jennifer world

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

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After 42 hours of transit time I arrived in Portland around 3 p.m. yesterday. I am tired, stiff and spacey. The lack of noise is a little eerie.

Steven and I rode downtown so I could run a few errands and then stopped at a food cart for some Indian food:)

In the next week or two I hope to post either a photo album or slide show of some of my pictures so check in from time to time to delight your eyes.

I hope you enjoyed the blog.
Thank you for keeping me company and keeping me writing!
Jen

Photo: View of Mount St. Helen's above the clouds.

Sunday, September 26, 2010 The Big Journey Ahead

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Tara and I began the big journey home with a South Indian breakfast of idli, sambar and coconut chutney – compliments of our home stay. They were thrilled the other day when we asked about having a South Indian breakfast and we easily finished off the plate of 10 idli. Bags packed and taxi loaded, we set off for the airport with the windows down. At 8:30 it was already hot and humid, though the traffic was somewhat light. There was a 10 K walk for the heart association taking place on the streets of Ernakulum and many of its participants ran barefoot. Our taxi driver said there was a prize of 1 Lakh Rupees- that is 100,000 Rs. (~$2000 USD).

We managed to check in at the airport with minimal confusion and when the plane arrived in Mumbai I got off and Tara continued on to Delhi. The International Airport would not let me into the terminal to check my bags early, the new law only allows ticketed passengers in as soon as three hours before a flight. As I made my way to the pre-paid taxi stand I was aggressively pursued by a Sikh tout who offered to take my in his auto-rickshaw for a ‘good price’. Signs all over the airport including the area I was walking announced that this activity was illegal though I’d be surprised to see it enforced. One taxi ride later I arrived at the Leela, a high end hotel near the airport. I checked my bags with the bell boy and found a comfy seat to sit down and read for a while. I arranged for some spa services during my layover and thought I would treat myself to a tasty meal before the long journey home.

Photo: Waiting Area in Cochin Airport

Saturday September 25, 2010 Last Day in India

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This morning we took a taxi to Allepey, the home of backwater tours to rent a canoe and spend a little more time on the water. The ride was bumpy and the diesel fumes intoxicating during the journey from Fort Cochin to Allepey. We found one canoe to rent and negotiated the rate. We thought we would be canoeing ourselves but the canoe came with a man who did most of the power work. We rode around the backwaters and saw the lovely rattan houseboats and were able to get closer to people who live at the water’s edge.

After two hours of canoeing we were famished and the driver took us to a nice vegetarian restaurant for a quick Keralan bite: two meals, a bottle of water and chai for a mere 66 Rupees (~$1.45). We returned to our home stay in late afternoon, rested a while then set to packing our luggage. I laid everything out on my bed and impressed Tara with my ability to condense it all and make it fit into two small bags. I would have only required one had I not gone on a shopping spree the last week; at least my Christmas shopping is now finished!

We went to Hotel Fort Cochin one last time and ordered a Pomfred cooked in Banana leaf with Gobi Manchurian (spicy cauliflower) and Keralan rice. When we walked into the open air restaurant the waiter ran to meet us “Welcome my friends!” he greeted. We were regulars now- our third time in one week. After dinner we went to a high end hotel for dessert and tea. I did not make it through one paragraph in my book before my eyelids collapsed.

Friday, September 24, 2010 Another Rainy Day

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There were thunderstorms and hard rain again last night though it was less intense than earlier in the week. We spent a mellow day around Fort Cochin. I had mehndi applied again and Tara had a henna treatment applied to her hair. In the evening we wandered around – there was a special service at the Catholic Church and it was decorated with bright lights in the shape of Mary and the baby Jesus. We discovered that the little shop with delicious pastries had a garden restaurant where they served Indian food at Indian prices…delicious.

Thursday September 23, 2010 Indian Morning

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It rained all night and it was raining so hard that I woke up several times during the night and early this morning. A little before nine it was still raining heavily but Tara and I wanted to get to Krishna’s Vegetarian Restaurant for a South Indian breakfast of idli, upma and dosas. At the intersection we tried to get an auto-rickshaw but the driver said he couldn’t take us there due to the amount of water in the road, across the intersection we could see another street completely covered in water. We decided to go to Kashi’s where they serve delicious breakfast but found ourselves trapped in a puzzle as each time we turned a corner the street rushed a river of water or was blocked by a massive puddle that became a lake and prevented us from progressing towards Kashi’s. After a lot of back-tracking we arrived in front of a hotel and decided to have breakfast there since we were unable to make it anywhere else. From the rooftop restaurant we could see all of Fort Cochin and to our delight the menu listed a few Indian breakfast items. From breakfast we went to the Ayurvedic Clinic to have our doshas diagnosed. I was surprised to learn that my constitution is Vata, air and the doctor gave me a few dietary principles to follow. By the time we were finished at the clinic, it had stopped raining and the sun shone bright and hard above us. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day so we decided to take the ferry to Vypeen Island and see if we could make it to the beach there. On our way out of the Home Stay we were intercepted by a rickshaw driver and agreed on a price for him to transport us to the jetty. He tried to sell us tours of Jew Town and the Bazaar but we said we would be doing that tomorrow. “Tomorrow Bazaar closed. Holiday,” he informed us.
“Which holiday?” I inquired.
“Friday holiday,” he replied then added matter-of-factly,” many Muslim people have shop in Bazaar.”

Tara and I consulted with each other and decided to forego the beach as we both had a few items we wanted to pick up at the Bazaar. We set a new rate with our driver Chaky (pronounced: Shakey) and he took us to all the places we requested and some that he suggested – a perfume shop for essential oils, a restaurant to pick up some local, organic coffee beans, a supermarket for all sorts of spices and Indian treats, and a couple of shops where he gets a commission or fuel vouchers.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010 Tourist Day

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Since I missed out on Monday’s tourist activities we went across town today to visit the synagogue, bazaar and palace. The synagogue was closed because it was a holiday so we explored Jew Town a little bit before heading to the bazaar. Jew Town was filled with Kashmiri shops and aggressive sales people who would jump out into the street and block our path to get us to come in to their shop. We arrived at the bazaar just before lunch and some of the warehouses were still open. There were warehouses that sold several varieties of rice, others that sold only tea and others still for chili, potato and onion. After the warehouses we came across several perfume shops and entered one to sample the smells. We walked around for nearly eight hours and once we arrived home we decided to take the ferry into Ernakulum to watch Kathakali. Tara wanted to see the performance in Ernakulum because it took place in one of the oldest theaters in Kerala. The dilapidated state of the building shocked Tara and the tiny concrete stage and rows of red plastic chairs made us chuckle. The performance was good but it was not nearly as impressive or thorough as the performance I attended in Fort Cochin. A short rickshaw and ferry ride later we returned home…exhausted.

Tuesday, September 21 Backwater Tour

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The weather was good this morning and I was feeling much better so at 7:30 we booked a backwater tour for that morning and out of the house by eight o’clock. The tour we booked was eco-friendly which meant that the boat was powered by two men who used long sticks of bamboo to thrust the boat forward instead of a motor. Twenty of us piled into a small van and traveled for a little over an hour to arrive at the boat. It was peaceful on the water – both the experience of the movement and the surrounding sounds. Our local guide identified the various plant life and birds that we saw. The tour included a few stops – one to observe coir making (rope making), another for lunch and short trip in a smaller boat and a third to a clam shell plant. It was a holiday so the workers at the clam shell plant were did not work and we were able to walk around the plant and see the various processes. After the meat is removed from the shells, the clam shells are mixed with coal and cooked for several days. The cooked shells are then treated with hot water and steam is released. Finally the shells are stirred with a shovel until it a fine white powder is formed. The chemical process is turning calcium carbonate into calcium oxide and then calcium hydroxide. The calcium hydroxide is sold to a variety of industries and is used in concrete (to make it white), toothpaste, applied to stagnant water among other things.

The rain started as we made our way back to the car and it rained heavily on the drive home. Tara and I enjoyed an early dinner and watched the nine o’clock special feature on HBO.

Monday, September 20, 2010 Sick in Fort Cochin

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Our plan for today was to explore Cochin: visit the synagogue, Jew Town, a palace, the bazaar and the post office but I when I woke I was experiencing some stomach problems. After our first stop, I returned to the home stay to rest. Tara explored Fort Cochin on her own for the better part of the morning and brought me some coconut water when she returned.

By evening I was feeling better and hungry for the first time today. We went for an evening walk along the water to watch the sunset and people gather then found a place called the Fort Cochin Hotel for dinner.

The Hungry Eye

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Varkala Days: Thursday thru Sunday September 16 to 19

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The Lonely Planet warns that travelers go to Varkala with the expectation of staying one or two nights and often find themselves still in Varkala a week later. It was easy to see how that could happen- you had to make an effort to keep track of the days. In the morning we would sit on the patio and wait out the morning power cut as it was cooler outside than inside the bamboo cottage. The time was filled with talking or reading or listening to the sound the waves made as they crashed against the cliff.

We ate at The Hungry Eye each morning for breakfast as they had the best coffee on the cliff and a pastry case that displayed the best looking pastries and cakes that were made daily. I ate at Hungry Eye my first night in Varkala because I loved the name of the place but I kept returning because I enjoyed the relaxed setting and non-pushiness of the Nepali waiters. The usual suspects would pass by while we were eating and we got to know and expect them: a man selling cards painted on eucalyptus leaves, a man selling newspapers, a man selling drums, the chai-wallah pushing his bicycle to the taxi stand. After breakfast we either rested at the cottage or went for a long walk to Varkala Beach or the Black Beach and watch the water, then an afternoon nap or reading, some more beach time, a coconut then dinner. Sometimes we would watch a cheesy movie on HBO in between the frequent power cuts.

On Thursday as we walked to the beach we were stopped by a young girl who asked us to come in and see her shop. I asked her age to which she replied ten and we told her we would stop by on our way back from the beach. She made us promise and then shook each of our hands. On the way back up the cliff we stopped in her stall, selected some items and then started in on the bargaining which was with a different family member. I always wonder why I feel so tired after shopping and I think it has to do with the bargaining. I think they were satisfied with the price, I asked to make sure they had made some money, and we were also satisfied. We formally introduced ourselves before we parted: Tara, Gia (the 10-year-old) and I and shook hands again. We learned that Gia is from Karnataka, had learned impeccable English in Goa and that she would be returning to school in six months after the tourist season was over.

