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.
Monday, April 20, 2009
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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