Afer a ridiculously long (4 1/2 hour) flight from Cochin to Goa, with not one but two stops, we finally arrived, and were greeted by an affiliate of the tour company who would only speak to Derek, the person in our group of Indian extraction. The guy is Canadian, and moved there from Trinidad, so he is NOT Indian. But he was Indian enough for the local guide, who ignored the other seven of us. Actually, it was kind of funny, having him ask Derek how many vehicles he needed, and whether he'd like a minibus, and what time he'd like to do the city tour, with Derek vigorously protesting that he couldn't make the decision for the other seven (non-existent, non-Indian) people in the group.
Dinner was fine, although still not spicy (how could I manage to spend 4 weeks in India and not have a single spicy dish?). Afterwards, as (bad) luck would have it, we stumbled upon a karaoke bar full of down and out western tourists, all with skin like leather from too much sun, booze and smoking, belting out crappy songs I'd never heard before. For reasons unknown, the English kids wanted to stay, so we did. For a while. Until it got too awful even for them (although the girls did want to go out clubbing after). Instead, I found myself in my room by around 11, watching a terrible made for TV movie with Annabeth Gish as a nurse at a group home for adults with brain damage (also starred Ethan Embry as a patient and Ed Begley, Jr. as his overbearing, work-obsessed, overbearing father). I watched the entire thing. I can't believe I'm admitting this, because it was seriously awful. Hallmark Channel awful.
The next day, after seeing no more of Goa than the road to the post office, I headed to the airport. Okay, a word about the road to the post office and cab (and tuk tuk) drivers I've encountered in India and southeast Asia. They suck. I find bargaining over the fare in advance seriously annoying. But what I find even more annoying is their insistence on taking you to their friends' shops, even when you tell them that (1) you need to get to the airport or you will miss your flight (Goa, Bangkok) or (2) you need to get back to the hotel to get medicine because you are desperately ill (Cochin, Hanoi). And it could be worse: the people foolish enough to go to these shops never get taken where they're going. Me, I just get a headache having to scream at the driver for ten minutes as I explain that I don't care whether he gets a free t-shirt and that a 40 cent discount on the fare is not a sufficient motivator for me to miss my flight. Also, why can't they think it through on their own: someone who is flying out of the country in a couple of hours has zero incentive to go to a tailor shop. I'm just saying.
I made it to Mumbai in one piece, but was then confronted with 40 -- okay 5 -- guys who wanted to give me a ride, some of whom wanted to take me to a hotel of their choice. Foolishly, I ended up in a tuk tuk (again) because the price was right. It would have been more righ if he'd turned on the meter (about 50 cents), but I settled for the $4 I'd agreed to pay. Problem was, the guy kept trying to get me to change hotels, telling me that mine was too expensive. Shockingly, he didn't understand why I wouldn't go to the significantly cheaper he got a kickback from, despite my telling him that I'd already paid for my "expensive" hotel, and that it would be even more expensive to pay for two. Please let it be years and years (or at least a year) before I'm in a tuk tuk again.
I loved the hotel. Best hotel I'd been in for a month. Hyatt Regency. Sunken bathroom. Hardwood floors and complimentary slippers and a flat screen TV and room service. Just like any other nice western hotel. I deserved it. It was a hard month. I could have stayed there forever. Sadly, I only stayed until 2:45 a.m., because I had a 5:10 a.m. flight out of India.
The airport was its own kind of hell, but I was expecting that. What I wasn't expecting is what happened in Doha. My flight was already boarding by the time I cleared security. I had to motor. And yet, when I got to the gate, I encountered a huge stumbling block: a moron who didn't think I looked enough like my passport photo, and insisted that it wasn't my passport. He sent me to another area on another floor to have someone confirm my identity, telling me only that I needed to be back in five minutes (with identity confirmation) or I'd miss the flight. So, frantic, I go to the designated desk and explain the situation. Which, like any other half sane person, the guy behind the desk thinks is ludicrous. There are three basic reasons I don't look identical to my passport photo: 1) I cut my hair, 2) I have a tan (the natural result of spending 4 months near the equator) and 3) I've lost some weight (and not even that much. Just possibly enough that my cheekbones are slightly better defined). As for the photo, though, it's a no-brainer: I've got the exact same facial features. No one who saw me last in September (when the photo was taken) is going to fail to recognize me. Also, who else would I be? Some American black woman impersonating some slightly lighter, longer haired, chubbier American black woman in order to fly from Doha to Cape Town? Anyway, I made it onto the flight (a good thing, because otherwise I would have had to kill the guy and get stuck in some crappy prison in Doha awaiting execution).
Apparently men in some parts of the world have a real problem with women having short hair. Although the guys at the airport in Delhi knew that I was the person in my passport photo, they both wanted to know why I'd cut my hair (and made me explain the whole hassle of having to get it blown out straight and how no one in their country, or most of the countries I'd visited, knew how to do hair like mine), which is really none of their business.
I'm in Cape Town now, and things are much better (although much colder).
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Cochin (the Final Countdown)
So, Cochin. After days of pretty bleak/dull travel, I was prepared to love it. (Okay, not love it. I was no longer prepared to love anything in South India. But like it, sort of, maybe.) Unfortunately, given the circumstances, such love would have been misplaced.