Friday morning as we sat at The Hungry Eye eating our breakfast, we saw Gia walk past with a pile of wood on her head. She greeted us, waved and flashed a wide-mouthed smile. The Nepali waiters at The Hungry Eye knew her as well and they joined in greeting her as well. Saluting Gia become part of our regular routine as we went to and from Varkala Beach, with each passing we learned a little more about her and her family and each time without asking us to buy more goods – it was a welcome change. She kept track of our departure day and I told her not to worry, that we would come by and say good-bye. Gia requested that if we were not carrying anything onwards with us- soap, shampoo and such, that we would bring it to her for her family to use.

While we packed our bags on Saturday evening, we created a little pile of things to give to Gia and then supplemented it with a few items from the local shop. Sunday began as any other day – at The Hungry Eye and we said good-bye to the servers then went towards the cliff to say bye to Gia and offer her the bag of things. Gia took the bag to her mother who thanked us as did her older sister. We rushed back to the hotel to check out then sat at a cliff-side café and sipped sweet lime sodas while looking out over the Arabian Sea before beginning our northward adventure.

Wednesday, September 15 Rendez-vous with Tara

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Tara and I planned to meet at the train station in Trivandrum this afternoon. She would be flying down from Delhi and I was supposed to take a train from Kodaikanal then we would travel together to Varkala. Since I cancelled the trip to Kodai and went straight to Varkala, I decided to take the train to Trivandrum and meet her at the airport instead. I arrived at the train station around nine to buy my ticket and waited with the many commuters on the platform. The ticket agent told me the departure time of the train so that I would arrive close to the airport but when the train arrived, I failed to notice it was earlier than I was told as I climbed up the steps.

Passengers filled every available space on the car. Around halfway to Trivandrum I was successful in finding someone to ask about when to descend the train and learned that I had boarded the train that would take me into Trivandrum instead of to the station near the airport. He also recommended that I take the ladies car to avoid being the focus of so many sets of eyes. I knew there were ladies cars on commuter trains but I haven’t had success in figuring out where they arrive on the platform.

To correct my mistake of arriving at the wrong station I figured that I would take a northbound train towards the airport since. Upon exiting the train station I found myself at the auto-rickshaw stand and my disinterest in their service and insistence that I would just get on another train caused one driver to greatly reduce his rate to drive me to the airport so I went by road instead. I only had a few details of Tara’s flight: departure city, departure time and arrival time. I figured she would be arriving at the domestic airport from Delhi so I was dropped there and was happy to see that a flight that matched my information was scheduled.

I waited at the airport and read for a couple of hours and when her flight arrived I spotted her cross the baggage claim area and felt a huge relief. I intercepted her at the window for booking a taxi just in time and could see that she was surprised and confused at my presence at the airport. I told her I would explain it all during the journey and that we had three options for travel: by train like the Indians (I showed her the picture), bus or taxi. She opted for a taxi and so we piled her luggage in the trunk and spent the better part of the next two hours catching up.

When we arrived at Varkala Beach and bought some coconuts for the walk along the cliff. I ran into Carly from England at a vendor stall and we made plans to meet up for dinner. I took Tara to our lodging where we relaxed a little while then went out for an afternoon snack, a walk and then dinner.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010 Lazy Day in Varkala

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• Breakfast at Hungry Eye
• Rickshaw to Varkala town: train station, bank, pharmacy to buy gauze
• Beach
• Long walk with a coconut
• Ice Cream
• Prawns with grilled vegetables for dinner
• A game of Yahtzee with fellow
• Bed

Monday, September 13, 2010 Day One in Varkala

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I woke early to a tapping sound made by a man in the courtyard who was repairing some bamboo deck furniture. I could see the water from the swing on my balcony but was determined to find a better room or a better price after breakfast. I returned to Hungry Eye for a pot of rich coffee, eggs and toast made from a dark brown bread and pineapple juice. As I slurped the remains of the juice I felt something hard hit my tongue. I spat it out and at first what I thought to be an eye from the pineapple, at closer inspection I discovered that it was a cockroach. I was slightly disgusted but then laughed. It was probably in the glass or had just flown in. I have now survived leeches and a cockroach in my mouth!

I wandered back and forth along the cliff the Indian vendors tried to coax me inside their shops with, “cheap price madam, everything one hundred rupees (~$3 USD), looking is free.” I informed them that I would return later to which they replied: promise? The first time I was requested to promise it made me laugh. After a dozen or so times I realized it was a line they all learned somewhere, either from a movie or earlier traveler. I was able to negotiate a decent rate for multiple nights at a bamboo cottage and quickly returned to my guest house to pack up. On my way out of the guest house I took a wrong turn and when I went to correct I stepped on a slick rock and fell. The weight of my packs made it difficult to stand but I safely stood and lifted my skirt to see a scrape that caressed my left kneecap and traveled six inches up my inner thigh. It could have been worse, I thought, I could have twisted an ankle.

I wobbled to my new lodging and cleaned and dressed the wound. It was certainly sore and tender. I thought it would be best to not risk getting sand in it so I walked around along the cliff and read my book the remainder of the day. A few people suggested that I go to the hospital but it was only a scrape and it would have to be very serious for me to go to the hospital.

Sunday, September 12, 2010 Another Bus Ride

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In the original plan I was going to head to Madurai after my stay in Kumily to see the temples and then visit a hill station in Tamil Nadu before heading south to meet Tara. I had forgotten that to get anywhere you had to plan for at least one day of travel. In order to reach all these destinations and meet Tara on the 15th, I would have to travel everyday and there would be no time for hiccups. When I woke Sunday morning I felt like I just wanted to go somewhere and stay for a while so instead of heading to Tamil Nadu, I hopped on another bus that would lead me to Kottayam and from there I could take the bus to Varkala, a quaint town on a cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea. I was enjoying the bus travel even though the roads are a little frightening and none of the buses have any suspension but when I arrived in Kottayam I learned that I would have to make four transfers and it would take at least five hours for a two hour journey. Much to the bus attendant’s dismay I decided to try my luck on the train and traveled across town to the train station. It was packed! There were four lines at least sixty deep and it was difficult to maneuver with my packs. I made my way to the inquiry counter and was informed that the next train to Varkala was in twenty minutes, there was no tourist information desk at the station and “long ticket queue madam, so many people”. I established myself in one of the lines and was impressed by its linear quality. There were signs all over the station announcing: Please remain in Q, No separate Q for Ladies, Must Q for Enquiries. As I made my way closer to the ticket counter I could see that there was a cluster of people trying to get others to purchase tickets for them so they could skip the queue. This irked the older gentleman in front of me and behind me who began to yell at the cluster of people and motioned them to the back of the line. Eventually I bought the ticket but I thought that I had already missed the train. I returned to the inquiry counter and learned that the train was late so I made my way to platform 1. I strained to follow the announcement when it came in English but the decades old speakers and chatter from the station prohibited me from understanding. I asked around me if anyone spoke English. A well dressed gentleman with an older woman in a beautiful cream-colored sari with perfect English came to my aid. We were all travelling the same direction, they were returning home to Trivandrum after a wedding and were happy to guide me. When the train arrived the woman motioned for me to move to the front of the mass. Bodies poured out of the narrow doorway and when it was free for people to board she shouted : Now I push you! Go! Go! Go! A good shove came from behind and I was lifted up onto the steps of the train, they followed close behind. Some boys helped hoist my heavy pack onto the luggage rack and we stood in the aisle of the over-capacity train for the first two stops. On each bench there was room for three but on many there were four, five or even six bodies. There was a four inch gap between me and the man next to me and at one stop a wide-bottomed woman motioned for me to scoot over. I slid as far as I could and she deposited one butt-cheek on the bench and the other on the leg of the man next to me where she remained for the next forty minutes. During the ride I learned that my co-travelers are mother and son. Kurien is a professor of engineering at the aeronautical college in Trivandrum who did a sabbatical in Delaware at some point during his career. His mother has a Master’s degree in Linguistics and four of her seven brothers live in the United States where she has travelled many times for weddings. The conversation was delightful and I arrived in Varkala much sooner than I anticipated. I thanked them for their help, disembarked and waved as the train pulled away.

In Varkala the touts and auto-rickshaw drivers are tough and Mafioso. They refuse to negotiate a cheaper rate and I read that they drive you all over to make a commission. I visited two stops with my driver, the places listed in LP however the price was astronomical considering the care of the place and eventually I found a room on the North Cliff. I freshened up and dined at The Hungry Eye, only for its name. The freshly caught half pound of grilled butterfish and finger chips (British for French Fries) were delicious.

Saturday, September 11, 2010 Kumily Adventure

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Carly, Orla and I met for breakfast and ordered a number of items from the menu we were interested in trying. It was too late for idli and appams but we enjoyed Kerala Parota’s (bread that resembles puff pastry due to the excessive amounts of butter or ghee they contain), fried bananas, tomato fry, raita, omleette, French toast, banana pancake, pineapple lassi’s and dark Keralan coffee. After the substantial meal we visited the best tourist information desk ever. Our plan was to hop a bus to visit a spice plantation three kilometers away and then another to the Connemera Tea Estate. The man at the information desk wrote our desired stops in English and Malayam so that we could show the conductor.

We arrived at Abraham’s Spice Garden about fifteen minutes later and were surprised to learn that it was in fact a garden and that the plantation is located elsewhere. Our guide, Mr. Krishna Tulsi pointed out spices they grow from pepper, cardamom, and curry leaves, four varieties of coffee beans, two types of cocoa beans and various tropical fruits including sweet lady finger bananas that we got to sample. In addition he explained the various processes for making pepper black or white and how cocoa was processed. We learned that Abrahams sells raw materials to various processors so our tour was limited to the garden. Mr. Krishna Tulsi also entertained us by recounting his favorite episodes of Mr. Bean and admitted to being an avid fan of Baywatch.

From Abrahams we headed up the hill to the bus stop where we waited to board another bus to Kottayam. Fortunately the name was written in English on the sign and I wagged by index finger to signal the bus that I wanted to board (I had seen the signal performed before). The back door flung open and the bus slowed just enough for us to hop on board. Ten kilometers down the road we jumped off the bus at the Tea Estate.

