Some India pics

What's in a word?

The world-famous Lake Palace Hotel, Udaipur - currently home to Nicole Kidman on a film shoot. Previously featured in the very campy James Bond film Octopussy (which is viewable 7 nights a week at several cafes in town)

Twisting with Shiva in Ellora

A laundress "thwack, thwack, thwacking" from our hotel window in Udaipur.

One of the most amusing aspects of travelling in India is the rather tortured use of Her Majesty’s English in signs and communications. As a professional editor, Patty could be employed full-time by the Indian museum board correcting grammatical and spelling mistakes on formal signs and posters. There is also a tendency to avoid using one word when twenty would do (a trait that is sometime attributable to your loyal blog-scribe as well).

On our tour of the magnificent Buddhist shrines in the Ellora caves, we saw the above sign warning us, among other things against "spiting”. As any visitor to India would testify, Indian men are prodigious spitters (and unmatched "hoarkers" as well). Was this sign a warning not to spit? Or did it have more of a Buddhist message that spiteful behaviour is damaging and should be cautioned against as we pursue the eight-fold path to righteous living?. Either way, the potential typo was dutifully repeated on about a dozen signs we saw. In the restaurant in our hotel in Mysore, the owners could not apparently resist filling the otherwise blank last page of their menu with some "gentle reminders" for how one should comport oneself on the premises. My favourite was #6 "Disposable vomit bags are available on request in case of need as a consideration to fellow diners". This testimony to the restaurant's culinary skills should keep it clear of Michelin stars for a long time to come. On the street, people will often ask me "What is my good name?" and today "What country is sorrowful in missing me?"

And maybe it is not just English that trips the the Indian tongue. I’m presently reading Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children, which is an ideal literary companion for this stretch of our trip (and a wonderful book for any occasion). In one passage he says “” No people whose word for “yesterday” is the same as their word for “tomorrow” can be said to have a firm grip on the time". A remarkable claim - but amazingly true. The "helpful phrases" listed in our local "official" tourist guide in Udaipur notes that the handy word “kal” will suffice for both. Perhaps this is Buddha’s influence once again trying to keep us all focused on the here and now rather than the past and the future. Or maybe it is an indication that Indians may have as much of a challenge with their own language(s!) as they do with English.The same tourist brochure has the esteemed authorities noting that the annual Mewar festival would be held on March 23 this year. However, it turns out , in fact, that the festival will be held on March 27-28. Too many "tomorrows" or "yesterdays" may have cast some confusion into the local calendar, methinks. In any event. we're looking forward to attending the festivities starting tomorrow - we think.

Some photos of beautiful Udaipur for your enjoyment.

Re-defining "Old"

Reclining Buddha (at east the first metre of this 10m long statue), Ellora Caves

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Greetings from Aurangabad - from where? - Aurangabad? Indeed, we certainly questioned this as well when we booked our flights from Bangalore. Aurangabad may, in fact, go down as the first place I've ever flown into that I had never heard of. And like so many things in spectacularly populous India, Aurangabad turns out to be a bustling city of over 1.5 million. It's also a very unpleasant tumble of a place - with lots of sewage-rich creeks and garbage strewn everywhere. But the city is not what we came here for - and it is wholly redeemed by its proximity to two stunning cave collections - in Ellora (30km away) and Ajanta (110 km away) - both UNESCO World Heritage sites.

In both places, the good old ancients carved Buddhist and Hindu monasteries from the solid rock of the basalt of volcanic mountain faces - thirty-odd temples and shrines in each place. The Ajanta caves are entirely Buddhist and feature many paintings that, while faded, are clearly viewable and date back to the second century BC. Colourful portrayals of a clearly rich civilization in the first centuries of Buddhism. Ellora has a mix of Buddhist, Hindu and Jain temples including a mind-boggling multi-storied Kailash temple carved from the top down out of the mountain - the world's largest monolithic structure and a real beaut!.

As an avid history "buff", I find my experiences in India and Africa have made me redefine my concept of "old". Without discounting the charm and history of many of Europe's treasures, how do you measure these against Olduvai gorge in Tanzania with its remains and tools of perhaps the earliest humans dating back 1.3 million years? As I marvelled at the vivid panoramas of Buddha's life and times in the paintings in Ajanta, I found it hard to conceive of the fact that I was face-to-face with paintings that are over 2200 years old. They speak of an advanced civilization that was, at the time, clearly moving in faster and deeper directions than anything one might have encountered in "the West" at that time.

