I would love to write a book about the ridiculous bus rides I've taken in my life-- all so different and all so ridiculous. I don't know why I keep doing it to myself-- oh yeah, because it's the cheapest way to go, by far. Or sometimes it's the only way to go. When you have time rather than money and you're supposedly young and able then you just gotta do what you just gotta do.
Let's travel back in time to 2005 to 2 memorable ones. You know you're in for it when the guide book says don't take the bus tours crossing from Bangkok, Thailand to Siem Reap, Cambodia. But then you ask yourself what are my other options of getting there? Some highlights of the journey were getting ripped off at the border, of course, watching drivers crossing the border figure out when to switch to the other side of the road-- left side driving in Thailand, right side driving in Cambodia. Finding that Cambodia's roads were unpaved and pockmarked with crater sized potholes, leaving one to wonder how many mines might still be in the ground 25+ years later. A dazzling 2 hour lightning display in the distance, adorable begging children throwing bracelets at you and manipulating you to give them money. Passing another bus of tourists just like ours that had broken down at night in the middle of NOWHERE, and villagers removing planks from their bridge to force the bus driver to pay them to put them back and the strong willed bus driver driving on anyway, the bus lurching from plank to plank, the locals banging the sides of the bus in warning. Easily the most dramatic of all bus experiences.
Australia 2005, leaving Dingo where I was a bar wench for outback coal miners and loggers. One of the loggers had a big rig driver taking a load of huge logs up north drop me off 14 hours later in Cairns. That is one of my favorites- no stress, beautiful scenery-- as with all of them actually, and I got to sleep in the little compartment behing the driver's seat. I'd always wanted to do that ever since I learned they had them when I was a kid!
Recently in India, 14 hours on a local bus, a rickety contraption form the 70's that probably hasn't been cleaned since then, and being stared at literally in my face or inches from it by the men who would fill the seat in front of me one after the other. I had to ride with a shawl over me for most of the journey like a bright shroud. And despite how many stares that would get in the US, it doesn't turn a head in India.
The 36 hour bus ride from Bogota, Colombia to Caracas, Venezuela of course brings new offerings to the table. A ride with an eccentric gypsy family past 100's of a dictator's checkpoints throughout the night. This family is a world unto itself, completely free from the shackles of reality that the rest of us are obviously being held back by. And though I don't intend to mock them because they are of course very nice and fascinating people, I wont be able to refrain from doing so. I have never seen anything like them. After 5 weeks of being in Colombia, the land of stylish, clean and presentably dressed people we're waiting for the bus at the Bogota terminal and along comes the dirtiest family I've ever seen. Dirtier than homeless parentless beggar children who live in shanty huts on India's train tracks and bathe themselves in polluted ditches of sewage and rain water, well maybe about equal. The mother and children's fingers, feet and faces were caked in brown trails of dirt and their clothes looked like they hadn't been changed in a month. With them they had tons of luggage and an adorable little puppy. I thought they were a gypsy family and said so within earshot of them safely assuming that people like that wouldn't have access to learning English. Their luggage though struck me as very odd, 2 of their many suitcases looked dirty but new, brightly colored and well made like designer luggage. Well of course this family turned out to American! with a Colombian dad-- which was a shocker for big mouth Manali. And guess where they live-- the Berkshires, Massachussetts. For those less familiar with the East Coast, that's one of the most upscale towns in New England, think mansions galore. Who knows if they live in a mansion or not, I'm willing to believe anything with this crazy family. All that said, they were very friendly and interesting company on the bus for 36+ hours. It was cute when the 6 year little girl developed a crush on Hernando for playing with her for an hour and spent the rest of the journey tapping, prodding, poking and eventually head-butting him. Though their labrador puppy they picked up in Colombia and are taking with them on their overland voyage to Trinidad via Venezuela, before they make it home to the Berkshires was of course not potty trained so there were a couple of accidents during the 36 hours. Without them the bus ride would have been a little less stinky but undoubtedly been much more dull. Until of course we reached Venezuela which makes sure to keep you on your toes.
Ah, Venezuela home to the most brashly outspoken dictator currently in power that I can think of. He's very fond of his military roadside checkpoints you know, pulling over buses at random throughout the night. We were stopped at least 6 times, for the military police to come on the bus and check all our passports and ID cards. And I'm sure I showed each one of them their first British passport, throwing one drunken one for a loop, wishing to cross reference it with a local ID as well. Silly confused 18 year old military police man with a small machine gun, drunk off the liquor seized from the last travelers bags he rifled through. And yes, not once but twice at different check points we were stopped and had all our bags removed from the undercarriage for these very official officials to inspect and remove the alcohol from for their little on the job parties. After a night of travelling in this fashion we finally made it to Caracas.
Being here though is really just about seeing Hernando's friends and family, otherwise it's kinda like being in the Detroit of Latin America but way worse than that. Did you know that Caracas sees more homicides than Baghdad? yeah... however it does have one saving grace. It's proximity to beautiful Carribean beaches. We've already been once and we're going again this weekend- yipee!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
a freezing waterfall and a hot jacuzzi
We recently spent 3 days and nights in the quaint tourist town of Villa de Leyva 3 hours outside of Bogota, where we had one truly awesome day. We both unexpectedly went abseiling or rappelling down a waterfall. And it was a total breeze I could have done it in my sleep, um just kidding. So being a bit proactive can bite you in the ass sometimes. I asked for them to let us practice a bit before taking off down the watery cliff edge, so they harnessed me up and tied me to a tree and taught me how to let myself down on the rope bit by bit. Great, easy, no big deal-- when both of your feet are on solid ground! Then being already fitted up they rushed me to the cliff edge had me stand in the freezing water and were like "ok, go for it." So I´m on the edge looking down and they´re telling me to relax, lean back and go and I realize it´s all moving a little fast for me. Their patience was failing as they screamed "Vamonos, vamonos, vamonos!!" and I saw an exit to chicken out into concerned Hernando´s consoling arms. Which turned the pressure onto him to be the first down. He hadn´t practised a bit and also couldn´t believe he was supposed to go over the ledge when he was all kitted to go but being a man, it was out of the question to chicken out so he went. And after that it was all fine. The hardest part is getting started, especially for the first time. He even went twice, the second time without a guide, entirely on his own. When I went (4th person out of 5) I was scared like all the rest but also really enjoyed it, but I didn´t go a second time, that was enough for one day.