The tour at Connemera was excellent. Our guide Rajeev was swift and knowledgeable and had a good command of the English language. Women were working in the fields and would approach us to show the tools they use and to learn our names. At this particular estate they cut the leaves rather than pick by hand unless there is a drought. They use hedge clippers that have a small sack made of fiberglass tarp fixed onto it that the leaves fall into. From there they sort the leaves into two giant pockets that hang from a single piece of fabric on their heads. Each worker clips something like 50 kg. of leaves each day of which maybe 10 kg. will be turned into tea. The tour included a video of processing and then a tour of the facility. We finished by sampling two types of tea. I was the only one in the group who drinks black tea and was the only one able to discern the differences between the two varieties. Many of the women at the plantation and children outside asked us for pens. Unfortunately none of us had any otherwise we would have freely given them- in 2005 I travelled with two dozen good pens to pass out and never had anyone request them or accept them when offered.

The three of us caught a bus back to Kumily to have a snack and do a little shopping. Carly and Orla planned to catch an evening bus to Kochi but first wanted to buy dhoti’s for their boyfriends/brother. We wandered into one of the textile shops and the shop girl, Lakshmi showed Orla how to tie the dhoti. We each bought one and Lakshmi was admiring the mehndi on my hands and my western dress. She invited us to her house for dinner and to do mehendi for Carly and Orla but since they had limited time they refused. Instead they had an impromptu mehndi design right in the middle of the textile shop! This is one of the many great things about India – the spontaneity and warmth with which you are greeted in some of the least probable situations.

After a snack of masala dosas and pineapple lassi’s the girls went to pack their bags and investigate bus timings. Typically there are several buses everyday to Kochi however after 4 p.m. there are no more buses until midnight. I sat with them at the post office/Internet cafe while they debated about waiting a few more hours for the bus or splurging on a taxi. They opted for a taxi and we said our good-byes. It was nice to have such great company for a couple of days and to learn that I am not the only woman travelling solo.

Friday, September 10, 2010 Safari Day

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To be honest, I didn’t expect to see a tiger or anything really exotic on the safari but I thought there would be a good chance I would see an elephant in the wild – even if off at a great distance. After all, Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary claims to be home to more than 1000 elephants. It was an early start – the jeep picked me up at 5:30 in the morning from in front of my guest house. There were four others on the safari in my jeep though as the day progressed, more and more jeeps were encountered along the roads of the sanctuary. It reminded me a little of the packaged tours I did in Vietnam five years ago. You would be escorted from activity to activity within your own small group though all the groups were essentially on the same schedule. In my group was Orla from Ireland, Carly from England and Bruno and Sofia from Italy. Bruno spoke little English and Sofia slightly more so I got over my shyness when I recognized that they didn’t understand what was going on for a moment and explained the situation in fluent Italian. It was great because I got to practice speaking Italian all day and learned some new words such as ‘ sugo sange’ which is Italian for leeches. Yes, leeches. Probably the one thing that caused me to hesitate the most about the safari was the thought of leeches; however the tour provided canvas gators for our use during the ‘trekking’ part of the safari. There was actually a lot more to the safari than safari and the bulk of the schedule was concentrated on the trekking through the leech-filled jungle where there was little or no chance to spot wildlife. Even if there had been an elephant standing in the middle of the path I doubt many of us would have seen it since we were all looking at our feet for the fast little suckers who would make a slinky-like movement up our legs in search of some place to latch on. Luckily all the guides brought salt which we all liberally reapplied to our shoes and gators. I thought it was remarkable that I was the only person (other than the tour guides) who was not wearing closed toe shoes and I was one of the few that did not fall victim to the leeches. One person was wearing gortex shoes and pants which were tucked into his socks under the gators and when he removed them at the end of the trek he found two large leeches on his calf. At the end of the first trek we were given the opportunity to walk in the jungle for another 90 minutes or head back to the canteen we all opted for the canteen. I felt especially bad for the young Indian woman on her honeymoon on the safari. Someone had probably told them that it would be incredibly romantic.

The other ‘highlight’ of the trek was the boat ride over to the waterfall. The fog was so thick that when we were in the middle of the lake there was no way to tell what was ahead and what was behind. We spotted the silhouette of a couple of birds but they were so far away it was difficult to tell what they were. I asked our guide, Jegga, what kind of fish lived in the lake and he replied ‘goldfish’.

At the bottom of the schedule we were given the language seemed to imply that we could linger more in one of the activities. I asked our guide if we could drive somewhere in the jeep and park for a while – what my idea of a safari is – but he said we had completed all of our activities and would head back to town. Jegga was very kind and knowledgeable. The government hires local tribal people who have grown up in the jungle for this part of the trek though Jegga confessed that he would prefer to be a driver. It was a shame to learn that of my 1650 rupees (roughly $37 USD) for the safari – around 8000 rupees for the five of us, Jegga receives 135 rupees (~$3) per day. Granted, there are other people doing the maintenance, cooking, vehicle fees, etc. but it seems distorted. Especially since in addition to the safari fee we each had to pay the 200 rupee entrance fee plus 100 rupees for being a foreigner, plus 25 rupees for the use of a digital camera.

When I arrived back at my guest house, Bobby came over to give me change that he owed me, see how the safari was and try to book another tour for the next day. He was hammered and smelled as if had been on an all day drinking binge. I expressed my disappointment about the safari and the whole operation in general and told him I would not be booking any other tours through the government. Later that evening I met Orla and Carly for dinner where we discussed our plans to tour the spice and tea plantations the following day.

Thursday September 9, 2010 The Pink Bus to Kumily

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I arrived early at the bus stand and was told that the bright Barbie-pink minibus parked on the side of the road was the bus to Kumily. With a small amount of disbelief I boarded the bus and asked the conductor if the bus was destined to Kumily. He confirmed that it was and I fetched my luggage from the back of the rickshaw. During the previous day’s journey and arrival into Munnar the scenery of spice, tea and coffee plantations climbed in the ascent. The road leaving Munnar climbed and descended the hillside several times but the view was remarkably different – lush greenery, palm trees, rubber trees and small towns freckled the landscape. I was especially thankful that I do not experience motion sickness as the road was the most windy I have been on in my entire life. The diminished size of the bus did not in any way reduce the number of passengers. The seats were narrower and about a quarter of an inch remained between my kneecap and the seat in front of me. I felt like a sardine with each subsequent passenger next to me claiming her space and pressing me into the side of the bus. On the way to Kumily I noticed several gatherings alongside the road with communist flags waving in the air. I also unpleasantly spotted men resituating their dhoti’s . A dhoti is like a sarong, sported by Indian men with which many of them are either bare-chested or wearing a button-up shirt. In one town there was a small parade and the street was momentarily blocked – it made for good pictures.

I arrived in Kumily in the early evening and was greeted by Bobby, a government certified tour agent who accompanied me to my guest house and then sold me a jeep safari which I enthusiastically announced at my last posting.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010 Bus Station

2010-09-11T07:39:00.000-07:00

I woke early to catch the 8:00 ferry to the mainland in hopes of reaching the bus station for the 8:50 bus. As I packed my bag in a hurry, I didn’t distribute the weight very well and so it was difficult to manage from guest house to ferry to bus. It had also rained the previous night and was raining on and off in the morning so I had to figure out how to wrap the duffle over my bag to protect the blanket and towel I carry on the outside from the weather and still manage to carry it like a backpack. Within the first five minutes on my way to the ferry I questioned my decision to wear nice clean clothes for my onward trip. The humidity triggered lots of perspiration and I realized that my bag was going to get dirty throughout the day and so would my clothes. I am not sure what I was thinking.

The journey to the bus stand went smooth and I arrived by 8:30, approached the man at the inquiry counter about the bus I had been informed about and our conversation went as follows:

Me: Hello. Where will I find the Tamil Nadu Government Bus to take to Kumily?
Bus Man: This is Kerala Bus Station. You can take the Kerala Bus to Kothamangalam then transfer to Kumily bus.
Me: I was told that there is a Tamil Nadu Government Bus that goes direct to Kumily at 8:50.
Bus Man: This is Kerala bus stand. Tamil Nadu bus other side. He gave a sweeping gesture with his arm.
Me: Where is other side? Is it at a different bus stand?
Bus Man: Other side, other side. He spoke with one of his attendants and directed the man to take me to the bus parked in front of the toilet.

I waited patiently under the sweltering sun for a uniformed man to appear and unlock the door of the Tamil Nadu Government bus. Finally at 9:30 an official looking man passed by and I stopped him.

Me: Can you help me? I have been waiting for the Tamil Nadu Bus for one hour and no one has arrived.
Bus Man 2: Bus is on other side. You should ask in the Tamil Nadu Information Office inside.
Me: There is an information office inside? Can you show me where it is? He led the way as I hobbled along with my bag which I had now completely converted into a duffle.

At Tamil Nadu Information:
Me: Excuse me. I think I might be too late. I was told to wait on the other side for the Tamil Nadu Government Bus at 8:50 and now it is 9:30.
Tamil Nadu Agent: Bus left at eight fity from this side.
Me: I don’t understand why the Kerala attendant would have me wait on the wrong side. I have been here for over an hour.
TNA: Bus left one hour twenty minutes ago: eight fity, eight fity.
Me: Eight, one, five? Not eight, five, zero?
TNA: Yes, eight one five, eight fity.
Me: Okay then, when is the next bus?
TNA: Eight thirty.
Me: eight three zero?
TNA: Yes madam, evening time.
Me: Do you know if there are any other buses to Kumily?
TNA: Ask Kerala Information.
Me: Okay thank you.

