't mean to suggest that anything terribly untoward is occurring here, but one can't help but notice that a religion's most sacred river is aesthetically disgusting.

lining the western bank of the river for well over two miles are a series of ghats, essentially concrete steps descending to the river where pilgrims can bathe themselves in its sacred waters. or burn the dead remains of their relatives. or do laundry. maybe i should go back to the previous. there is one functioning and one dormant burning ghat as far as i've been able to tell. at these ghats, processions march their deceased, covered in orange saris lined with refulgent golds, down to the banks of the ganga. the family members then place the body down and splash water all over it for a minute or two. at this point it joins the queue and is eventually surrounded by firewood (the price of burning is based on the type and weight of firewood used).

there are a series of levels allowing for several bodies to be burned simultaneously. yesterday, there had to be close to a dozen miniature pyres burning and the action goes through the night. if you have not had your morning coffee, there is nothing more sensorally explosive to alert you than to see a stack of logs with the lower half of a human leg sticking out. we basically sat along the side in the viewing area, solemnly taking everything in.

but while i will not enlist myself as an opponent to a ritual that has a great deal of meaning to so many, so much so that they spend money and time that they do not have to give their kin a respectful ending. what i will say is that as these bodies are disposed in the ganga, along with the detergent from the laundry and the shampoo from the bathers (some of whom are right next to the burning ghats), perhaps there's a way to combine tradition with respect for mother earth.

tip my cap
mark twain said that varanasi (then benares) was '...older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together.' while the quote continues to be iconical, i would just like to point out who wrote it. from a guy who is traveling via vayama.com, uses internet cafes, and likes to space out on trains listening to his ipod, i have to raise my glass to a man who did it all (and more) in the age of steamships.

a tale of two rickshaw rides
an hour before a late night train ride from the agra train station, we were treated to an autorickshaw driver who quoted us the correct price off the bat and then drove us smoothly on trafficless roads to the blaring, yet beautiful, soundtrack of indian music. to steal from david foster wallace, what i know about indian music can be written on the rim of a shot glass with a dull crayon, but i will say that the next time you hear that high pitched female lead in an indian restaurant, it all kind of makes sense here.
....and then we arrived in varanasi the following morning. our driver did not take us to the hostel we asked (the price was reasonable, but he still received a commission). the city provided an excellent backdrop for the beginning of an advil commercial. lots of rickshaws, motorbikes, buses, cyclists, children, and, of course, cows throughout the streets. our driver must have been training for the urban auto slalom. at one point he knicked a motorcycle, whose driver tried to give a piece of his mind. the only problem is that his mouth was filled with saliva from all of the pan (local chewing tobacco) in his mouth, so he gargled his invectives instead.

agra-business

agra, india

there is something about landmarks that brings out the misanthrop in me. i attribute this to the sensation that there is something about monuments that transforms people into monumental fools. case in point: today, i witnessed perhaps the worlds most photographed building and arguably the most deserving of this distinction. we were queued before 6 in order to see the taj mahal in the pink pastel light of sunrise and were among the first dozen to make our way through the metal detectors (the security officials could work as tailors, so thorough was their search). we rounded the pathway, passed through the red stone arches, and saw that iconic scene that embodies a continent.

beautiful. stunning. gorgeous. name your superlative and we can enter it here. the white marble structure sits a bit elevated and the absence of structures behind give the impression that it is almost levitating behind the reflecting pools and manicured lawns. the early morning air almost has a bit of haze to it, giving the sensation that what lies before you is otherworldly. when the sun does change out of its pyjamas and enter the picture, the fine detailing at all elevations becomes apparent and is just as captivating.

but before the sun is seen, the shenanigans are already apparent. it must be disclaimed that i am a tourist and i know that i am a tourist. this doesn't bother me, it just is. but when the camera-clutching individuals become a throng, a certain decorum escapes. a breathtaking work of art becomes the backdrop for people to use depth perception and perspective to take ridiculous photos. multiple people held out their finger to give the impression they were tickling (?) the top of the taj. multiple groups alternated shots where one person would jump and the point-and-shooter would catch them mid-air. are they trying to jump over the taj? what on earth would possess multiple people to have the same ridiculous idea?

i know, i know, it's not that bad. however, a scene that should inspire serenity should not be the platform for grown men to actuallize their id. it's hard to take a moment for yourself, look at the reflecting pools, and have one of those moments of clarity when hiruka and yoshi are trying to spin a centuries-old monument beneath their fingers. as the pictures testify, i certainly had my camera out. it's entirely possible that i stepped into somebodies shot or slowed them in their path. but silence, people. self-restraint. it's pretty damn golden, especially when you're having your once-in-a-lifetime screening of one of the world's most inspiring settings.