Oh and I forgot to mention that we had a crowd. We were doing this in front a family of 10 locals who live on the hillside nearby and their army of as many annoying barking dogs. One of which, a chihuahua, nearly lost it´s life to the waterfall gods. It was literally teetering over the edge and when they tried to grab it, it flinched away from them and I was sure I was going to hear little dog yelps down to the very bottom. Luckily however the rat dog did not fall because that would have ruined our day.
And what a way to continue our day but to be invited to a friend´s fancy hotel, have a nice lunch and enjoy the pool, jacuzzi! and sauna. That was amazing. This is a friend of Hernando´s cousin who we met once before who was terribly sweet to invite us riffraff to enjoy the hotel´s amenities. And if hadn´t been for Laura we wouldn´t have gone rappelling at all, wouldn´t have known we could.
We spent the night drinking beer and aguardiente, the local favorite liquor-- horroble sambuca like stuff, in the main square with the other 2 rappellers from Ireland we had spent the earlier part of the day with.
That was such a highlight perhaps we´ll go white water rafting next. But don´t tell Hernando´s mom because otherwise she might chain us up in the house to keep us from leaving. Tomorrow we leave on a 36 hour bus for Caracas, Venezuela. We are hoping to see the world´s tallest waterfall in Venezuela and we´ll keep you posted.
Cheers,
Manali
Oh and I forgot to mention that we had a crowd. We were doing this in front a family of 10 locals who live on the hillside nearby and their army of as many annoying barking dogs. One of which, a chihuahua, nearly lost it´s life to the waterfall gods. It was literally teetering over the edge and when they tried to grab it, it flinched away from them and I was sure I was going to hear little dog yelps down to the very bottom. Luckily however the rat dog did not fall because that would have ruined our day.
And what a way to continue our day but to be invited to a friend´s fancy hotel, have a nice lunch and enjoy the pool, jacuzzi! and sauna. That was amazing. This is a friend of Hernando´s cousin who we met once before who was terribly sweet to invite us riffraff to enjoy the hotel´s amenities. And if hadn´t been for Laura we wouldn´t have gone rappelling at all, wouldn´t have known we could.
We spent the night drinking beer and aguardiente, the local favorite liquor-- horroble sambuca like stuff, in the main square with the other 2 rappellers from Ireland we had spent the earlier part of the day with.
That was such a highlight perhaps we´ll go white water rafting next. But don´t tell Hernando´s mom because otherwise she might chain us up in the house to keep us from leaving. Tomorrow we leave on a 36 hour bus for Caracas, Venezuela. We are hoping to see the world´s tallest waterfall in Venezuela and we´ll keep you posted.
Cheers,
Manali
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Feliz Año
¡Happy New Year and Feliz Año! It´s much more fun being on a spanish keyboard than a regular american one. Funnily enough the last 2 weeks or so since I last wrote have passed by in much more of a blur than any of our travelling in India. Probably because it´s been much less punctuated by singular events. We´ve spent a lot of time in Colombia´s capital, Bogota, seeing the city and more family than you can imagine. Collectively Hernando´s parents are 2 of 19 total siblings, which all of course have one or two subsequent generations behind each one of them. If I can figure it out as far as "mom´s side" and "dad´s side" I feel I deserve a pat on the back. Anything more intricate than that escapes me, despite Hernando´s mother´s best efforts to thoroughly educate me.
We also visited another city quite a distance away where Hernando´s grandparents and yet much more family live. Everyone is very warm and friendly and I do my best at Spanish, though a good number of people speak good English allowing me to be lazy, or take a break once I have thouroughly toungue tied myself.
Today stands out as the most lovely for me thus far. We rode horses in the countryside and it was a dream. Like any girl I love riding horses. I would say I can´t get enough of it but my body would beg to differ especially after losing any extra padding I had before going to India. I am so sore! But it was so worth it. An interesting moment was when Hernando´s cousin Valentina and I went out for a second ride cantering down dirt country roads at sunset and we come towards a woman bent over a body lain on the side of the road and her two children standing protectively in front of it and she´s lighting a match over it´s stomach. Now I´ve just come from India where I spent a few days watching family funerals at the burning ghats and it brought to mind some kind of crude funeral that absolutely did not make sense. Well luckily and obviously it wasn´t, and I figured as much when I saw another stuffed scarecrow figure of a man sitting in a chair with a can of beer in his hand. They make a figure of a man here and burn it to symbolize burning the old year and welcoming the new.
Now if you were to ask Hernando his favorite day it would have to be when we went go-karting with 8 other cousins. And I had fun too because I beat Hernando at it by half a lap! And that´s how I measure my success, mwah hah ha. He asked me not to write that on the blog but what could he expect? Though since he loves it so much we went a second time and that time he lapped me, but I wasn´t racing as well as before.
We still don´t really know what we´re doing as far as making plans. We´ll be in Venezuela by mid-January but we´re not really looking forward to it. Colombia is so nice and safe they can enjoy the luxury of walking around on the street and being perfectly safe here, it´s so much better than before. Though things are different in Caracas, the capital of Venezuela. The situation is worsening day by day and people are starting to flee to Colombia. Everyday Bogota´s newspapers print somewhat disapproving articles about the current Venezuelan influx as though the tables have never been turned and Venezuela never had the same happen there with Colombians in the past. So basically being in Caracas to us means we stay in the parent´s apartment a lot especially since most of his close friends from there live abroad! Though we of course most look forward to seeing our friends who are there. There´s a great PBS frontline video on Chavez and Venezuela that you can watch online. I would find you the link if the internet here just weren´t so sloooow that I´d rather pull my hair out.