I made my way back to the Kerala Transportation Inquiry window.
Me: Hello again, Do you remember me? He nodded. You had me wait over there for the Tamil Nadu bus. You know there is a Tamil Nadu Transportation Office in this building right?
Bus Man: You asked about the bus, not the office. He was correct. I neglected to ask all the pertinent questions, every last one.
Me: Well, the bus left from the other side (I gestured in the opposite direction from where he had sent me) at eight fifteen.
Bus Man: You came here at eight thirty madam and asked about the Tamil Nadu bus. Morning bus leaves at eight fity from that side, evening bus leaves from this side. You come at eight thirty to ask about bus. His voice began to rise as his arms swung from left then right. We were starting to draw an audience of onlookers.
Me: Why didn’t reveal any of this information before? I knew exactly why- because I didn’t ask the right questions, but he clearly knew where this conversation was headed so I thought I would stoke it a little but more.
BG: You asked about Tamil Nadu Bus.
Me: Well, I need to get to Kumily soon. Do you have any suggestions?
BG: Kerala Government Bus to Kumily at ten fity.
Me: Ten-one-five or ten-five-zero?
BG: Ten-fide-ziro. Bus comes at ten forty here, leaves at ten fity. I looked at my watch that was about an hour away.
Me: How do I know which bus, I cannot read Malayalam.
BG: Sign on bus. Kumily sign English.
Me: Okay, thank you. Eight fifty.
BG: Eight fity, eight fity.

I sat down on my duffle near the Inquiry window with a view of the high traffic area of buses. Every ten to fifteen minutes the place would swell with passengers, buses would begin to come in from both directions at high speeds, stop then reverse into a narrow parking spot at an equally high speed. Several times there was a major pile up as two buses were trying to leave and another one or two attempting to park. Each driver would sound his horn to assume dominance over the situation then a bunch of official men with plastic whistles would run out of the office and wave their arms. With each departure a bus would sound its horn and the ticket agent on the bus would call out the destination. Passengers would run from the platform to the bus and jump on as it slowly pulled away. At ten forty I double checked with the main agent at the inquiry window who said he would let me know when my bus had arrived. Every five or so minute I would catch his eye and he would wave a finger indicating a minute or two longer. At 11:20 I caught another bus employee and asked him to check the status on my bus. He returned with news that the 10:50 bus was not ready (I was under the impression from before that it was supposed to arrive from elsewhere) and the next bus would leave at 11:40.

I could not take standing in the bus station for a moment longer and asked if there was any other possible route to get there, remembering that the main bus man had mentioned something about transferring earlier. He pointed to a bus and I picked up my duffle and ran across the pavement, happy to finally be boarding a bus.

The driver out of Kochi was a horn enthusiast especially through the thick traffic leaving the city and I asked myself why I hadn’t thought to jump on any bus going the general direction earlier – probably a little fear of winding up in a place at dark with no lodging. An hour and a half later I was dropped at another bustling bus station in Kothamangalam, this time with no one manning the inquiry counter. Some man near the counter asked me where I was headed and then began to ask the regular round of questions any traveler gets around India: From which country, where are you going, where are you coming from, your good name, where in US, etc. I tend to prefer relying on the aid of women so I made my way to a small group and asked if they spoke English. They shyly turned away and I looked up to spot a bright green, relatively new bus with a sign indicating Munnar as its final destination. I remembered reading about Munnar in LP and that I could catch a bus from Munnar to Kumily (if I had only thought of this earlier). I ran across the roadway and boarded the bus.

I was seated in the front section of the bus which is designated for women, next to a pleasant young pharmacist named Hima who was on her way to work. The drive to Munnar was picturesque and became breathtaking as we began to climb into the Ghats. The road went past coffee and spice plantations, tea estates were higher in the hills. The driver applied frequent use of his horn as well though he had four or five different types of horns to choose from. For a while I tried to figure out if there was a system to the horns, one to announce ‘you-yield to me!’ or one to announce ‘I am overtaking you’ both actions he assumed regularly. There were a few close encounters with the brush on the side of the road but he was quite accomplished in his driving technique and a little past 5 I arrived safe and sound in Munnar.

An auto-rickshaw driver greeted me at the door and I mentioned the name of a guest house I would like to look at. It was further up the hill and overlooked the town below. It was a scary looking building- a perfect set for a horror movie with walls falling down on one side. I went up the crooked path and at the fork in the road there was a sign for a cemetery to the right, guest house to the left. The ground outside the entrance resembled a junkyard and I already knew that I was not going to stay the night there but since we had come up the hill I might as well look at the room he had available. He led me down a path to what he called a cottage though it was really a shack – the ‘cheap room, only 200 rupees’. There were five beds in the room and though the floor was clean nothing else was. The toilet was outside and there was no shower. I explained to him that it had been a very long day and I was looking for a more comfortable place and a hot shower. He offered to bring a bucket of hot water but I politely declined. Poor old place – in a building that once housed a dozen or so rooms only three were in working condition to be rented out. The rest were ‘broke’ he explained.

We went back down the hill and I spotted a bright pink building called J.J.’s cottage. I decided to have a look inside and it was just what I was looking for with a real bed, warm blankets and all. I had a hot meal, a hot shower and watched a crappy movie on the TV while slowly sipping a Kingfisher.

Tuesday, September 07, 2010 Strike Day in India

2010-09-11T07:35:00.000-07:00

The reason of the strike was never made very clear to me but it was nice to have a day of rest in between transit days. I woke late and made some tea with my immersion heater, a coil of metal that heats up when plugged into an electrical socket. There is a very specific protocol to using it so that you don’t burn the place down or melt the device but luckily the handle stinks and makes lots of noise during operation so I don’t forget that it is plugged in. After tea I decided to walk around to see the town in daylight and investigate lodging options then met Domi at twelve for lunch in a very posh hotel. We were drawn to the hotel for the advertised Italian Coffee. There was an item on the menu I couldn’t resist – Salad Nicoise and I am so happy that I did – it was served in a huge bowl topped with seared tuna and very delicious (I also happily report a few days later that I didn’t experience any problems in the days that followed). We allowed ourselves a two hour lunch then had a few tasks to take care of: money exchange, locating the hall where we would see Kathakali performed later that evening and shopping for Domi – I’ll shop here when I return.

Along the way I found the ideal guest house. It is actually a Home Stay, and the difference is exactly as the name describes: a home where there may be a separate entrance with rooms to let to travelers. Some Home Stays have cottages built on the back of the property and others on the roof. Ours is a side entrance, a comfy room with balcony, common area and kitchen and wireless internet. Domi exchanged money and then it was time for dance.

Kathakali is a traditional Keralan art form that incorporates drumming, chanting, eye and facial muscle movements, mudras (hand and arm gestures) and dance as a dramatization of a play. We were allowed to arrive before the performance to watch the application of makeup, all from natural sources. The face paint is the blend of coconut oil and different rocks to produce the colors of red, yellow and black. There is also a very vibrant green which is made from yellow and indigo. Some of the performers have additions to their faces made from paper and rice glue. Additionally they put some sort of seed on the inside of the eyelid to turn the sclera red. After makeup application there was a demonstration of eye and facial muscle movements which were simultaneously incredible and disturbing. The performer made his eyes go side to side very quickly to the beat of the drums. We learned later that they train on eye movements for four to six years. Finally there was a mudra demonstration so that we could understand some of the gestures in the performance.

I was surprised to learn that so little of the performance is full body movements and most of it is the repetition of an arm or facial movement of the performer. The performers did not vocalize anything other than yelling and the story was briefly narrated by the man who chanted. They perform different stories each night and there is a performance every day of the year!

Post show Domi and I shared a light meal and then said our good-byes. We tend to be very good at carrying on a conversation so I arrived back at my guest house a little later than planned and quickly packed my bag for my journey to Kumily on Wednesday.

Monday, September 6, 2010 Later Monday

2010-09-11T07:26:00.000-07:00

At the airport in Kochi I spotted another traveler with skin fairer than my own and asked her if she would like to share a taxi to Fort Kochi since it was a prepaid taxi (set rate). Dominika and I got to know each other a little over the hour long ride to Fort Kochi; most of the time in the car was due to traffic. She has been in India since early June, on break from University in London and well in the India mindset of questioning every price, negotiating – I was working my way there in this first day of solo travel. My plan was to spend the night in Kochi, search accommodation for when I returned to stay there with Tara for one week then travel on to Kumily on Tuesday. During the taxi ride we learned that on Tuesday there would be a country-wide strike in India and that all public and government agencies would be closed. This meant no bus service to Kumily and I was lucky to arrive Monday in Kochi, so I revised my plan to stay two nights in Kochi and travel to Kumily on Wednesday.

When we arrived in Fort Kochi we stopped first at the guest house I had booked. It was a Lonely Planet pick and a poor one at that. I should have shopped around a little bit but for some reason I thought it was the lowest rate I would find. The room was pretty bare-boned, but it was clean with a small balcony and a functioning showerhead with great water pressure. I dropped my bag then accompanied her to another guest house where the staff was livelier and more refreshing. Two hours had passed by the time we had completed all the documents and passports photocopied which is done at every place you stay in India.

Once official business was complete we thought we would check out the validity of the strike to find out if restaurants would be open and if not buy some things for the morning. The responses varied between shopkeepers so we each bought a few things then headed towards the water to see the Chinese fishing nets. Fort Kochi is small but since it is on a peninsula it is easy to become disoriented with a map and better to wander and ask directions. We located the area where you can buy fish from fisherman and have someone cook it for you by the water, something I will have to do upon my return. Next it was time for a refreshing coconut then off to dinner in a very good restaurant with amazing seafood and great conversation. I am glad I asked her to share a taxi.

Thursday, September 9, 2010 A Quick Note and Confession

2010-09-09T05:41:00.000-07:00

Though only three days have passed since I boarded the plane to leave Hyderabad, so much has happened. I have either been in transit or socializing and unable to write or too tired to write and fallen asleep in bed with the computer on my lap. I have some catching up to do but to be honest, I usually write a few days after an event - I find I can reflect better and recall more vividly what happened.

Below this entry you will find several new entries and expect another bundle in a couple of days. It will not happen tomorrow because it is Eid (another holiday!) and I am going on an all day Jeep Safari to hopefully see some wild animals. I just hope I hear the alarm at 5 a.m.!

Happy reading,
Jen

P.S. I do enjoy reading your comments so feel free to post on the blog.

Monday, September 06, 2010 At the Airport Again

2010-09-09T05:37:00.000-07:00

I managed to get packed and make everything fit with less effort than in Pune. My bag was a little lighter as I left a few books with Kulo and Myth. I woke up early to say bye to Bhavya before she headed off to school. She told me that I am supposed to return in December for her birthday at which time I am expected to bring a gift. She’s turning six this year. The drive to the airport took about half the amount of time. It seemed like such a long drive the other evening. Now, I sit in the airport waiting for my flight to board to the sounds of construction in the building.