First, the "hotel." The room could have been much worse (with the exception of the facts that there was no television remote and because some weird fan mechanism in the bathroom ensure that the toilet paper all ended up in some bizarre wet corner), but its location was not ideal: it opened out onto the hotel restaurant, which frequently had patrons. What's wrong with a hallway, can someone please tell me? Also, there was a strange, lurch-like staff member in charge of (ruining) laundry and coming into one's room at odd hours. When I left, they said "see you next time" and I actually turned to one of them and said "Are you kidding?" So, no love.
But maybe Cochin proper was lovable? Maybe not. Our tour leader took us to his favorite place in town, a mediocre kind of seafood place which didn't serve beer, and where he tried to stiff the check (I guess the reason it's his favorite place is that they normally comp his food if he brings people, but since they didn't, he thought he'd make the rest of us pay for him. As if).
I think there may have been lots of interesting things in the city. We just didn't see them. Instead, we went to two incredibly disappointing sites (a not particularly old church and a not particularly regal Dutch palace), before making our way to Jew Town (yes, you read correctly). We strolled down Jew Street (again, not joking) to the (oldish) synagogue, which now accommodates the six Jewish families remaining in Cochin (apparently, Jewish people first arrived in Cochin more than 2000 years ago, but have in recent years moved on). It could have been an interesting story, except that our tour leader knew nothing about it, and couldn't have communicated in English even if he had. Instead, I heard him telling someone how once upon a time, there were black Jews and brown Jews and white Jews, and the black Jews worked for the white Jews. Full stop. That was his entire explanation of the Jewish community in Cochin and their 2300 year history in the area. Wow.
But Cochin was not entirely bad. The English kids and I had a great meal at a very nice restaurant near our (crappy) hotel. So nice (i.e., expensive), in fact, that after looking at the menu, one of them wanted to leave without ordering anything. My one problem was that some (or all) of the kids forgot about VAT, meaning that even though I'd overpaid, we were still stiffing the server several dollars on the tip. Not pleasant.
Also not so bad (but way too long): a traditional dance featuring heavily made-up men (one of whom played a woman) in something bordering on theatre, but communicated only through facial expressions and hand gestures. I'm not describing it well, but think Noh drama or something. And guess where we went after the performance? Back to the tour leader's favorite restaurant. When asked why we couldn't go somewhere else, he responded that it was the only nice restaurant in town. A) It wasn't nice. B) There certainly were better restaurants all around, but maybe ones where his chances of getting a free meal were even lower. And of course the place still didn't serve alcohol (much more of an inconvenience at dinner than at lunch).
But, like all bad things, our time in Cochin drew to a close, just in time for us to find out that our flight to Goa had not one but two stops, and that despite having left the hotel at 8 am, we wouldn't be arriving in Goa until 3 (and wouldn't see the inside of a hotel room until after 4). But Goa is another (mercifully brief) story that will get its own entry. Maybe tomorrow.
First, the "hotel." The room could have been much worse (with the exception of the facts that there was no television remote and because some weird fan mechanism in the bathroom ensure that the toilet paper all ended up in some bizarre wet corner), but its location was not ideal: it opened out onto the hotel restaurant, which frequently had patrons. What's wrong with a hallway, can someone please tell me? Also, there was a strange, lurch-like staff member in charge of (ruining) laundry and coming into one's room at odd hours. When I left, they said "see you next time" and I actually turned to one of them and said "Are you kidding?" So, no love.
But maybe Cochin proper was lovable? Maybe not. Our tour leader took us to his favorite place in town, a mediocre kind of seafood place which didn't serve beer, and where he tried to stiff the check (I guess the reason it's his favorite place is that they normally comp his food if he brings people, but since they didn't, he thought he'd make the rest of us pay for him. As if).
I think there may have been lots of interesting things in the city. We just didn't see them. Instead, we went to two incredibly disappointing sites (a not particularly old church and a not particularly regal Dutch palace), before making our way to Jew Town (yes, you read correctly). We strolled down Jew Street (again, not joking) to the (oldish) synagogue, which now accommodates the six Jewish families remaining in Cochin (apparently, Jewish people first arrived in Cochin more than 2000 years ago, but have in recent years moved on). It could have been an interesting story, except that our tour leader knew nothing about it, and couldn't have communicated in English even if he had. Instead, I heard him telling someone how once upon a time, there were black Jews and brown Jews and white Jews, and the black Jews worked for the white Jews. Full stop. That was his entire explanation of the Jewish community in Cochin and their 2300 year history in the area. Wow.
But Cochin was not entirely bad. The English kids and I had a great meal at a very nice restaurant near our (crappy) hotel. So nice (i.e., expensive), in fact, that after looking at the menu, one of them wanted to leave without ordering anything. My one problem was that some (or all) of the kids forgot about VAT, meaning that even though I'd overpaid, we were still stiffing the server several dollars on the tip. Not pleasant.
Also not so bad (but way too long): a traditional dance featuring heavily made-up men (one of whom played a woman) in something bordering on theatre, but communicated only through facial expressions and hand gestures. I'm not describing it well, but think Noh drama or something. And guess where we went after the performance? Back to the tour leader's favorite restaurant. When asked why we couldn't go somewhere else, he responded that it was the only nice restaurant in town. A) It wasn't nice. B) There certainly were better restaurants all around, but maybe ones where his chances of getting a free meal were even lower. And of course the place still didn't serve alcohol (much more of an inconvenience at dinner than at lunch).