So as it stands after that we´re leaving the fate of our plans in the hands of Expedia. Wherever we can find a last minute bargain flight to once the peak season passes, we´ll go!
till then, ciao and ¡feliz año!
We also visited another city quite a distance away where Hernando´s grandparents and yet much more family live. Everyone is very warm and friendly and I do my best at Spanish, though a good number of people speak good English allowing me to be lazy, or take a break once I have thouroughly toungue tied myself.
Today stands out as the most lovely for me thus far. We rode horses in the countryside and it was a dream. Like any girl I love riding horses. I would say I can´t get enough of it but my body would beg to differ especially after losing any extra padding I had before going to India. I am so sore! But it was so worth it. An interesting moment was when Hernando´s cousin Valentina and I went out for a second ride cantering down dirt country roads at sunset and we come towards a woman bent over a body lain on the side of the road and her two children standing protectively in front of it and she´s lighting a match over it´s stomach. Now I´ve just come from India where I spent a few days watching family funerals at the burning ghats and it brought to mind some kind of crude funeral that absolutely did not make sense. Well luckily and obviously it wasn´t, and I figured as much when I saw another stuffed scarecrow figure of a man sitting in a chair with a can of beer in his hand. They make a figure of a man here and burn it to symbolize burning the old year and welcoming the new.
Now if you were to ask Hernando his favorite day it would have to be when we went go-karting with 8 other cousins. And I had fun too because I beat Hernando at it by half a lap! And that´s how I measure my success, mwah hah ha. He asked me not to write that on the blog but what could he expect? Though since he loves it so much we went a second time and that time he lapped me, but I wasn´t racing as well as before.
We still don´t really know what we´re doing as far as making plans. We´ll be in Venezuela by mid-January but we´re not really looking forward to it. Colombia is so nice and safe they can enjoy the luxury of walking around on the street and being perfectly safe here, it´s so much better than before. Though things are different in Caracas, the capital of Venezuela. The situation is worsening day by day and people are starting to flee to Colombia. Everyday Bogota´s newspapers print somewhat disapproving articles about the current Venezuelan influx as though the tables have never been turned and Venezuela never had the same happen there with Colombians in the past. So basically being in Caracas to us means we stay in the parent´s apartment a lot especially since most of his close friends from there live abroad! Though we of course most look forward to seeing our friends who are there. There´s a great PBS frontline video on Chavez and Venezuela that you can watch online. I would find you the link if the internet here just weren´t so sloooow that I´d rather pull my hair out.
So as it stands after that we´re leaving the fate of our plans in the hands of Expedia. Wherever we can find a last minute bargain flight to once the peak season passes, we´ll go!
till then, ciao and ¡feliz año!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Q&A
I've received some questions from friends that I thought I would answer here on the blog, since they're the things that I didn't think to bring up on my own.
Where did we spend Diwali?
Diwali is the biggest yearly celebration in India. It's a Hindu custom and it's called the festival of lights. I was so excited to be in India while this was to happen this year. It passed mid-October, but in the end we were in Goa that night which is actually not very Hindu and very Christian so there wasn't much going on to see that night. We were on a super touristy beach, I felt mislead by my guidebook, so what we saw was on one hand touching and one hand ridiculous. The families of fishermen lighting candles by their beautiful handcarved boats was lovely, contrast that with westerner guys and girls and well off Indian men getting drunk in some bar on the beach and making an embarassing spectacle of themselves.
How was the food? combined with "How did you stay healthy?"
So before the trip began I was going around telling everyone how I couldn't wait to eat Indian food everyday for three months. Now this would be an amazing thing to do if we could have somewhat regularly found food as good as my local Indian restaurant in Boston, (Bukhara in JP!), but I should have heeded the word of my parents and not built my hopes so high. Let's just say the food quality is "variant." It's also impossible to find a kitchen to cook for yourself in-- I did once! I'll speak about that next-- so you are condemned to restaurants. Now of course we were on a budget so weren't eating at hotel restaurants everyday and that would have been lame if we did. Local restaurants and cheap tourist restaurants were our lot. When you sit down you are offered a never ending menu, but they only actually serve one or two dishes that day. Of those choices you have to deduce which is A. most likely to turn out ok and not as an unpleasant surprise and B. most importantly, which is less likely to send you running to the bathroom. Now I hate to be such a whiny spoiled tourist but this was a major issue. I've already spoken quite freely about my irregular bowels in past blogs-- it becomes such a banal topic of discussion that often 5 minutes into a conversation with another tourist we'd just met we're all exchanging poop stories. And three months of India left me about 18- 20 pounds thinner and Hernando 10. Though I must say Masala Dosas, the staple dish in the South, were always good. They're like a huge airy, crispy crepe folded over a yellow mush of seasoned potatoes and onions, so yum. And since only local places really serve them they were usually 40 cents for your meal.
Where are you now?
Though I need not complain about the losing weight since we are now in Colombia, the land of beautiful women who wake up looking ready to hit the clubs even though they are at the supermarket, or walking their dog through the park. I don't know if they'd believe me if I told them that celebrities in LA go food shopping in sweats or even pyjamas. So I have returned to adoloscence and become self conscious about my ugly, grey, but ever so comfortable tennis shoes.
Before we got here though we spent a week in England seeing the grandparents and doing a quick one night trip out to London. The weather was as miserable as English weather is in December but I didn't mind it for a week, though that's not to say I didn't enjoy seeing the sun again in Colombia. What we really enjoyed was Grandma's cooking. Especially since upon my departure from India it gave me a last goodbye, gonna miss you present: my last thourough bought of food poisoning. Now, almost three weeks out of the country and I still don't feel right and back to normal. I usually get sick once every 1-2 years, but I can't count how many times I've been ill in the past few months. Don't tell grandma though, she'll worry. Hey good news, as a British citizen (non-tax paying), I took advantage of their national health system, went to the doctor and I do not have a stomach parasite!