Picture: Kerala from the sky

Sunday, September 5, 2010 Food, food and more food

2010-09-09T05:33:00.000-07:00

I was awakened this morning just before 7:30 by a tap-tapping on my door by Bhavya. “Yoga Ma’am, I am ready to do yoga,” she was cheerful. Yesterday she referred to me as Yoga Ma’am and now everyone in the house has taken to calling me Yoga Ma’am rather than Auntie or Madam. I needed to get ready so our session began an hour later. After yoga she taught me some of the dance steps from the dance she performed a couple nights before.

Kulo decided that we should lunch in this great place where there is a danger of eating too much – a vegetarian buffet. We started off with soups, some appetizers of fried baby corn and paneer tikka. Then a dish that was like a spongy cake about the color of polenta served with a spiced mint chutney followed by puri (fried balls of dough) served with a creamy curd, mint chutney and chili chutney. I only made my way through a few of the several main course offerings and selected dishes that appeared to have the most vegetables which I ate with a paratha smothered in ghee or butter or both. Next was fried dal with plain rice but the dal was too salty for me Kulo said it was almost perfect. I sampled a few of the different desserts- a mung daal sweet, a fried patty that soaked in a sweet milk sugar sauce, a Bengali sweet that tasted of rose and Indian ice cream. It was a veritable food coma! I enjoy Indian food but I have a limit on fried foods and the sweets, though delicious are so sweet due to both sugar and milk sugar.

After lunch Bhavya and I had our hands and forearms decorated with mehndi in front of the restaurant. There were four boys in their late teens/early twenties creating all sorts of fanciful decorations on the hands of women. Bhavya’s design was Turkish/Arabic whereas mine was more floral and birdlike. She later confessed that she had asked for diamonds in her design and pointed to the area of her wrist where this was painted. Before my right hand was painted Kulo brought out the most wonderful lassi I have ever tasted. Sure, I had just had a big lunch but the drink was so refreshing. It was served in a clay pot which is rare these days and was flavored with a touch of saffron and cardamom.

Once my right hand was painted I was completely reliant on others to open doors and do things for me in order to not smudge the decoration. The longer you let the mehndi sit, the darker the dye will be. After a few hours it started to flake off and Myth squeezed lemon on our arms and scrubbed with the lemon rind. The color was so bright on my palms – a vibrant orange. Then Bhavya came upstairs with me to put some tea tree oil to seal the skin.

In the evening I helped Bhavya a little with her homework and did some yoga with Rajlakshmi. Kulo and Bhavya joined the yoga session. We went out in the evening while the baby slept in Rajlakshmi’s arms for a quick bite to eat. To be honest, I was not at all hungry, I was mostly interested in a fresh lime soda. I ordered such a boring meal: a supreme cheese sandwich. Many of the other items on the menu were either deep-fried or too heavy. They gave me a hard time for ordering such a sandwich which was melted mozzarella on white bread. I really wanted a salad, but I was not that brave!

Saturday, September 4, 2010 Family Outing

2010-09-09T05:29:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those rainy and overcast days much like you get in Portland that encourage lots of sleep and napping. I’ve been staying up too late – reading the end of my Barbara Kingsolver novel so that I will not have to carry it onwards from here. I did some yoga with Kulo’s mother Rajlakshmi, some on my own and rested. We decided to take an outing in the evening with the plan of visiting Kulo’s friend from high school first and not knowing where we might end up after that. This was the first time since the birth of their baby one month ago that Myth and the baby left the house (with the exception of a visit to the doctor). Their friends recently bought a condo and had been frustrated with the contractors and interior designers taking too long to complete the project. They decided to hold a Puja on Sunday afternoon. A puja is a ceremony to any number of Indian deities (depending on the circumstances) were offerings are made, a fire would be burned and priests come over to chant the sacred chants. They had already held one puja several months before but they grew frustrated with the continual bad luck so it was time for a puja to Ganesha, the god of obstacles. There was some special wood in the kitchen which they would use to build a fire in their dining room area and all sorts of flowers and sweets.

Back at home I visited with Myth while Kulo chanted beside us. I was interested in learning about newborn care in India- which sorts of tests are performed and how Health Care in India operates. Myth explained that it is a tricky ordeal and in some ways the system in India is much worse than that in the U.S. Since she and Kulo are employees at a software firm they have insurance but it is very limited to primary health care. No dental or vision benefits that they received when they worked in the U.S. They receive a monthly or annual stipend but have to pay out of pocket for the visit to the doctor, collect receipts and prescription records which they then submit for reimbursement. Myth said that lifelong benefits have finally been offered to government officials however if you are hospitalized you have to submit the paperwork for reimbursement to a superior before you have been discharged from the hospital. She said it results in lots of bribes since it operates in an illogical manner.

I tasted Kulo’s mother’s kir today – rice cooked in milk sugar with cardamom and other spices. It was magnificent.

Picture: Rajlaksmi (Kulo's mother)in the kitchen.

Friday, September 3, 2010 HYDERABAD: City of Pearls and Bangles

2010-09-09T05:25:00.000-07:00

Siva arrived around 11 a.m. to take me to Charminar, the Bazaar where I could find all sorts of pearls and bangles. The plan had been for me to visit the palace which was under repair during my previous visit to Hyderabad but we learned late Thursday night that the palace was closed on Fridays. The drive to Charminar took nearly an hour and as we arrived I heard the calls of the iman over the loudspeaker. By the time we figured out where the bangle area of the market was located and inquired about parking we learned that all the shops were closed until about 4 and then would only be open until 5:30 or so when the next call would be signaled. One of the vendors explained that people were preparing for Ramazan the following Friday, a holiday within the holiday of Ramadan. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me earlier that it was a Friday in a city populated highly with Muslims most of whom are craftsmen and jewelrysmiths. Oh well, I had a lovely tour of the periphery of the Bazaar and a driving tour of the city. In the evening Bhavya performed some of the classical and Indian folk dance she was learning at school. We watched Arundhati, a Tamil movie packed full of love story, revenge, singing, dancing and reincarnation.

Arrival in Hyderabad: Wednesday, September 01, 2010

2010-09-04T11:19:00.000-07:00

On my last day in Pune I attended the morning ladies class. The class was run like a teacher training for a new group of teachers while those who taught last month supervised the training part. It was quite chaotic. There were about forty students compared to roughly 110 in August. After class Kathy and I had lunch at Shravan, dessert was delicious and I wished that I had eaten there a few more times this trip. Once home, I freshened up and squeezed the last few items in my luggage.
My taxi came around 3:30 and I was off to the airport. It was actually a very nice drive through a less developed part of Pune. There were pastures where cows grazed and blocks of houses built of stone here and there. The road didn’t have a lot of traffic and as a benefit there was less noise from honking. The Pune Airport is part of the Air force Base and upon approaching the AFB sounds from military jets filled the air.

The flight was slightly delayed but eventually the passengers we summoned and we headed down the hall and down onto the tarmac. Once they finished fueling the plane we were allowed to board. It was a small plane and I had a set of seats right next to a propeller. I found it fascinating that once we the plane had taken off the landscape below did not look any different than out any other plane window – well except maybe the desert. I arrived in Hyderabad close to the scheduled time and quickly retrieved my luggage. It was an easy and painless trip.

I spotted Siva, Kulo’s driver, past the corral of drivers seeking business people. He grabbed my luggage (21 kg-yikes!) and we headed to his car. The Hyderabad Airport is new, modern and very nice complete with a napping area and shower facilities. Kulo’s home was about a 45 minute drive from the airport and I couldn’t help but notice that there was little or no litter on the side of the road for a good part of the drive. The streets also had lines painted on them to divide the lanes though most of the time Siva drove straddling the line. Hyderabad has also erected several road blockades to control traffic which is highly regulated by traffic police. Several of the stoplights are outfitted with cameras to catch people violating traffic laws, though I can’t really speak about enforcement of the activity, and in some sections of town there are heavy duty speed bumps, sometimes six in a row.
By 9 p.m. I was at Kulo’s place. I sat down for a snack of dosa, then two, a third one arrived and I said I do not think I could eat anymore. “Oh you need to tell her to stop making them then,” Kulo directed me to inform his mother and he took the last one.

A Very Indian Day: Tuesday, August 31, 2010

2010-09-01T21:32:00.000-07:00

My very Indian day started around 10:30 p.m. on Monday night during the early stages of the packing process with clothing and items strewn all across the floor, bed and desk. The power was cut and all the lights went out. I waited for a few moments in pitch black for the generator to be switched on but it appeared that the night guards were either asleep or the gen does not get turned on after a certain time of day. I looked out the window and except for the small two-story house with the crying baby in front of my building the street was black and quiet. I had just handled my headlamp and set it on the top shelf of my cabinet. I reached up, careful to not knock over any computer equipment. I felt the elastic band with my fingertips, lifted the lamp, placed it on my head and turned it on. I laughed at my reflection: a miner in pajamas. I continued to pack for a while then crawled under the mosquito net to read. At midnight the power still had not been restored so I climbed out of bed and double-checked to see that the light-switches were in the off position so I would not be startled when the power came back on. The night felt a little eerie, probably because it was so quiet except for the low hum of the generator next door.

Around 8 this morning the doorbell rang. I peered through the peephole in the door but either the glass needs to be cleaned or the hall is too dark- I am never able to tell who is waiting there. I was still in my pajamas but could tell it was a westerner so I opened the door. It was Nick from Greece who had called last night as I met with Mr. Rosenthal to arrange shipment for a small package. The phone only ever rings here when there is company and only one tenant to answer the phone. Nick was looking for a room to rent, I directed him to come back around noon when Kathy would be around. I was getting ready for class when the bell rang again – I thought it was probably him in such a short time interval- but I was unable to get to the door.