But, like all bad things, our time in Cochin drew to a close, just in time for us to find out that our flight to Goa had not one but two stops, and that despite having left the hotel at 8 am, we wouldn't be arriving in Goa until 3 (and wouldn't see the inside of a hotel room until after 4). But Goa is another (mercifully brief) story that will get its own entry. Maybe tomorrow.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Of Houseboats, Homestays, and Tigerless Safaris: Kerala
After the hell of Elephant Valley, I was thrilled for a night in a regular hotel/inn/B&B, where you get to your room by climbing a set of stairs and get to breakfast by climbing back down. Bliss. Unfortunately, on arriving at said B&B (in Kerala), I learned that the advertised nature walk was more of a nature mountain trek (and, as I mentioned back in Ethiopia, I can't do high altitude trekking). Combined with the knowledge that people normally didn't see tigers (if there was a good chance of seeing tigers, they wouldn't allow tourists to walk around in the forest), I decided to sit out the trek. Very fortunate, because not only were there no tigers, but there were torrential rains AND leeches (4 out of 8 people found at least one leech busily sucking their blood).
The next day, it was off to the houseboat (actually two), to see a little bit of Kerala by water. What can I say? The staff was nice enough, the food wasn't bad, the rooms (especially the bathrooms) were a little scary but basically fine, and all we really did was play cards, read, and try desperately not to get bitten by the millions of mosquitoes hanging out with us. The most exciting thing that happened in the 24 or so hours on board was having a cat run onto the boat, freak out, jump into the water to avoid all of us, manage to scale back up the boat and run off. Like I said, not too exciting.
From the houseboat, we moved on to a homestay, the idea of which I found terrifying (and with good reason). While the house itself was large and (kind of) modern, something crucial was missing from my room: a bathroom. Yes, gentle reader, I was forced to share a not particularly clean, non-air conditioned, spider-infested hall bathroom with my (much loathed) male tour leader and the male single traveler. Not at all good.
Also pretty rough: watching TV. We assumed (reasonably, I think) that the television in the living room was for the use of guests (since the only other entertainment provided was waiting for the air conditioning to come on in the bedrooms). Apparently not. For nearly an hour, as several of us sat in the living room watching Juno, the daughter of the house and her cousin (both under 6) sobbed loudly from a bedroom next to the living room. As I pieced together later that evening, they'd come home in the hopes of seeing some children's show, and had those hopes dashed by Juno. (Life can be cruel, though, so I suppose that it's better that they learn sooner rather than later.) Last difficult thing about the homestay: the home-cooking, which seemed to necessitate getting at least one long, straight, black hair into every dish. Yum!
The accommodations aside, the village was interesting enough. Our host (and local guide) spoke lovely English, so for the first time in more than a week, we could actually understand the explanations being provided. His one misstep: taking us to a local bar to sample the local brew, a disgusting smelling (and not much better tasting) concoction made of fermented coconut water. Even that visit had a bright spot, though: we got to witness a (fairly polite) bar brawl between two inebriated patrons.
All in all, the time spent in Kerala didn't give me that great a picture of what life is like in the area, although I did come away with the sense that people were a lot better educated, better dressed, better fed, and better off than in many other parts of India. Now, had there only been something to see, that would have been something.
The next day, it was off to the houseboat (actually two), to see a little bit of Kerala by water. What can I say? The staff was nice enough, the food wasn't bad, the rooms (especially the bathrooms) were a little scary but basically fine, and all we really did was play cards, read, and try desperately not to get bitten by the millions of mosquitoes hanging out with us. The most exciting thing that happened in the 24 or so hours on board was having a cat run onto the boat, freak out, jump into the water to avoid all of us, manage to scale back up the boat and run off. Like I said, not too exciting.
From the houseboat, we moved on to a homestay, the idea of which I found terrifying (and with good reason). While the house itself was large and (kind of) modern, something crucial was missing from my room: a bathroom. Yes, gentle reader, I was forced to share a not particularly clean, non-air conditioned, spider-infested hall bathroom with my (much loathed) male tour leader and the male single traveler. Not at all good.
Also pretty rough: watching TV. We assumed (reasonably, I think) that the television in the living room was for the use of guests (since the only other entertainment provided was waiting for the air conditioning to come on in the bedrooms). Apparently not. For nearly an hour, as several of us sat in the living room watching Juno, the daughter of the house and her cousin (both under 6) sobbed loudly from a bedroom next to the living room. As I pieced together later that evening, they'd come home in the hopes of seeing some children's show, and had those hopes dashed by Juno. (Life can be cruel, though, so I suppose that it's better that they learn sooner rather than later.) Last difficult thing about the homestay: the home-cooking, which seemed to necessitate getting at least one long, straight, black hair into every dish. Yum!
The accommodations aside, the village was interesting enough. Our host (and local guide) spoke lovely English, so for the first time in more than a week, we could actually understand the explanations being provided. His one misstep: taking us to a local bar to sample the local brew, a disgusting smelling (and not much better tasting) concoction made of fermented coconut water. Even that visit had a bright spot, though: we got to witness a (fairly polite) bar brawl between two inebriated patrons.
All in all, the time spent in Kerala didn't give me that great a picture of what life is like in the area, although I did come away with the sense that people were a lot better educated, better dressed, better fed, and better off than in many other parts of India. Now, had there only been something to see, that would have been something.
Elephant Valley
So, Elephant Valley... What can I say? To begin with, our itinerary indicated that we'd be staying at a hill station (Kodaikanal, if memory serves) for two nights. Well, a valley is the exact opposite of a hill, so we were off to a bad beginning before we ever began. It would get much, much worse.