And the big question these days is where to next? And drumroll, we don't know. We'll be in Venezuela until mid january but we don't know how much money we'll have left for this lifestyle after that. So it's a big mystery for you and us alike. Hernando's pushing for a swift return to California to start life in San Francisco, which looks like our most sensible option as of yet, but maybe we don't have to be so sensible.... We'll keep you posted!
Where did we spend Diwali?
Diwali is the biggest yearly celebration in India. It's a Hindu custom and it's called the festival of lights. I was so excited to be in India while this was to happen this year. It passed mid-October, but in the end we were in Goa that night which is actually not very Hindu and very Christian so there wasn't much going on to see that night. We were on a super touristy beach, I felt mislead by my guidebook, so what we saw was on one hand touching and one hand ridiculous. The families of fishermen lighting candles by their beautiful handcarved boats was lovely, contrast that with westerner guys and girls and well off Indian men getting drunk in some bar on the beach and making an embarassing spectacle of themselves.
How was the food? combined with "How did you stay healthy?"
So before the trip began I was going around telling everyone how I couldn't wait to eat Indian food everyday for three months. Now this would be an amazing thing to do if we could have somewhat regularly found food as good as my local Indian restaurant in Boston, (Bukhara in JP!), but I should have heeded the word of my parents and not built my hopes so high. Let's just say the food quality is "variant." It's also impossible to find a kitchen to cook for yourself in-- I did once! I'll speak about that next-- so you are condemned to restaurants. Now of course we were on a budget so weren't eating at hotel restaurants everyday and that would have been lame if we did. Local restaurants and cheap tourist restaurants were our lot. When you sit down you are offered a never ending menu, but they only actually serve one or two dishes that day. Of those choices you have to deduce which is A. most likely to turn out ok and not as an unpleasant surprise and B. most importantly, which is less likely to send you running to the bathroom. Now I hate to be such a whiny spoiled tourist but this was a major issue. I've already spoken quite freely about my irregular bowels in past blogs-- it becomes such a banal topic of discussion that often 5 minutes into a conversation with another tourist we'd just met we're all exchanging poop stories. And three months of India left me about 18- 20 pounds thinner and Hernando 10. Though I must say Masala Dosas, the staple dish in the South, were always good. They're like a huge airy, crispy crepe folded over a yellow mush of seasoned potatoes and onions, so yum. And since only local places really serve them they were usually 40 cents for your meal.
Where are you now?
Though I need not complain about the losing weight since we are now in Colombia, the land of beautiful women who wake up looking ready to hit the clubs even though they are at the supermarket, or walking their dog through the park. I don't know if they'd believe me if I told them that celebrities in LA go food shopping in sweats or even pyjamas. So I have returned to adoloscence and become self conscious about my ugly, grey, but ever so comfortable tennis shoes.
Before we got here though we spent a week in England seeing the grandparents and doing a quick one night trip out to London. The weather was as miserable as English weather is in December but I didn't mind it for a week, though that's not to say I didn't enjoy seeing the sun again in Colombia. What we really enjoyed was Grandma's cooking. Especially since upon my departure from India it gave me a last goodbye, gonna miss you present: my last thourough bought of food poisoning. Now, almost three weeks out of the country and I still don't feel right and back to normal. I usually get sick once every 1-2 years, but I can't count how many times I've been ill in the past few months. Don't tell grandma though, she'll worry. Hey good news, as a British citizen (non-tax paying), I took advantage of their national health system, went to the doctor and I do not have a stomach parasite!
And the big question these days is where to next? And drumroll, we don't know. We'll be in Venezuela until mid january but we don't know how much money we'll have left for this lifestyle after that. So it's a big mystery for you and us alike. Hernando's pushing for a swift return to California to start life in San Francisco, which looks like our most sensible option as of yet, but maybe we don't have to be so sensible.... We'll keep you posted!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Hi again...
One more time I have to apologize for my bad negligent behavior in writing here on the blog, almost a month has elapsed since the last entry. I'll be honest, I enjoy writing here but sometimes it feels like homework and I'm not a grown up now for nothing. If I don't wanna do something, I don't do it-- said the mature adult. Well you're supposed to be a grown up when you're 25 but I'm wondering when I'll ever feel like one. Maybe because grown ups aren't supposed to go gallavanting across the globe, but I don't like the people who make those rules. All the more reason why rules are for breaking.
That said- hello. We are alive and well, and have been duly busy, and putting off writing. Let's start back a whole month ago when Hernando and I had missed our train up North and we had to rebuy tickets for the next train heading north. After half a lifetime we ended up at our destination, the village of Sanchi. This is where we had visited at the beginning of our trip and befriended the most lovely family with a grumpy and slightly scary mom. We wanted to visit them again and though it was an absolute pain to get there we were so glad we did when we saw Singh, the dad, and Annu the middle daughter, again. The experience of meeting them was defintely the best thing that happened to us in India. For all the people that tried to rip us off rudely, as opposed to in a friendly manner, and that I could have strangled during the trip, this family more than made up for it with their warmth and kindness. Even with our limited means of communication, they were by no means fluent in English and we of course much less so in Hindi, we really did break through barriers and had a very meaningful time with them. To the point where Annu told her father he was spending too much time with us and it was her turn. When you see the photo of Hernando and 12 year old Annu together (they give her a boy haircut and dress her like a boy, but she is not) you may see why everyone in India thought Hernando was Indian. Though their resemblance is just ridiculous!