After morning practice, Kathy and I patiently waited the delivery of our tiffin lunch. When it was clear that Kaliyani was more than thirty minutes late, we called her cell phone. Her husband answered and explained that she was sick in bed with a high fever. Kathy had a papaya for lunch but I was in the mood for something hot due to all the rain so I ventured over to Ambience. Kathy needed a few odds and ends and was not feeling well so I offered to pick them up. Post-lunch it was raining heavily so instead of walking over to the vegetable market I headed back towards my place and went to Pune Central (hopefully the last time!) in search of lemons, bananas and onions. I also had an ulterior motive: I was in search of an Indian Cricket jersey for a five-year-old. The trip to Pune Central was not as painful as usual except for when I asked a clerk about the cricket jersey he kept pulling out a generic jersey or directed me to a different floor where the sporting goods were located. I told him I needed it for a child and he offered “Small, small,” as a solution. I held my hand to my mid-thigh to indicate the height of my nephew and replied: small is too big. He offered another solution but I did not understand so I thanked him and headed home.

As I rode down the escalator for the last time I looked out the large glass windows that are the front of the building. On a clear day you can see the country-side and plateaus in the distance. Today I could only see the other side of the street – a vast grey blanket covered the sky.

It continued to rain heavily until about 4 o’clock in the afternoon – for a total of 50 hours of continuous rain. Later in the evening I headed over to the Institute for my last class with Prashant. I got a little teary-eyed in the stairwell as I waited for the medical class to let out. How quickly this month came to an end. I questioned whether a two-month stay would have been better, like last time. You can never really know. Each choice has its costs and its benefits.

Last Weekend in Pune: Part II: Sunday, August 29, 2010

2010-08-29T06:44:00.001-07:00

I woke relatively early this morning – well before my alarm at least – and decided to head over to the Chetak to use the high-speed wi-fi. Out on the street pockets of puddles gave evidence to a night of rainfall; it seems the monsoon is back. The street is fairly quiet on Sunday mornings, especially before Pune Central is open. There were several families out walking, a group of older women gathered at the gate of the Hare Krishna temple wrapped in their red and white sari’s and a single motorcycle speeding down the street that was transporting a tall bamboo ladder. When I arrived at the Chetak I ran into Debbie from NYC who said the wi-fi was spotty that morning. We tried for about half an hour to connect to the internet to no success. The clerk claimed it had something to do with the rain, so Deb and I decided to take a trip down to Laxmi Road instead and find a shop that sells fabric – a dangerous venture for me. I ran home to put away my computer and grab a snack and see if Kathy wanted to come as well. Kathy and I grabbed a rickshaw then rode over to the Chetak to retrieve Deb. The rickshaw driver pulled up into the driveway to provide front door service and then we were off to Laxmi Road. Deb told the driver she was in search of a place called High Fashion.
” Acha – fashion, Laxmi Market” he smiled and wobbled his head.
“Great! He knows where it is!” Deb exclaimed. The driver made a few more turns then pulled up next to a green and yellow gate that blocked Laxmi Market from the road.
“Fashion, fashion,” he gestured at the tables of shoes and clothing aligned for as far as the eye could see. Not the shop we were looking for exactly, but we decided we might as well investigate. We had arrived at an optimal time, vendors were setting up their tables and there were few shoppers. We wandered from stand to stand and each collected a few small items. Eventually we reached the Gandhi fabric shop, my favorite place by far in Pune, where shelves upon shelves are aligned with bolts of fine cottons and silks. I restrained the urge to collect more fabric – I made a trip here earlier in the month and purchased a few yards of this and a few yards of that. We inquired about the High Fashion and learned we were remarkably close. A few minutes later and one road crossing we were there, though the sign read Hy Fashion. I was interested in acquiring a few more Indian-style shirts for my upcoming travels but everything I liked was either too small in the shoulders or too big everywhere else. I think that my head is pretty average-sized yet some of the shirts had a hole for a head that only a dolls head would fit through. I left empty-handed. All this shopping was making me hungry so we ventured over to MG road for lunch, a clean restroom and Dorabjee’s – a western supermarket and travelers delight. Kathy and I ordered fresh lime sodas, she wanted sweet and mine was to be a little sweet/a little salty. Something went wrong between the ordering and the preparation because when they came out they tasted like the Mediterranean. We sent them back and requested that the ingredients be brought individually to the table and we would assemble the drinks on our own. The rest of the meal didn’t really make up for that start- our Nan and parathas were undercooked and the food came out of the kitchen cold. I didn’t expect the same quality or service I accustomed to at the places I frequent around the Institute, but it is a restaurant after all and the tables were full of Indian diners with plates of hot food.

From the restaurant we headed down the street to the Bombay Store which is like an Emporium of fine handicrafts, clothing and souvenirs from around India. And finally to Dorabjee’s which had expanded five-fold since my visit in 2005. I was tempted to indulge in cheeses, chocolates and other imported goods but fortunately I’ll be heading out of Pune in a few days and I didn’t want to be carrying a bunch of food with me. I bought a Ritter Sport (chocolate bar from Germany) and some lip gloss. By the time we were ready to leave the rain was coming down in full force. Upon arriving home I put on my shin-length vinyl rain coat covered in daisies and headed out to buy papayas for the next two days. Mr. Singh asked about where I was from and if I was here to do yoga. We had a pleasant conversation and I told him that next time I come to India I’d do my best to speak to him in Hindi. I’m going to miss Mr. Singh!

The photo is of my fabric dealer at the Gandhi cloth shop.

Last Weekend in Pune: Saturday, August 28, 2010

2010-08-29T06:39:00.000-07:00

How quickly the days have peeled away! Last night I had dinner with Nina, Karen A., Karin B. and Kathy at the Ambience Hotel. Nina and K.A. leave this afternoon to start the long journey home. Vivien and so many others leave tomorrow.

Traditionally week four at the Institute is Pranayama which for the most part we have done. Thursday was a double header- Pranayama with Prashant in the morning and Pranayama with him in the evening and what different classes they were! In the morning I struggled to comprehend what he was saying and at best understood ten percent. In the evening he was in rare form- as though performing stand-up at a comedy club, cracking joke after joke as he dispersed guidance on how we should approach our pranayama practice. There was something he said that moved me profoundly but I can no longer remember (I purchased a recording of that class so I can re-listen). At about ten minutes to six, rain started to fall from the sky with high volume and velocity that it created a blanket over any sound that was not rain. While chanting the invocation thunder clapped and the rain fell even harder and faster. The experience was profound and soothing.

Earlier in the afternoon I was agitated by a trip to the Chetak. I needed a change of scene and so I went over there to use wi-fi and have a pot of tea. I stayed until the battery in my laptop was almost completely drained and when I went to settle up the bill there was no one behind the desk. After a minute or two I found one of the employees and no sooner had he sat down than a young man ran up to the desk to ask for change for a one hundred rupee note. When the clerk had none, he asked if I had any. ”No change”, I replied and we all laughed. He left and as I pulled out a note to settle my bill he was already back saying something in Hindi or Marathi. This is common and expected – there is no sense of cue and westerners often interpret this behavior as rude and interruptive. I thought about all of the Indian women I have seen deal with situations like this and I turned to him and asked in a probably too stern voice for him to patiently wait until I had finished settling my account. He stared at me and then turned to the hotel clerk who told him to wait minute.

Brothers and Sisters Appreciation Day Tuesday August 24, 2010

2010-08-26T00:02:00.000-07:00

Someone told me that there are over 120 holidays celebrated in India each year or a number close to that. Today was Brothers and Sisters Appreciation Day when the brothers vow to protect their sisters. I had forgotten about the significance of the day after class when I had decided to go to the restaurant at Ambience Hotel for some bhindi masala (okra in a spicy tomato-onion sauce), butter nan bread and a sweet lime soda for dinner. I crowded into the elevator with a group of six or seven and we rode to the fifth floor where the rooftop restaurant is located. I have been to Ambience a handful of times since I have been here but I have never seen it so packed! There was a party of ten, a party of eight and a party of twenty-five or thirty which occupied most of the tables. I found a table off to the side that faced the large party and provided enough light to read my book. What amazed me was that the staff was amazingly efficient with the big parties. Other times I have had to wait ten or fifteen minutes before a server visited the table and often the servers stand in the corner near the cash register waiting for something to happen. At one point all the women in the large party stood up and passed out gifts – little cube-shaped boxes wrapped in blue cellophane. Then everyone started to clap and sing “Happy Birthday to You!” Several people at the large table were sung to but also in the other parties around the restaurant. I ended the evening with a little mango ice cream and returned home satisfied.

Getting Things Done Tuesday, August 24, 2010

2010-08-24T03:28:00.000-07:00

During my last visit I mailed a few packages home of gifts, souvenirs and such. It was a relatively straight-forward process. You brought the items you wanted to ship to an area outside the post office where men sat at tables with cloth and sewing needles and turned your pile into a package. Then they would write the address on the top and tie the bundle with a string. It was charming and old-style. I am not sure about other parts of India but at my local post office in Model Colony this practice has fallen away. Instead a man, he calls himself Mr. Rosenthal, who can take care of all of your shipping and packing needs. Mr. Rosenthal also makes and sells handmade stationary and he does not seem to have any competition. I decided to make an inquiry with Mr. Rosenthal to compare with the rate the post office quoted so I called him last night. Our conversation went like this:

Mr. Rosenthal: Hello, namaskar. (His voice is quiet but high-pitched)
Me: Hello Mr. Rosenthal. I have a question about shipping a package to the United States.
Mr. R: Yes. Which country are you?
Me: U.S.A. My question is about shipping but I don’t know yet if I need to send a package.
Mr. R: Which apartment are you?
Me: Mr. Rosenthal I would simply like to ask a question is that all right?
Mr. R: Yes, please.
Me: How much would it cost to send 1 kg to the United States- shipping, packing and all fees included? (Including all the fees, etc. is a crucial point and you have to make sure you get a total quote)
Mr. R: To which country?
Me: U.S.A.
Mr. R: One kg to U.S.A. from India about 400 rupees (a little under $10). Which apartment you?
Me: Four hundred rupees total for one kg with packing and shipping to U.S.A.?
Mr. R: Yes, yes. Four hundred rupees total.
Me: How about 2 kg?
Mr. R: Two kg about 1000 rupees. Excuse me, which apartment you?
Me: Next to the Institute. What about 50 kg (inquiry made for a friend shipping some large items).
Mr. R: Oh, 50 kg! Maximum 20 kg shipping to U.S.A. Which apartment number?
Me: How much is 20 kg then?
Mr. R: Twenty kg about 6500 rupees but I have to check. Which apartment are you?
Me: Can you check tomorrow and let me know the total amount.
Mr. R: Yes. Which apartment number?
Me: Second floor.
Mr. R: Ah second floor, U.S.A. I came the other night and you bought stationary! (He sounded giddy and it was true- I had just bought stationary from him the other night.) I’ll be at your building tomorrow and can come by at 12:00.
Me: It’s no trouble Mr. Rosenthal, you can just call me.
Mr. R: No, no I come by. I check on twenty kg for postage.
Me: Okay Mr. Rosenthal. I’ll see you tomorrow at 12:00. Good-bye.
Mr. R: Yes, good-bye.