Moments after arriving and downing our "welcome" drinks (which I have come to detest, I have to confess. Welcome cocktails, okay. Welcome wine, sure. Welcome unidentified, artificially colored juice drinks, not so much), our guide told me that I'd be staying in one of the cabins "across the river" with him and the other solo traveler (a nice guy, but extra goofy). I immediately protested on the grounds that I didn't want to be alone over there without my pals (the gay English guys in their 20s). The non-English-speaking guide's solution: I could switch rooms with said English guys. Right. After explaining that I wanted to be on the same side of the river, that bit was worked out. Still had no idea where these cabins were. Unfortunately, we would soon find out. (As a reminder, this was a "comfort" level trip.)
After a five minute walk down a hill, past the horse stables and the cabins lucky enough to be on the same side of the river as the restaurant, we came to a river, maybe 40-50 feet wide (however many meters that is, I neither know nor particularly care. I am not metric, and learning the kilogram and celsius conversions is the best I'm going to do this trip). No bridge in sight, nor a friendly boatman to take us to the other side. Instead, just some stepping stones, and sand bags that were already under water when we arrived. End result: no way to get to the other side without having to wade through in water up to or past your ankles. And the journey was made considerable worse at night (no path lighting, just flash lights, and after the rain, which completely submerged the sandbags, making the plunge a bit more mid-calf).
Ten minutes after starting out on this little journey, we arrived at our cabins. No air conditioning. No fans. No window screens. And no mosquito nets. Instead, there was a little note stating that "of course" there will be animals in the rooms, it is an eco lodge, after all. The management told us that the mice, spiders, insects, squirrels and monkeys that we would likely find in our rooms were harmless and wouldn't bother us as long as we didn't bother them. How reassuring, I thought later that night, as a smashed the 8th bug I found crawling on me under the sheets. The other people (the English contingent) joining me in exile on that side of the river refused to shower the entire time we were there because of the overabundance of spiders in the bathrooms.
The one bright spot from the stay in Elephant Valley: impromptu singing around the campfire the first night. It turned out it was the other solo traveler's birthday (and can I say how awful I felt for the guy to be spending his birthday on such a crappy trip with a bunch of strangers?), so we ended up taking a lot of requests. Oddly, those requests were for Celine Dion, Bananarama, Barbara Streisand, Cher and Peter Cetera. Hmmm. Sadly, an evening of song does not make up for 2 days in hell.
Moments after arriving and downing our "welcome" drinks (which I have come to detest, I have to confess. Welcome cocktails, okay. Welcome wine, sure. Welcome unidentified, artificially colored juice drinks, not so much), our guide told me that I'd be staying in one of the cabins "across the river" with him and the other solo traveler (a nice guy, but extra goofy). I immediately protested on the grounds that I didn't want to be alone over there without my pals (the gay English guys in their 20s). The non-English-speaking guide's solution: I could switch rooms with said English guys. Right. After explaining that I wanted to be on the same side of the river, that bit was worked out. Still had no idea where these cabins were. Unfortunately, we would soon find out. (As a reminder, this was a "comfort" level trip.)
After a five minute walk down a hill, past the horse stables and the cabins lucky enough to be on the same side of the river as the restaurant, we came to a river, maybe 40-50 feet wide (however many meters that is, I neither know nor particularly care. I am not metric, and learning the kilogram and celsius conversions is the best I'm going to do this trip). No bridge in sight, nor a friendly boatman to take us to the other side. Instead, just some stepping stones, and sand bags that were already under water when we arrived. End result: no way to get to the other side without having to wade through in water up to or past your ankles. And the journey was made considerable worse at night (no path lighting, just flash lights, and after the rain, which completely submerged the sandbags, making the plunge a bit more mid-calf).
Ten minutes after starting out on this little journey, we arrived at our cabins. No air conditioning. No fans. No window screens. And no mosquito nets. Instead, there was a little note stating that "of course" there will be animals in the rooms, it is an eco lodge, after all. The management told us that the mice, spiders, insects, squirrels and monkeys that we would likely find in our rooms were harmless and wouldn't bother us as long as we didn't bother them. How reassuring, I thought later that night, as a smashed the 8th bug I found crawling on me under the sheets. The other people (the English contingent) joining me in exile on that side of the river refused to shower the entire time we were there because of the overabundance of spiders in the bathrooms.
The one bright spot from the stay in Elephant Valley: impromptu singing around the campfire the first night. It turned out it was the other solo traveler's birthday (and can I say how awful I felt for the guy to be spending his birthday on such a crappy trip with a bunch of strangers?), so we ended up taking a lot of requests. Oddly, those requests were for Celine Dion, Bananarama, Barbara Streisand, Cher and Peter Cetera. Hmmm. Sadly, an evening of song does not make up for 2 days in hell.
Monday, April 20, 2009
How Much of My Hating South India Can I Blame On My Tour Leader?
I confess: I couldn't have told you the name of one can't miss site in South India before I got here. (Honestly, I still can't, but that's the point of doing your homework before you cough up the cash.) So, maybe I should have spent two weeks in the south and called it a day. But I didn't, so instead you just have me, getting in a progressively worse mood since about April 11 (when I arrived in Chennai).
Before delving into the horrors of it all, a few (well, more than a few) words on my tour leader. First and foremost, he can't speak or understand English. I mean, he speaks it a little, but not well enough to communicate with native speakers. Also, he can't read people. So, for instance, when he has totally pissed me off, he doesn't understand that he's supposed to back off and give me some space. Instead, he continues to needle me until I have to be meaner than I would normally like to be (with other people around, at least). Another problem (of many): he's apparently certified to act as a local guide, which means that we haven't had an English-speaking guide at ANY of the sites we've visited (fortunately, they've been generally lackluster, so we probably haven't missed much).