Next we went to the world heritage site of Khajuraho's temples. Now if we thought Sanchi was in the middle of nowhere, this stepped up our concept of what it really means for a place to be in the middle of nowhere. Our two most horrendous journeys in India were getting to and from Khajuraho while we continued northboundish with a wide detour to Varanasi in the northeast. The temples of Khajuraho are famous for one thing, erotic sculptures of the gods "enjoying each others company" (I'll let you google the photos yourself) but we went there like we did to Sanchi, becuase I studied them in school and had to see them for myself. Honestly we did. It is a bit of a shame actually because the temples are amazing, they're not world heritage listed and funded for nothing, but of course they become they become comepletely marginalized by everyone obsessing over the sex sculptures on them which were only noticeable on one of the 22 surviving temples. So the temples were amazing but the journeys to and from drained us along with being somewhere SO touristy and dealing with the trappings of being a tourist in India.
The next and final adventure in India, and deservedly the most fascinating and truly cultural Indian experience- Varanasi. A place that of all places I have ever seen in my life across the 20 odd countries I've visited this one is unlike anything else. So unique that I find the task of simply describing it aptly a bit daunting. Mark Twain said this of Varanasi: "it is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together," and being a genius couldn't have put it better. And he wrote that whenever he was alive a long time ago when the world was even older than we're used to it now, a wise man once said. And Varanasi has to be unchanged since then, and since it's conception which according to Mr. Wiki was 3,000 years ago. Ask a Hindu and you'll hear the city is 5,000 years old and started by the god Shiva, which I am willing to believe as well.
So besides being old what is Varanasi, you ask? It is a maze of streets, unmappable and hardly large enough for the thousands of resident cows that wander it freely and with 'tude. Cows that you have to sometimes pass carefully as to not get some horns swung into your bum (happened to friend while we were with her). Another friend, not while we were with her, got stuck behind one of the beasts as it relieved itself. Forget the Ganges, now if that's not a blessing with holy water, what is? Varanasi is like the Venice of Asia but it makes Venice look modern. You get completely lost in the lanes or "streets" but one musn't get too caught up admiring all the fascinating details or photographing them either because it's only a matter of time before a bunch of motorbikes with families on them come through and threaten to smash your toes into the cobbled ground. Everything about the city is about it being holy. Temple after temple will appear before your eyes because past the lines of people, cows, motorbikes, birdsnests in nooks above, cow poop at your heels, scattered flowers, miscreant monkeys and the bend in the road up ahead, you don't know what's coming next. The doors were designed to be tiny to make you stoop as in prayer when you enter a home. Amulets dangle here, an impromptu shrine there and so forth. And of course it is the home of homes to the Ganges. This is the place you've seen in documentaries and photos where people come to bathe in the Ganges, wash their clothes, drink the water and swim in it. You may also know that it is the most polluted river in the world, between it's human useage for waste of all kinds, especially the dead, and the untreated factory effluents that are also offered to it. Which brings me to being dead and/or dying. If you're a devout Hindu this is the place to kick the bucket and cease being. People come here to die, apparently there are centers full of people lying around waiting for death, not a club I'm anxious to join, becuase if you die in Varanasi you end the cycle of rebirth so you don't have to worry about what you may come back as. (I once killed a mosquito in front of my yoga teacher and he pointed out that that could have been someone's mother and then I felt like a jerk.) And I apologize if I'm being a bit forward and jokey about death but after experiencing death through the avenue of a culture so vastly different than our own my relationship to it changed. And that without my realizing it until sitting here and treating it as I do. Death is a fact and a part of life. Just another chapter in the book, and perhaps need not be so terrifying and shrouded in mystery, shall I tastelessly say.
Which of course brings me to the famous burning ghats. The part with the burning funeral pyres, the part that our hotel was near, so we saw a lot of it. So many dead bodies, covered in white and then dressed in gold fabrics are brought down to the Ganges, blessed with some water and then placed in the middle of a fairly tall stack of wood. It takes 200 kilos, or over 400 pounds of wood to burn a body at a cost of $20, and then the flames go on for 3 hours or so. Women are not allowed to attend, a good custom the British began, as women were often expected to commit sati for their husbands-- throw themselves into the flames. The families are sometimes serious, but often have almost celebratory processions down to the river. In Madurai, another holy city in the South, a week or two before this we saw a seemingly celebratory procession with drums and dozens of people. I was readying my camera when we noticed the center piece being carried on people's shoulders was not in fact a shrine but a dead body, dressed in white and seated upright, face revealed and looking forward as though he were a king on tour of his land. There are 5 types of people though who are not allowed to be burned and are deposited straight into the river: children under 5, pregnant women, holy men, people who die of a disease that gives you white spots, and cobra bite victims. Watching the funerals was sobering but I found them somewhat lovely and poetic in their simplicity, handling and tradition.
However the most lovely thing to do in Varanasi was hire a boat and see it from the river. We did it once at sunrise and once at night. At sunrise everyone is up praying, dunking, swimming, dipping, washing and drinking in the river, so much activity. At night there are some rather unspectacular ceremonies with candles you can float past as you admire the little prayer candles amongst magnolia leaves in floating paper dishes coming down the river.
We flew out of Delhi December 2nd, spent a week in England, and are now in Colombia with Hernando's vast network of a family but more about that next time. In conclusion and as your friendly tour guide I will tell you that if you are up to it, make a point of going to India in your life. Make it a must see because it simply is. Though it's not for the faint hearted. Only go if you are prepared for it at times to be more difficult and heartbreaking than you ever imagined, but so worth it all. We had a great time despite how much I believe I may have griped about it here. I love emails, comments and questions from you friends and family out there reading so fire away if you are so inclined.
Cheers,
Manali and Hernando (my somewhat silent partner in this venture whom I speak for freely. He'll have to tell you his side of the story when he sees you.)