Mr. Rosenthal arrived just after noon. My friend with the big package was here to get the details from Mr. Rosenthal. All the prices were as he had quoted last night. I wondered if he thought that if he showed up in person we would not be able to refuse. He suggested that multiple packages be mailed: two at 20 kg and one at 10 kg. A pretty good plan really. We informed him that that was not really going to work for this item.

He seemed disappointed, “No other shipping?”
“I’m afraid not. At least not today Mr. Rosenthal,” I replied.
“Okay. Thank you,” and with that he picked up his bag of stationary and walked put the door.

When I checked at the post office today all the rates I was quoted were much higher than Mr. Rosenthal’s rates. Perhaps there is a sliding scale or some other method of shipping unattainable by foreigners.

Perspective Sunday, August 22, 2010

2010-08-22T10:23:00.000-07:00

Sunday is the day off from the Institute: day of rest, which was exactly how I began my day. I remained in bed long after I was awake and considered cancelling my lunch plans because I did not feel like standing up. Eventually I got out of bed, only because I wanted a cup of coffee. Just after noon I met Kerri from L.A. at the end of my drive and we both confessed that neither of us were hungry but we should walk somewhere for a cool drink. Not far down Hari Krishna Mandir Road was a man pushing a cart filled with coconuts and we ran across the street to start our adventure there.

After drinking the coconut water we walked down the street with the Chetak and Ambassador Hotels in search of a place I could print off some documents from my thumb drive. No job is ever quick or simple. After the young boy booted up the computer and put my thumb drive in, he clicked on every icon on the screen and hit refresh several times. Eventually the right combination of things worked and the documents appeared. I indicated which ones I needed printed but there was a hold-up on the printer end of this task. I suspect that the printer was not plugged in. He shut down the computer, fussed with some cables then turned the machine back on. He started to click all the icons again but I simply pointed to the name of my thumb drive and voila! A few seconds later the printer was working as well. Not a painful or frustrating experience as they sometimes turn out. I realized later that I forgot to print one of my tickets so I’ll probably have to make a return visit.

We continued down the road, I had a place in mind for a refreshing drink and I was starting to get an appetite. We went to Lalit Mahal, a place I frequented during my 2005 trip – I think I went out to eat almost every night that trip, now I just eat Papaya for dinner. We shared some Dahi Idli, fermented rice cakes dunked in spiced yogurt, and vegetable samosas with cilantro/mint chutney. Kerri had her first sweet lime soda and I indulged in a mango lassi. I could hardly believe that Kerri had not yet tried a lime soda and she thanked me for introducing her to so many new things. I thought it was funny because I still consider myself a novice here, especially compared to my flat mate Kathy who has been to India several times and seems comfortable here, but for Kerri I was adventurous in trying different foods. I guess it is all a matter of perspective.

We left Lalit Mahal – I will definitely need to make a few return visits and made our way down Fergusson College Road (FC Road). It was midday by now and the shops were closed so we decided to turn down another road in the direction that we came from and do a little exploring. We passed a huge and very clean temple and some empty lots. As we continued the road became denser with people and the side lanes were packed with houses, the streets filled with children and everyone sitting in shade in search of relief from the heat. My toes were burning. We were entering what felt like a very local area of Model Colony.

I am not sure how it started, but we saw a couple of girls sitting in the back of an auto-rickshaw and they saw our cameras in hand, so we started to take pictures. ‘Mera! Mera!’ ‘Mine! Mine!’ other kids shouted as they made their way in front of the camera in search of a shot. Thank goodness for digital cameras, we pressed the button until most of the children in the area had been photographed. Some adults jumped in as well. Young boys looked straight into the camera, serious. Girls would pick up and hold smaller children for the photo and throw their arms around each other. The older boys waved fingers in the air as though they were auditioning for a Bollywood movie.

We finally came to the end of the street and familiar surroundings. I looked down the street and remembered someone warning me to not walk down that street – I wondered if she too had come across the hundreds of children asking to have a picture taken.

We went to the vegetable market and the Maharashta Store and also to visit Mr. Singh, my papaya supplier, but today I only bought bananas.

Unexpected Visitors and Pune Thursdays August 19, 2010

2010-08-19T08:36:00.000-07:00

Thursday in Pune means power cut city-wide. I don’t know why I expected the power to get cut at the same time as last week from 11 to 6 but today it started at 3. Fortunately there is a generator to supply some power to the building I am in. Unfortunately it is a floor below me outside my bedroom window and if the open windows are not properly organized to maximize ventilation otherwise you might suffer asphyxiation by diesel. The rumbling of the generator is probably heard on any floor of the building – I remember hearing it from the fourth floor during my 2005 visit. Hopefully the power will return by class time in a couple of hours so that we can have fans during class to help keep the mosquitoes away.

Last night, about 11 p.m., I was startled by what I initially thought was a car alarm. It would start and stop then after ten minutes there was a strange sound. I crawled out from under my mosquito net to investigate and from my window I could see a dump truck that had just delivered a load of gravel to the yard next door. I was grateful that that they waited until morning to get to work and only a small pile remains though it is not clear what has happened to all that gravel.
The night before last I was summoned from my bed when the doorbell rang around 10:45. It was the mother-in-law and sister-in-law of my landlord at the door. There had been some sort of family emergency that the S-I-L had to tend to so she left the M-I-L here to sleep since my landlord was out of town. When we returned from class yesterday she was gone- I guess it was a one night emergency, a mystery to me!
The asanas that Prashant selected for class this morning were mostly hamstring extensions and standing forward extensions. The other direction from backward extensions however my legs feel wonderfully balanced and I can tell that I have used them.

This afternoon Nina and I went to Pune Central for gift shopping. Although I have been there a handful of times I am still confused by the set-up and I get sucked into the vortex of looking around though I end up making few and small purchases. The titles on the map make no sense to me so we went up and down the escalator and in and out of the elevator several times in search of items. Five of the six levels have clothing for both men and women on each level of varying styles and quality. We discovered that our expectation of where to find an item did not match up with their product placement. Employees outnumbered the customers and most were leaning against the merchandise chatting, some were sitting on the floor. There are registers on each level and though you might shop on multiple levels, you are expected to pay on the floor where you bought the merchandise. At check-out time there was a long line of customers at the lone register. I keep telling myself that I will not go in there again but I will probably have to make a visit or two to the gelateria on the top floor before I leave.

I was going to post a picture of the gravel that was dumped last night (yes, I took a picture of it) but it was boring. Here is a picture of me with Naana's rickshaw instead.

For the Yogi's: Wednesday, August 18, 2010

2010-08-18T09:03:00.000-07:00

It’s the time of day when the sounds of the birds returning to the park to settle down for the evening drown out the sounds of horns and construction from the street below. There was a brief resurgence of the monsoon yesterday and today but the clouds have left and a cool breeze fills the apartment.

My health has been fluctuating the last few days but my strength has returned and I survived most of this morning’s backbend class. Abijata (B.K.S.’s granddaughter) who usually leads the Wednesday class is out of town and class today was mostly instructed by Guruji through at least five assistants. Much of the focus in class over the past 2 weeks has been on the various parts of the foot and the actions that take place there. A good deal of class is done without the use of any props at all likely due to logistics and the size of the class. Even sitting for invocation we have only a sticky mat.

We began with Adho Mukha Svanasana to Uttanasana several times to learn the basis of our feet and establish the legs that would carry us through backward extensions. Next in Sirsasana a similar part of the hand was explored and revisited towards the end of class. Urdvha Mukha Svanasana was the first in the series of backward extensions. I felt like I was part of a human puzzle in the prone backbends since several bodies were longer than the mats – tall people had to swap with shorter people to allow for space. Dhanurasana followed U.M.Sv. and we worked on bringing the big toe and the skull closer together. Next came Ustrasana with the knees and feet together- the classical pose and quite intense. After several rounds of Ustrasana we repeated Dhanurasana like Ustrasana with the legs together and taking the metatarsals up to the ceiling. We finished with Urdvha Dhanurasana and pressed up into the backbend eight times. Around the sixth one my legs began to shake, I could feel I was rapidly approaching the end of my energy. Ten minutes before class was to end the thick mats came out. This is often the most frustrating part of the class and it often more chaotic than the streets outside. We use the thick mats in Sarvangasana and have been using them in Sirsasana as well. Three people fit on one mat: one goes to get the thick mats, another holds the spot with the sticky mat, and the third gets any other props needed. Kathy got the thick mats and no sooner did I place my sticky mat on top was it pushed to the side. I tried to retrieve my spot and I shoved sideways. I wasn’t going to stand there and argue – that would be fruitless. I picked up my mat and found an empty spot for Sarvangasana and Savasana to finish the class in peace.

During afternoon practice the hall was visited by a couple dozen young Indian men outfitted in blue and yellow tracksuits with YOGA written on the back. They looked around at the room, the pictures of Guruji that cover the walls and they watched us practice. Some took pictures with their cell phones.

Post-practice I decided to finally do a little shopping and headed to the Maharashta Store and the fruit kiosk across the street where I could get most of the items I needed for the next few days. Traffic was thick and endless and it took about ten minutes to cross to the other side of the road but it was well worth it for the papayas. I then had to cross back to get home. I guess 6:00 is peak commute time just about anywhere you are!

Another Week Gone By: Friday, August 13, 2010

2010-08-13T03:43:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe that tomorrow is Saturday and the end of the second week! I intended to write earlier but somehow the days escaped me. The week started off hot and humid with very little rain but now there is a cool breeze and it rained earlier this morning.