So, on with the show. We started in Chennai, and I knew we were off to a bad start when I made a joke about hiring people to fan us for our night on the houseboat with no air conditioning, and he asked me to repeat myself three times and still didn't get it. (And it wasn't funny enough to be repeated three times in a room full of people who got it the first time.) Anyway, the first place he took us was a catholic church with a wax statue of St. Thomas in glass (kind of creepy and not particularly exciting). From there, we went to the beach (apparently the second longest in the world, although he had no clue what the longest one was). The beach was filthy, crowded and dark (we didn't arrive until after sunset), so it seemed an odd stop for our orientation tour. Already, concerns were brewing about the quality of the tour.
Our next stop: Pondicherry. On the way, we passed a few not particularly exciting shrines that we stopped at for photo ops, as well as a salt factory (again, not quite on par with the Taj Mahal). We also passed by a pretty amazing looking temple of Parvati (or was it Lakshmi?) in Auroville, which the guide assured us we'd visit the next day. Oddly, it's the only place we didn't go. Instead, we spent some time at an ashram (no explanations given), a Ganesh Temple, and a weird, huge, Epcott-like golden orb (apparently, it had some spiritual significance, but your guess is as good as mine, because we sat there looking at the thing in total silence before getting back on the bus).
The accommodations in Pondicherry were nice, but a little weird. The place (a b&b) is also a gallery, so there's art everywhere and the hosts were totally charming, well-traveled, and multi-lingual. However, it felt a little like being in someone's house (my room was right off the kitchen). If I'd known what was coming next, though, I would have stayed in that place for the next week.
From Pondicherry, we headed to Madurai, known primarily for its Gandhi museum (which the English people were offended by, as the Indian history presented there did not put the British in the best light--afterwards, they made lots of remarks about all the civilization which they brought to India (trains! schools!) and how much worse off India is since they left. Which I guess is how most colonialists tend to view the colonized, because how would they sleep otherwise?) and the Meenakshi Temple, which is actually pretty impressive (the south Indian temples are so much brighter and more festive than their north Indian counterparts). So, Madurai could have been better, but (awful chemical fumes in my hotel room aside) it could have been a lot worse. That honor goes to Elephant Valley, an eco lodge outside of the hill station Kodaikanal, where we spent the next two days. Elephant Valley requires an entry all its own, since it was there that I snapped.
Before delving into the horrors of it all, a few (well, more than a few) words on my tour leader. First and foremost, he can't speak or understand English. I mean, he speaks it a little, but not well enough to communicate with native speakers. Also, he can't read people. So, for instance, when he has totally pissed me off, he doesn't understand that he's supposed to back off and give me some space. Instead, he continues to needle me until I have to be meaner than I would normally like to be (with other people around, at least). Another problem (of many): he's apparently certified to act as a local guide, which means that we haven't had an English-speaking guide at ANY of the sites we've visited (fortunately, they've been generally lackluster, so we probably haven't missed much).
So, on with the show. We started in Chennai, and I knew we were off to a bad start when I made a joke about hiring people to fan us for our night on the houseboat with no air conditioning, and he asked me to repeat myself three times and still didn't get it. (And it wasn't funny enough to be repeated three times in a room full of people who got it the first time.) Anyway, the first place he took us was a catholic church with a wax statue of St. Thomas in glass (kind of creepy and not particularly exciting). From there, we went to the beach (apparently the second longest in the world, although he had no clue what the longest one was). The beach was filthy, crowded and dark (we didn't arrive until after sunset), so it seemed an odd stop for our orientation tour. Already, concerns were brewing about the quality of the tour.
Our next stop: Pondicherry. On the way, we passed a few not particularly exciting shrines that we stopped at for photo ops, as well as a salt factory (again, not quite on par with the Taj Mahal). We also passed by a pretty amazing looking temple of Parvati (or was it Lakshmi?) in Auroville, which the guide assured us we'd visit the next day. Oddly, it's the only place we didn't go. Instead, we spent some time at an ashram (no explanations given), a Ganesh Temple, and a weird, huge, Epcott-like golden orb (apparently, it had some spiritual significance, but your guess is as good as mine, because we sat there looking at the thing in total silence before getting back on the bus).
The accommodations in Pondicherry were nice, but a little weird. The place (a b&b) is also a gallery, so there's art everywhere and the hosts were totally charming, well-traveled, and multi-lingual. However, it felt a little like being in someone's house (my room was right off the kitchen). If I'd known what was coming next, though, I would have stayed in that place for the next week.