That said- hello. We are alive and well, and have been duly busy, and putting off writing. Let's start back a whole month ago when Hernando and I had missed our train up North and we had to rebuy tickets for the next train heading north. After half a lifetime we ended up at our destination, the village of Sanchi. This is where we had visited at the beginning of our trip and befriended the most lovely family with a grumpy and slightly scary mom. We wanted to visit them again and though it was an absolute pain to get there we were so glad we did when we saw Singh, the dad, and Annu the middle daughter, again. The experience of meeting them was defintely the best thing that happened to us in India. For all the people that tried to rip us off rudely, as opposed to in a friendly manner, and that I could have strangled during the trip, this family more than made up for it with their warmth and kindness. Even with our limited means of communication, they were by no means fluent in English and we of course much less so in Hindi, we really did break through barriers and had a very meaningful time with them. To the point where Annu told her father he was spending too much time with us and it was her turn. When you see the photo of Hernando and 12 year old Annu together (they give her a boy haircut and dress her like a boy, but she is not) you may see why everyone in India thought Hernando was Indian. Though their resemblance is just ridiculous!
Next we went to the world heritage site of Khajuraho's temples. Now if we thought Sanchi was in the middle of nowhere, this stepped up our concept of what it really means for a place to be in the middle of nowhere. Our two most horrendous journeys in India were getting to and from Khajuraho while we continued northboundish with a wide detour to Varanasi in the northeast. The temples of Khajuraho are famous for one thing, erotic sculptures of the gods "enjoying each others company" (I'll let you google the photos yourself) but we went there like we did to Sanchi, becuase I studied them in school and had to see them for myself. Honestly we did. It is a bit of a shame actually because the temples are amazing, they're not world heritage listed and funded for nothing, but of course they become they become comepletely marginalized by everyone obsessing over the sex sculptures on them which were only noticeable on one of the 22 surviving temples. So the temples were amazing but the journeys to and from drained us along with being somewhere SO touristy and dealing with the trappings of being a tourist in India.
The next and final adventure in India, and deservedly the most fascinating and truly cultural Indian experience- Varanasi. A place that of all places I have ever seen in my life across the 20 odd countries I've visited this one is unlike anything else. So unique that I find the task of simply describing it aptly a bit daunting. Mark Twain said this of Varanasi: "it is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together," and being a genius couldn't have put it better. And he wrote that whenever he was alive a long time ago when the world was even older than we're used to it now, a wise man once said. And Varanasi has to be unchanged since then, and since it's conception which according to Mr. Wiki was 3,000 years ago. Ask a Hindu and you'll hear the city is 5,000 years old and started by the god Shiva, which I am willing to believe as well.
So besides being old what is Varanasi, you ask? It is a maze of streets, unmappable and hardly large enough for the thousands of resident cows that wander it freely and with 'tude. Cows that you have to sometimes pass carefully as to not get some horns swung into your bum (happened to friend while we were with her). Another friend, not while we were with her, got stuck behind one of the beasts as it relieved itself. Forget the Ganges, now if that's not a blessing with holy water, what is? Varanasi is like the Venice of Asia but it makes Venice look modern. You get completely lost in the lanes or "streets" but one musn't get too caught up admiring all the fascinating details or photographing them either because it's only a matter of time before a bunch of motorbikes with families on them come through and threaten to smash your toes into the cobbled ground. Everything about the city is about it being holy. Temple after temple will appear before your eyes because past the lines of people, cows, motorbikes, birdsnests in nooks above, cow poop at your heels, scattered flowers, miscreant monkeys and the bend in the road up ahead, you don't know what's coming next. The doors were designed to be tiny to make you stoop as in prayer when you enter a home. Amulets dangle here, an impromptu shrine there and so forth. And of course it is the home of homes to the Ganges. This is the place you've seen in documentaries and photos where people come to bathe in the Ganges, wash their clothes, drink the water and swim in it. You may also know that it is the most polluted river in the world, between it's human useage for waste of all kinds, especially the dead, and the untreated factory effluents that are also offered to it. Which brings me to being dead and/or dying. If you're a devout Hindu this is the place to kick the bucket and cease being. People come here to die, apparently there are centers full of people lying around waiting for death, not a club I'm anxious to join, becuase if you die in Varanasi you end the cycle of rebirth so you don't have to worry about what you may come back as. (I once killed a mosquito in front of my yoga teacher and he pointed out that that could have been someone's mother and then I felt like a jerk.) And I apologize if I'm being a bit forward and jokey about death but after experiencing death through the avenue of a culture so vastly different than our own my relationship to it changed. And that without my realizing it until sitting here and treating it as I do. Death is a fact and a part of life. Just another chapter in the book, and perhaps need not be so terrifying and shrouded in mystery, shall I tastelessly say.
Which of course brings me to the famous burning ghats. The part with the burning funeral pyres, the part that our hotel was near, so we saw a lot of it. So many dead bodies, covered in white and then dressed in gold fabrics are brought down to the Ganges, blessed with some water and then placed in the middle of a fairly tall stack of wood. It takes 200 kilos, or over 400 pounds of wood to burn a body at a cost of $20, and then the flames go on for 3 hours or so. Women are not allowed to attend, a good custom the British began, as women were often expected to commit sati for their husbands-- throw themselves into the flames. The families are sometimes serious, but often have almost celebratory processions down to the river. In Madurai, another holy city in the South, a week or two before this we saw a seemingly celebratory procession with drums and dozens of people. I was readying my camera when we noticed the center piece being carried on people's shoulders was not in fact a shrine but a dead body, dressed in white and seated upright, face revealed and looking forward as though he were a king on tour of his land. There are 5 types of people though who are not allowed to be burned and are deposited straight into the river: children under 5, pregnant women, holy men, people who die of a disease that gives you white spots, and cobra bite victims. Watching the funerals was sobering but I found them somewhat lovely and poetic in their simplicity, handling and tradition.
However the most lovely thing to do in Varanasi was hire a boat and see it from the river. We did it once at sunrise and once at night. At sunrise everyone is up praying, dunking, swimming, dipping, washing and drinking in the river, so much activity. At night there are some rather unspectacular ceremonies with candles you can float past as you admire the little prayer candles amongst magnolia leaves in floating paper dishes coming down the river.