Tuesday night I got walloped on the skull (by another skull) during another full class. We were all supine and the man behind me did not turn around to see if he had clearance as be came back at full speed. Other than the pounding head that followed I was fine physically but I felt I needed some space. Wednesday and Thursday I stayed out of the hall during practice time and instead practiced in my room, napped and went out to breakfast one morning with Vivian. It was refreshing to retreat from the masses and chaos that can take over when you are practicing along side eighty others. This morning I returned to the hall for practice and enjoyed a luxurious two and a half hour practice of inversions and forward bends.

My schedule is great and I am in a routine. Monday and Thursday I have class from 7 to 9 a.m. then practice from 9 a.m. to noon. Tuesday, Thursday and Friday I have class from 6 to 8 p.m. with a 9 to noon practice time (double class on Thursday!). Wednesday and Saturday I have class from 9:30 to 11:30 a.m. and practice from 4 to 5:45 p.m. During non-class time I run errands and try to keep the shopping to a minimum during weekdays and stay in the neighborhood. I have quite a few things to keep up with on the computer between the blog and putting the final touches on my medical school applications. I am also doing some data work for PSU. The wi-fi in the apartment is operational now but on occasion I go to the Chetak to enjoy a sweet lime soda or masala chai in the open air lobby. Around midday I take a rest or indulge in a book.I am close to finishing book number 3 and I am enjoying reading with leisure- there are many books to chose from off of the bookcase in the apartment.

Kathy and I couldn't get it together and to buy vegetables every few days for Sima, the woman who cooks for Sanjeev, so we changed cooks and now have a tiffin delivered weekdays around noon filled with all sorts of Ayurvedic delights. Today we had a pumpkin curry, yum. No vegetable shopping required!

The picture is of Vivian, my flatmate and the spectacular Indian snack - Masala Dosa.

Gearing up for Week 2: Monday, August 9, 2010

2010-08-09T01:44:00.001-07:00

This week is supposed to be a hot one and I am preparing myself mentally and physically for the shift. The first week of classes passed by quickly and for the most part I am feeling settled here and in a routine. Four of my weekly classes are with Prashant, the son of B.K.S. Iyengar and three are with Abi (B.K.S.’s granddaughter) or one of the Indian assistants. It feels different without Geeta in the hall. The schedule has shifted somewhat. In 2005 there were two assigned practice times per day except Saturday and we all now have the same practice schedule so the hall is crowded. Guruji (B.K.S.) is in the hall to practice during the morning practice sessions and instructs Abi from headstand, viparita dandasana or some other posture.

Guruji also practices as Abi teaches the Wednesday and Saturday classes for ladies and he often calls her over to teach her something and then has her return to the stage to teach us. He is insistent on the language, often repeating exactly what he wants her to say: no room for creativity or interpretation. It’s a sort of live-action teacher training that we are part of.

I ended the week with a couple of extravagant shopping expeditions. On Saturday roommate Kathy and I started the afternoon at Little Italy, a restaurant around the corner from the Institute where you can order a pizza for $5. We then took a rickshaw to the other side of town so I could find some travel-appropriate clothing and a few gifts and saw an elephant in traffic. Sunday I joined Karin Brown and Care Parker for a decadent buffet breakfast at a hotel. There was a mix of offerings of Indian and Continental menus, fresh fruit and dark coffee. I enjoyed some upma and idli. Idli is a south Indian fermented rice cake that is steamed, Upma is a semolina cake. Both are served with chili, pepper, sambar and coconut curry. I forgot to take pictures of my breakfast but I will remember to next time to give a visual. After breakfast we went all over town to shop- this time primarily for gifts. We had planned to visit a few temples but everything takes a little longer to plan so next time some sight-seeing will be included. After five hours we had had enough and returned home to rest.
I better sign off here and go to the hall to practice and see what is in store for this week.

Monsoon Days and Monsoon Nights: Wednesday August 4, 2010

2010-08-04T23:01:00.000-07:00

Today was the first in several days that there has been a break from the monsoon. It has been strong since my arrival last week and was late to start this year. The rain fluctuates between torrential downpour and a blanket of sprinkles and if it is a heavy rain at night then it drowns out the sounds of the street that drift in through my bedroom window.

My apartment is next door to the Institute so I do not have too far to go when it is raining hard. It is also backed up against a large park and none of the windows in my room face the street which has become highly utilized since a large mall sprung up on the corner. There used to be a no-horn sign posted on the street outside the Institute of which I took a picture in 2005. I haven’t checked thoroughly to see if it is still there but I expect it to be deeply faded and apparently ignored. During class Monday morning it was difficult to hear Prashant’s words over the blast of horns from the street below.

I have started to make sense of when the horn is utilized, these are what I have complied so far:
• To signal that you are going to be passed
• To signal that you are passing
• To signal that you have just passed someone
• To signal to the car ahead to get out of the way
• To signal the car ahead to go faster
• To assume right of way
• To signal a left turn
• To signal a right turn
• To signal that you are going straight
• To see if you want an auto-rickshaw to take you there
• To signal you are entering the street
• To signal you are pulling over
• To get a dog/goat/ cow to move out of the road
• To announce your presence

There may certainly be more reasons than this.

I had a funny experience this evening. I decided to visit the giant mall on the corner to buy some water and look around to see if they sold any items that would be suitable in case I experienced extreme homesickness. The building is six stories high and the first five floors contain electronics, appliances, shoes, clothing, cosmetics, etc. On the top floor is the supermarket and food court. The escalators are set up in such a way that you have to walk through the entire floor to continue up or down in the same direction. It feels a little like the Ikea showroom minus arrows on the floor but there is a defined path and trying to cut through racks of clothes often leads to a dead end or bottleneck.

For fun I decided to try on a few tee shirts of the yoga clothing label they carry. I selected four items but was informed that I could only take three at a time. The dressing room was a little larger than a phone booth with tiny glass shelves and three hooks on the inside of the door. I had a hunch that it would not be successful as my torso is much longer and shoulders broader than the locals and that I would be better off having things handmade. My hunch was right so I decided not to try on the fourth top that I left with the security guard. This made him a little upset but I explained that it was not the right size and returned it to the piles of shirts from which it came. One of the sales associates took notice and I explained to him too that it was too short. He started digging through the piles and handed me some shirts to try which were marked with a smaller number. He said it was a misprint and I should try it on. At this point I had grown tired Lady Gaga blasting from the speakers and told him I had to leave.

DESTINATION: APARTMENT Sunday August 01, 2010

2010-08-03T02:27:00.001-07:00

I’ve arrived at my home for the next month today. Sanjeev, my host is kind and courteous and I am sharing the second floor apartment with Kathy from Australia, Vivian from Malaysia and Sanjeev. He gave me the tour and showed me room and how things work in the apartment. I arrived early so that I could go out for a little shopping but the rain persisted until early afternoon. My first few days in India were both foreign and familiar.

DESTINATION INDIA: ARRIVED Thursday July 29th

2010-08-03T02:25:00.000-07:00

After twenty-five hours of air travel on three flights I am in India. Mr. Suhas, the concierge from the hotel I booked surprised me at the customs check and provided a pleasant escort out of the airport. I booked a top-notch five-star hotel in Mumbai, extravagant and plush with its comfortable Western-style mattress and box-spring bed, the combination of anticipation and adrenaline kept me awake most of the night.

Brave the World: Saturday, July 31st, 2010

2010-08-03T02:24:00.000-07:00

When I awoke this morning I realized I needed to make a plan to get out of my room and developed an afternoon itinerary. When I arrived in Pune last night I ordered dinner in and read the book I picked up at an airport store in Chicago. I slept surprisingly well considering the cacophony of street sounds: ringing cell phones, horns of all octaves and voices from the street below. Eventually the sounds tapered off and I awoke to silence in the early morning.
I was feeling timid but knew it wouldn’t do me any good to stay in my hotel room so the first stop on my outing was in search of the bank and an umbrella. According to the man at the front desk at the hotel the bank was up three roads on the other side of the street. Three roads seemed a reasonable distance to walk so I set off on foot. Many of the sidewalks along FC road were under repair so I followed the other pedestrians and woke my way down to the street alongside passing buses, auto-rickshaws (like a Tuk-Tuk for those who have been in Thailand), cars and motorbikes all announcing their presence with the toot of the horn. I had forgotten how loud this city can be! The stop at the bank proved futile, they could not exchange Traveler’s Cheques on Saturday because the office they need to call to validate the Cheques is closed. I did find an umbrella, just in time for the next downpour of rain.
Stop two was a beauty parlor for a little pampering with a pedicure. When the rain subsided again I made my way to stop three: lunch, finally and then on to the Institute to register for classes.
I was the first to arrive to register but realized that did not necessarily mean I would be the first to leave. There seemed to be a little more organization than last time and Pandu, the secretary, issued us through with fluctuating efficiency. From some he would accept one form of currency, from others another form. I paid my tuition and returned to the hotel. Exhausted from the outing and the effects of residual jet-lag had me in bed before 8 p.m.!

Departure to the Unknown: Friday, July 30th

2010-08-03T02:19:00.000-07:00

Before I left Portland I had asked the hotel to arrange a train ticket to Pune. There were none to be found so I arranged the next best thing: a bus. During my previous visit I also booked a bus and recalled the lush countryside. I left the hotel with enough time to get to the bus stand which is really just a shop on the side of the road where the various bus companies have a storefront for pick-up. Apparently the taxi I had the hotel arrange was not aware of this and he took me to the address on the ticket- the travel agent who sold the ticket to Mr. Suhas. The driver jumped back in the car and managed his way a little further. I was becoming anxious, worried that the bus would for once be at the pick-up point on time. I arrived ten minutes late, but fifty minutes early for the bus. The first hour and a half on the bus was spent sitting in traffic and driving around Mumbai to the other pick-up points until the bus was mostly full. By the time we were out of Mumbai and climbing through the Ghats rain was falling hard.

Making Contact

2010-08-03T02:17:00.000-07:00

Greetings! I've finally made it on to my blog. It will be a little barebones and out of order until I have a regular internet connection in my apartment. I am posting what I have written the past few days and hope to hear from you. Jen.