From Pondicherry, we headed to Madurai, known primarily for its Gandhi museum (which the English people were offended by, as the Indian history presented there did not put the British in the best light--afterwards, they made lots of remarks about all the civilization which they brought to India (trains! schools!) and how much worse off India is since they left. Which I guess is how most colonialists tend to view the colonized, because how would they sleep otherwise?) and the Meenakshi Temple, which is actually pretty impressive (the south Indian temples are so much brighter and more festive than their north Indian counterparts). So, Madurai could have been better, but (awful chemical fumes in my hotel room aside) it could have been a lot worse. That honor goes to Elephant Valley, an eco lodge outside of the hill station Kodaikanal, where we spent the next two days. Elephant Valley requires an entry all its own, since it was there that I snapped.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Leaving North India
The last couple of days in the north were underwhelming, but even less impressive was the behavior of my awful fellow travelers (awful making up 42% of the group). First, I learned that the two Iranian sisters had been cheating as many local people as they could, ordering saris without paying in advance, then declaring they wouldn't pay a penny when they arrived. Also accusing the busdriver's assistant of attmepting to cheat them out of a dollar when they didn't want to pay full price for a video camera tape they'd wanted (but had not brought the money to pay for). It ended with my being so disgusted by the two of them that I couldn't look at them. Next, the smokers, who continued to be themselves, only why simultaneously short-changing our tour guide (and, at the final dinner, disappearing altogether in an effort to avoid giving her a tip). It was a relief to see the last of them, and I may be signing them up for unpleasant spam some time in the near future. Sadly, Nick never fulfilled his part of the bargain by shaving evil, sun-worshipping Bettina's head, and so was ineligible to have his South India trip paid for by Joan (my fellow American).
Airport transport is incredibly cheap. I paid around $7 for my trip from my (really appallingly bad) hotel not too far from Marine Drive to the Mumbai International airport, which took about an hour. Sadly, the cab wasn't air-conditioned. Also, midway through the ride, I discovered I had a fellow passenger: a roach crawling up my arm. Pretty awful. But it gets better: a kid hawking DVDs asked me for a lift when we were stopped at a red light. I politely declined. So he asked the cabbie, who let him in, after which point he immediately started trying to sell me the aforementioned DVDs. Hawkers on the street are bad enough, but hawkers in your cab?
And I know I've said almost nothing about Mumbai, but what is there to say? I was there for less than 24 hours, stayed at a total dump (I didn't pick the hotel), had a farewell dinner at a dry restaurant (I liked my tour leader in the north, but what was she thinking?) and saw very little other than India Gate, Marine Drive and the Elephanta Caves. I would say maybe another time, but I think not. The south (which I will be addressing in my next few posts) has me thinking a return trip may not be in the cards.
Airport transport is incredibly cheap. I paid around $7 for my trip from my (really appallingly bad) hotel not too far from Marine Drive to the Mumbai International airport, which took about an hour. Sadly, the cab wasn't air-conditioned. Also, midway through the ride, I discovered I had a fellow passenger: a roach crawling up my arm. Pretty awful. But it gets better: a kid hawking DVDs asked me for a lift when we were stopped at a red light. I politely declined. So he asked the cabbie, who let him in, after which point he immediately started trying to sell me the aforementioned DVDs. Hawkers on the street are bad enough, but hawkers in your cab?
And I know I've said almost nothing about Mumbai, but what is there to say? I was there for less than 24 hours, stayed at a total dump (I didn't pick the hotel), had a farewell dinner at a dry restaurant (I liked my tour leader in the north, but what was she thinking?) and saw very little other than India Gate, Marine Drive and the Elephanta Caves. I would say maybe another time, but I think not. The south (which I will be addressing in my next few posts) has me thinking a return trip may not be in the cards.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
So Much to Say, So Little Time
India has been an experience. One not soon to be repeated (I hope). While I am glad I came, I have not connected with the country the way I thought I would.
Agra was good: the Taj Mahal was as beautiful as it is in every movie and photo we've all seen before. The Baby Taj was also good (although skippable). But Agra had other things going for it: nice hand-woven rugs at (relatively) low prices, McDonald's(!), and somewhere for me to get my haircut. Sadly, Thai people (no matter how remote their villages and lack of English) seem far more talented than Indians when it comes to cutting non-straight hair. 10 days after my haircut in Agra, it already looks messy and needs fixing.
After a while, things started to blend together: Jaipur and Udaipur and Agra (although not the crazy Bhandrej village with the terrible heritage hotel). So many temples and forts, and very little else. So much Indian food, but none of it even remotely spicy, despite my pleas. And everywhere, I received slightly worse service than everyone else (which I am chalking up to disapproval of my haircut, because I can think of no other reason why every waiter and airport worker in north India hates me so much). Like I said, not connecting.
But, I'm in the south now, with a much smaller group and a much lamer tour leader. Before I begin blogging about the south so far (Chennai and Pondicherry), I'll wrap up the north with Mumbai, more on the horrible people in the north tour (shocking stuff) and the crazy things that happened on the way to the airport.
Agra was good: the Taj Mahal was as beautiful as it is in every movie and photo we've all seen before. The Baby Taj was also good (although skippable). But Agra had other things going for it: nice hand-woven rugs at (relatively) low prices, McDonald's(!), and somewhere for me to get my haircut. Sadly, Thai people (no matter how remote their villages and lack of English) seem far more talented than Indians when it comes to cutting non-straight hair. 10 days after my haircut in Agra, it already looks messy and needs fixing.
After a while, things started to blend together: Jaipur and Udaipur and Agra (although not the crazy Bhandrej village with the terrible heritage hotel). So many temples and forts, and very little else. So much Indian food, but none of it even remotely spicy, despite my pleas. And everywhere, I received slightly worse service than everyone else (which I am chalking up to disapproval of my haircut, because I can think of no other reason why every waiter and airport worker in north India hates me so much). Like I said, not connecting.
But, I'm in the south now, with a much smaller group and a much lamer tour leader. Before I begin blogging about the south so far (Chennai and Pondicherry), I'll wrap up the north with Mumbai, more on the horrible people in the north tour (shocking stuff) and the crazy things that happened on the way to the airport.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Erotic Sculpture, et al.