We flew out of Delhi December 2nd, spent a week in England, and are now in Colombia with Hernando's vast network of a family but more about that next time. In conclusion and as your friendly tour guide I will tell you that if you are up to it, make a point of going to India in your life. Make it a must see because it simply is. Though it's not for the faint hearted. Only go if you are prepared for it at times to be more difficult and heartbreaking than you ever imagined, but so worth it all. We had a great time despite how much I believe I may have griped about it here. I love emails, comments and questions from you friends and family out there reading so fire away if you are so inclined.
Cheers,
Manali and Hernando (my somewhat silent partner in this venture whom I speak for freely. He'll have to tell you his side of the story when he sees you.)
Monday, November 16, 2009
I'll start with the last two weeks, they followed a pattern quite literally of yoga, eat, sleep, yoga, eat, sleep. Can't complain.
Now for the last three days, I could write a book, but I'll try to give you an abridged edition. We're trying to head up north again since it's almost the end of our India trip and we have a flight out of Delhi. We left Kochi, our yoga home for weeks, for the tea hill station of Munnar via government bus, and the next day took another government bus down the mountain on the other to Madurai. Government buses are fabulously cheap-- they're how the locals travel. Those 11 hours we spent actually on the bus aside from the collective 6 hours of delays cost us a grand total of $6. And they really can be such a great way to get around. Honestly other Western travelers might call me plain crazy, maybe I am, but they're such an experience. You see so much, more than your greedy eyes could ever digest. You pass through city after city, you hear all the noise, watch people doing their business in the street. There's the people selling live chickens, the PVC tube seller, the watch seller, the fruit stands with their beautiful stands. They organize the fruit into geometric shapes and contrast the colors of the purple grapes, oranges, and limes. There's always attention to detail in India. The goods carrier trucks are truly the most beautiful vehicles I have ever seen. They are battered with years of use, are painted festively and don and wooden, hand carved, hand painted banner across the top, with gods, lotuses, and designs around the words "goods carrier." Though needless to say after hours of staring out the window at everything we can and absorbing the dust off the street into your every crevice and pore on our sweaty bodies we're pretty beat.
Munnar the tea hill station was lovely but really just a stopover to Madurai and this bus journey really takes the cake in ridiculousness. Though not for being unsafe, surprisingly enough. The scenery was some of the most beautiful I've ever seen in my life. The tea estates in the mist and the sheer rock face mountains were so gorgeous, only to be contrasted in equal measure by the absurdity of what was going on inside the bus. The bus driver was playing Indian music videos, and Bollywood films at full blast for the entire 6 plus hours. I had earplugs in my ears and they still hurt. Though I was entranced and now understand the formula for a successful Indian music video. Take of course a lovely young attractive girl, though not Western-thin, size 8 or 10 is great, add a middle aged, mustachioed, overweight male (moles on face?- no problem, horroble shirt?-great) and have them sing a love song. At least half of the scenes must involve bizarre choreography under waterfalls, in a river, and/or in front of waves crashing on rocks at the beach. And there you have your own Indian music video hit. I really don't know wny they are so averse to young attractive men playing leads in India. Honestly, in one film such a character was a villain, and he was beat by the fat middle aged man in a martial arts face off!! There must be something I'm missing.
Ok so Madurai, is mad. It's one of those huge, holy Indian cities where utter insanity is the name of the game. I could never describe it. I have however taken about 500 pictures (no exageration-- digital, baby!) in some frenzied attempt to document it. Visiually I can't get enough of the place, --listening to myself type I am a real visual junkie. Like to look and look and look, I guess-- but such places are exhausting and two days is enough. I'll probably drive myself mad filling up 64GB of memory card space before I can download it if I stay any longer. I promise to upload pictures when I have more time.
And right now what I am doing writing this dissertation on 3 days journey? Well Hernando and I have had our first big-- Oh Shit-- moment. We missed our train. The train we booked today because it only comes once a week and was the single most expensive journey we have booked yet, $100. Which may not sound like much to us lucky westerners, people take out loans so they can build houses with that much here, but Hernando and I are budgeting $300 a week for the 2 of us so 30% of our weekly budget hurts. But what can you do? Well as it turns another train is taking this less traveled route tonight at midnight, so we had to rebuy the tickets and get split up. I'm going ot be in first class! and Hernie in 2nd AC. I however am not looking forward to getting split up from him. I get enough unwanted male attention while I'm with him. And two crazy Aussie girls we befriended in Kochi said they had men touching their legs while they were trying to sleep on an overnight train once. Oh and did I mention that this is a 36 hour train journey?? Lots of re-reading books time. Well must be off, I don't fell like missing this one...
PS. Speaking of re-reading books everyone has to read The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy if you haven't already. She is too amazing. That book is a novel but she also authors hardcore political essays about all types of Indian atrocities so I'm completely in love with her.
Now for the last three days, I could write a book, but I'll try to give you an abridged edition. We're trying to head up north again since it's almost the end of our India trip and we have a flight out of Delhi. We left Kochi, our yoga home for weeks, for the tea hill station of Munnar via government bus, and the next day took another government bus down the mountain on the other to Madurai. Government buses are fabulously cheap-- they're how the locals travel. Those 11 hours we spent actually on the bus aside from the collective 6 hours of delays cost us a grand total of $6. And they really can be such a great way to get around. Honestly other Western travelers might call me plain crazy, maybe I am, but they're such an experience. You see so much, more than your greedy eyes could ever digest. You pass through city after city, you hear all the noise, watch people doing their business in the street. There's the people selling live chickens, the PVC tube seller, the watch seller, the fruit stands with their beautiful stands. They organize the fruit into geometric shapes and contrast the colors of the purple grapes, oranges, and limes. There's always attention to detail in India. The goods carrier trucks are truly the most beautiful vehicles I have ever seen. They are battered with years of use, are painted festively and don and wooden, hand carved, hand painted banner across the top, with gods, lotuses, and designs around the words "goods carrier." Though needless to say after hours of staring out the window at everything we can and absorbing the dust off the street into your every crevice and pore on our sweaty bodies we're pretty beat.
Munnar the tea hill station was lovely but really just a stopover to Madurai and this bus journey really takes the cake in ridiculousness. Though not for being unsafe, surprisingly enough. The scenery was some of the most beautiful I've ever seen in my life. The tea estates in the mist and the sheer rock face mountains were so gorgeous, only to be contrasted in equal measure by the absurdity of what was going on inside the bus. The bus driver was playing Indian music videos, and Bollywood films at full blast for the entire 6 plus hours. I had earplugs in my ears and they still hurt. Though I was entranced and now understand the formula for a successful Indian music video. Take of course a lovely young attractive girl, though not Western-thin, size 8 or 10 is great, add a middle aged, mustachioed, overweight male (moles on face?- no problem, horroble shirt?-great) and have them sing a love song. At least half of the scenes must involve bizarre choreography under waterfalls, in a river, and/or in front of waves crashing on rocks at the beach. And there you have your own Indian music video hit. I really don't know wny they are so averse to young attractive men playing leads in India. Honestly, in one film such a character was a villain, and he was beat by the fat middle aged man in a martial arts face off!! There must be something I'm missing.
Ok so Madurai, is mad. It's one of those huge, holy Indian cities where utter insanity is the name of the game. I could never describe it. I have however taken about 500 pictures (no exageration-- digital, baby!) in some frenzied attempt to document it. Visiually I can't get enough of the place, --listening to myself type I am a real visual junkie. Like to look and look and look, I guess-- but such places are exhausting and two days is enough. I'll probably drive myself mad filling up 64GB of memory card space before I can download it if I stay any longer. I promise to upload pictures when I have more time.
And right now what I am doing writing this dissertation on 3 days journey? Well Hernando and I have had our first big-- Oh Shit-- moment. We missed our train. The train we booked today because it only comes once a week and was the single most expensive journey we have booked yet, $100. Which may not sound like much to us lucky westerners, people take out loans so they can build houses with that much here, but Hernando and I are budgeting $300 a week for the 2 of us so 30% of our weekly budget hurts. But what can you do? Well as it turns another train is taking this less traveled route tonight at midnight, so we had to rebuy the tickets and get split up. I'm going ot be in first class! and Hernie in 2nd AC. I however am not looking forward to getting split up from him. I get enough unwanted male attention while I'm with him. And two crazy Aussie girls we befriended in Kochi said they had men touching their legs while they were trying to sleep on an overnight train once. Oh and did I mention that this is a 36 hour train journey?? Lots of re-reading books time. Well must be off, I don't fell like missing this one...
PS. Speaking of re-reading books everyone has to read The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy if you haven't already. She is too amazing. That book is a novel but she also authors hardcore political essays about all types of Indian atrocities so I'm completely in love with her.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
South India and a sigh of relief
We have finally reached South India and we had no idea what a relief it would be to come here. We're in Fort Kochi, in the state of Kerala. This region is famous for it's backwaters, there are just rivers everywhere. We've done the compulsory tourist boat tour on the back waters which was quite nice though I think I perhaps enjoyed the journey to the place even more. We took local buses, which when not overcrowded and time is not an issue can be quite fun. You just see so much. If you want a quick overlook at what a place is really all about get on some local buses. We passed village after town after village and when we had to change buses a friendly young guy obsessed with his cell phone walked us to the next bus and told us which one to get one since all the signs down here are in the local language, Malayalam. This is a bit of a dissapointment to Hernando because he has actually been learning some Hindi since we got here and now he can't use his skills.
Speaking of Hernando and his love of learning he is currently taking a class on an Indian instrument called the veena. It has 12 strings like a sitar-- see the photo. And this morning we took a yoga class that apparently turned out to be an advanced class though we hardly ever done any yoga before! We took two classes a week ago and liked it but we did not go in prepared for what was ahead of us this morning. A little way into the lesson we're doing these stretching poses on our backs with our knees bent and legs in the air and the guru decides I'm ready for the advanced pose. He literally folds me into a pretzel with my ankles crossed and my head sticking out in in front while on my back like a flexible but helpless beetle. And then halfway in we were both doing headstands-- gettingup and staying up independantly! Go us and this amazing yogi who I think in turn wants to turn me into a yogi before we leave India.
Two nights ago we watched a Kathakali performance. It's traditionally a dance or play performed in Hindu temples illustrating important stories about the gods but it seems that it is mostly preserved for tourists now. Indian people have little interest in it anymore, what with Bollywood, TV and the internet, and it's quite profittable to charge tourists $4 a piece and fill up an auditorium. Wow that was touristy. I honestly felt like I was at the zoo while I and all the other white tourists snapped their digital cameras away at the centerpiece. But I'm glad I went and got to see it still. Hernando had an amazing time to my left. I keep looking over at him silently dying of laughter in reaction to the very expressive acting/dancing. I mean VERY expressive. You have to be when you don't use words and just use your body to convey messages. They paint their faces beautifully and colorfully and wear amazing costumes. The best was the female demon, as is typical of female demons she (acted by a he) had a black painted face and exposed pointy breasts you come to understand that she is evil by her mischeivous eyes and maniacal screams.
I think Hernando and I have found a place we really like and will want to take it easy in for the next week or maybe longer. The people are so nice and friendly, they are so much more pleasant than people in the north. Life is more laid back and though you get used to constantly being on the offesive up there it's a huge sign of relief to be friendly again to strangers and not have to shoo them away like flies because you are constantly being hounded.
One more thing that surprises me that I'm sure you're all curious about is that Hernando and I turn out to be great travel buddies. Honestly before we left we weren't sure how long we'd have before we wanted to kill each other. But even though we've spent every moment of every day together for the last two months we have managed to remain not just civil to each other but enjoy being together. We each become annoying and a pain in the butt at times but it blows over easily. We were having a good laugh yesterday with 2 Australian girls who have been traveling together about how good it feels to have a fight when you need to and get over it.
I have finally uploaded more pictures to flickr! The address is:http://www.flickr.com/photos/37516374@N02/ enjoy!
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