I apologize for my failure to post any photos, but I haven't seen a computer up close since New Zealand. I'm hoping to get online while here in Udaipur. In the meantime, the blackberry will have to do.
My companions are still killing me, but it's only 2 1/2 more days now. There'd been some discussion of my new friend Nick sneaking into the room of the annoying Danish woman Bettina and shaving off her 3-foot long mane, but so far it's come to nothing, despite the fact that her roommate (the funny American) offered to pay Nick's way on the upcoming south India trip if he did it. Oh well.
So, Khajuraho. It reminded me a tiny bit of Angkor Wat, but likely just because that was my first experience with Hindu temples. The ones in Khajuraho are around 1000 years old and incredibly beautiful. The outsides are covered in sculpture, some of it G-rated (e.g. Ganesha), others a bit more blue. For instance, there are several Kama Sutra poses, one with the couple flanked by 2 shame-faced individuals masturbating (apparently, these pictures were meant to be instructional). Another don't illustrated: sex with horses (although the artist was at least honest enough to admit onlookers' interest in watching that sort of thing, depicted by a woman peeking through her fingers at the scene). Strangely, male sexual relations with elephants' ears was also worth a few feet on one of the temples. I'm assuming that's another don't, although I missed the explanation. Of course, elephants watching copulating couples is A-OK, so maybe there's some grey area when it comes to elephants...
My companions are still killing me, but it's only 2 1/2 more days now. There'd been some discussion of my new friend Nick sneaking into the room of the annoying Danish woman Bettina and shaving off her 3-foot long mane, but so far it's come to nothing, despite the fact that her roommate (the funny American) offered to pay Nick's way on the upcoming south India trip if he did it. Oh well.
So, Khajuraho. It reminded me a tiny bit of Angkor Wat, but likely just because that was my first experience with Hindu temples. The ones in Khajuraho are around 1000 years old and incredibly beautiful. The outsides are covered in sculpture, some of it G-rated (e.g. Ganesha), others a bit more blue. For instance, there are several Kama Sutra poses, one with the couple flanked by 2 shame-faced individuals masturbating (apparently, these pictures were meant to be instructional). Another don't illustrated: sex with horses (although the artist was at least honest enough to admit onlookers' interest in watching that sort of thing, depicted by a woman peeking through her fingers at the scene). Strangely, male sexual relations with elephants' ears was also worth a few feet on one of the temples. I'm assuming that's another don't, although I missed the explanation. Of course, elephants watching copulating couples is A-OK, so maybe there's some grey area when it comes to elephants...
Monday, April 6, 2009
Varanasi (or, a funny thing happened on the way to the crematorium)
Call me crazy, but I don't think an active crematorium should be a popular tourist attraction. Which is why I found it so unsettling that (1) people had to be repeatedly be reminded to stop taking pictures of the burning bodies and (2) some people regarded the experience with so little sense of gravity that they actually threw cigarette butts inches from where the bodies were being burned. Taking a boat down the Ganges and watching people perform ritual cleansing: cool. Turning the handling of the dead into a circus attraction, not so much.
But, as I said, something funny did happen. In the afternoon, I got an ayurvedic massage. Having spent 6 weeks at boot camp, I've gotten used to massages. But this was something completely new. First, the masseuse didn't leave the room so that I could disrobe. Instead, she helped me out of my clothes. Second: no sheet. A towel underneath, but other than that, nothing. So, as you can imagine, I was already feeling a little out of my element. So you can imagine my surprise when the massage started with my boobs! I'd say that a good 20% of the massage was boob-centered, possibly more. And since there's not a lot of muscle there, it mainly entailed having massage oil rubbed into them while the masseuse proceeded to ask me if I was married and to express horror when I told her how old I was. She also (while massaging my stomach, a singularly uncomfortable experience) told me that a cup of hot water every morning was all I needed to turn myself pixie-thin in less than a year. And to think I've wasted all this time and money working out...
Another special thing about Varanasi: the rickshaws. Terrifying. The city appears to have no traffic laws, and I'm convinced I survived the interminable rides to and from the Ganges through dumb luck, as my driver/cyclist made every possible effort to run into tuk tuks, motorbikes, cars, pedestrians, and other rickshaws (all of whom share a single road). The only group immune from his cycle of terror: cows. Fortunately, many of them had taken the evening off to hang out in various shops on the main road (seriously).
But, as I said, something funny did happen. In the afternoon, I got an ayurvedic massage. Having spent 6 weeks at boot camp, I've gotten used to massages. But this was something completely new. First, the masseuse didn't leave the room so that I could disrobe. Instead, she helped me out of my clothes. Second: no sheet. A towel underneath, but other than that, nothing. So, as you can imagine, I was already feeling a little out of my element. So you can imagine my surprise when the massage started with my boobs! I'd say that a good 20% of the massage was boob-centered, possibly more. And since there's not a lot of muscle there, it mainly entailed having massage oil rubbed into them while the masseuse proceeded to ask me if I was married and to express horror when I told her how old I was. She also (while massaging my stomach, a singularly uncomfortable experience) told me that a cup of hot water every morning was all I needed to turn myself pixie-thin in less than a year. And to think I've wasted all this time and money working out...
Another special thing about Varanasi: the rickshaws. Terrifying. The city appears to have no traffic laws, and I'm convinced I survived the interminable rides to and from the Ganges through dumb luck, as my driver/cyclist made every possible effort to run into tuk tuks, motorbikes, cars, pedestrians, and other rickshaws (all of whom share a single road). The only group immune from his cycle of terror: cows. Fortunately, many of them had taken the evening off to hang out in various shops on the main road (seriously).
Sunday, April 5, 2009
From Delhi to Varanasi
After a horrific 28 hour travel "day" (Christchurch to Auckland to Hong Kong to Bangkok), I finally arrived in Delhi. I was immediately conned by the airport transfer guy, who told me the (inflated) "recommended" tips for both him and the driver. Very awkward. The hotel was great: super-clean and modern with a plasma tv and a marble bathroom. The only drawback: blackouts (which I am now getting used to, since we've had them almost every night I've been in India). But hotels aren't everything. There was also a little sightseeing: Gurdwara SisGanj (a Sikh temple), Jama Masjid (large, apparently famous mosque where all the women were forced to put on crazy colored smocks over their clothes in the 80something degree heat), the disappointing and over-crowded spice market, and the park where Gandhi was cremated (and where a flame continues to burn).
Transportation issues: a few terrifying rickshaw rides (one almost resulting in a spill), before getting on a nightmarish overnight train ride to Varanasi. I thought the ride from Hanoi to Hue was the worst ever, but I've changed my mind. The rock hard upper berth with no privacy and the chai wallahs coming through every five minutes beats the relative privacy and comfort of the Vietnamese train hands down. (On the other hand, the Delhi subway was nicer than most of the subways I've ridden in the US, although I did find the pat downs (divided by gender, naturally) a little unsettling.
Transportation issues: a few terrifying rickshaw rides (one almost resulting in a spill), before getting on a nightmarish overnight train ride to Varanasi. I thought the ride from Hanoi to Hue was the worst ever, but I've changed my mind. The rock hard upper berth with no privacy and the chai wallahs coming through every five minutes beats the relative privacy and comfort of the Vietnamese train hands down. (On the other hand, the Delhi subway was nicer than most of the subways I've ridden in the US, although I did find the pat downs (divided by gender, naturally) a little unsettling.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
India!
Wow. I've been wanting to come here for years. Really. Top of my list. And now I'm here. It's been interesting so far (will get to that in my next post). But I also happen to be in with the crappiest traveling companions ever.
Main offenders: a chain-smoking Danish couple who (1) light up in the middle of the group in enclosed spaces and (2) even lit up on a boat on the Ganges, after which they threw their butts in the river (ditto at the crematorium). These are bad, bad people. To make matters worse, the husband even went so far as to pick a fight with a rickshaw driver, asking him if he was a "homo.". Please send them back to Denmark and never, ever let them leave their town again.
While they are the worst of the worst, honorable mentions are due to (1) a pair of Iranian-Canadian sisters who appear to be mildly retarded, criminally cheap (they skip both lunch and dinner because they aren't included in the price of the tour) and horrifyingly tactless, e.g., all but forcing a local guide to "confess" to being lower caste, (2) a younger Canadian with a bad habit of screaming at locals (and the friend she's traveling with) whenever things don't go her way and (3) a humorless middle-aged Danish woman whose only passions appears to be for waking before dawn, and who shuns anyone who criticizes the chain smokers (I am pleased to say that she has developed a well-deserved case of Delhi belly).
Mercifully, all is not terrible. I immediately struck up a friendship with a 20 year old boy from London who loves Buffy, America's Next Top Model, Project Runway and Veronica Mars. We have a great time making fun of all of the awful people on the trip. Also quite good: a British couple originally from the Caribbean (a sculptor and a retired professor) who are at once intelligent, personable and good for a laugh (with, not at). Finally, and American psychologist in her early 60s has proved fun (likes gossip and America's Next Top Model) and interesting (not just because of her insights, but because she has 3 adopted children: one black, one white and one Korean). With the four of them to talk with, things could be much worse.
Next (much-delayed) post: my first week in India.
Main offenders: a chain-smoking Danish couple who (1) light up in the middle of the group in enclosed spaces and (2) even lit up on a boat on the Ganges, after which they threw their butts in the river (ditto at the crematorium). These are bad, bad people. To make matters worse, the husband even went so far as to pick a fight with a rickshaw driver, asking him if he was a "homo.". Please send them back to Denmark and never, ever let them leave their town again.
While they are the worst of the worst, honorable mentions are due to (1) a pair of Iranian-Canadian sisters who appear to be mildly retarded, criminally cheap (they skip both lunch and dinner because they aren't included in the price of the tour) and horrifyingly tactless, e.g., all but forcing a local guide to "confess" to being lower caste, (2) a younger Canadian with a bad habit of screaming at locals (and the friend she's traveling with) whenever things don't go her way and (3) a humorless middle-aged Danish woman whose only passions appears to be for waking before dawn, and who shuns anyone who criticizes the chain smokers (I am pleased to say that she has developed a well-deserved case of Delhi belly).
Mercifully, all is not terrible. I immediately struck up a friendship with a 20 year old boy from London who loves Buffy, America's Next Top Model, Project Runway and Veronica Mars. We have a great time making fun of all of the awful people on the trip. Also quite good: a British couple originally from the Caribbean (a sculptor and a retired professor) who are at once intelligent, personable and good for a laugh (with, not at). Finally, and American psychologist in her early 60s has proved fun (likes gossip and America's Next Top Model) and interesting (not just because of her insights, but because she has 3 adopted children: one black, one white and one Korean). With the four of them to talk with, things could be much worse.
Next (much-delayed) post: my first week in India.
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