We bid farewell to this place we've never heard of and may never see again. Tomorrow, we fly north to Rajastahn for a few days of "holidays" (within a rater large holiday) in the lakeside city of Udaipur.

"Up-begging" in Mysore

Like most visitors to India, I presume, I came here prepared to see a wide and tragic array of street beggars lurching their malformed bodies and emaciated children towards me with open hands and sad pleas. Sadly, this is the case and it is hard to avoid them - on the trains, in the markets, in hotel lobbies before they are driven out by staff. They stand in the sharpest contrast to a country that appears to be vaulting into first world status - at least in some parts and among some castes. What I was not prepared for, however, is the next order of begging - upscale along the value chain, if you will - that one encounters from museum staff, temple guards and in simple street conversations with erstwhile respectable Indians. It is where the tawdry world of begging meets the more respectable requests for tips - with a little baksheesh thrown in for good measure.

Naturally, one wants to engage in as much conversation as possible with the locals while travelling and in India the opportunities to do so abound. Sometimes you are lulled into a sense that your conversation is actually helping someone practice their English when, all of a sudden, he turns out to own the silk store he has subtly led you to or, more brazenly, feels that his conversational efforts alone are deserving of a tip (10 rupees of $0.25 seems to be the opening bid).

Yesterday, I had three separate "haut-begging" experiences - so I am compelled to report on this trend in the present dispatch. In the morning, while touring the magnificent Maharajah's Palace in Mysore, a palace security guard saddled up to us and began a bit of an impromptu guided tour. The fact that he was reciting from plaques mounted under paintings and statues, all of which were in English, did not discourage his attempt to please. As we tried to shuck him off and flee to the next chamber, we were greeted by a knowing wink and an extended palm and the offer to pay 10 rupees for his efforts. When we declined, he stunned us with his second volley - he was, in fact, a coin collector and did we have any coins from our country that we could give him. Who would have thought that India was full of numismatic enthusiasts - but, my friends, I was soon to find out that this is indeed the case. The stunning 12th century Chamundi Shiva temple atop a hill towering over Mysore is a living postcard of all one imagines about Indian temples - complete with multi-coloured flower garlands, sandalwood incense, high-pitched flutes and bells and tumbling with monkeys and roaming packs of freely-fertilizing cows. It is also, as it turns out, a local hotspot for coin collectors . We paid our "special entrance" admission - most generously marked up 100% for foreigners - and entered the temple whereupon we were immediately taken under the wing of a security guard. He escorted us to the front of the line so we could see the solid gold statuette of Chamundi - a sacred Hindi sculpture that looks to me like it was smuggled straight out of the props room on an Indian Jones movie set. As we gazed in awe in the cacophony and splendour, I felt a nudge on my hip. Turning around, I was greeted by the security guard with a whimsical smile and an offer to subsidize him for his efforts. Perhaps deterred by my plea that we had paid what some might fairly consider a rich premium to enter the premises in the first place, he rejoined that he too was a coin collector and might we have any foreign coins to add to his collection. A deft performance of the numismatic manoeuvre - unrewarded nonetheless. The crowning example of this form of begging came yesterday afternoon when I took delivery of my tailor made, shot silk dinner jacket (which, incidentally, I feel will make a stunning addition to my cocktail wardrobe alongside my iconic pure Orlon white dinner jacket). After laboriously negotiating the price of the fabric, then the price of the tailoring the transaction was confirmed with the "nod" (ref. previous blog entry) and I went on my way. Two days later, the finished jacket was delivered to our hotel room by the beaming tailor. So carried away was he with his work that he proudly proclaimed in his sing-song English that he would "now be happy to be having his gift". This offer too was gracefully declined. At least he wasn't a coin collector.

I am not discounting that there may be some legitimate truth behind the India fascination with numismatics. Indeed, on my next trip here I may bring a small sack of pennies - or, better still a sheaf of Canadian Tire money so I can contribute to these hobbyist's collections.

By the way, on a tourist information note, we were luck enough to see the lighting up of the Maharajah's Palace on Sunday night. For one hour, over 100,000 light bulbs are lit making for a magnificent display all over the palace walls, gates and several temples on the grounds. It was all overwhelming and makes the nightly lighting of our legislature buildings in Victoria seem like they are illuminated tea candles in comparison. Not to be missed if you are in these parts.

Bobbleheads in the Land of Buddha

Today’s dispatch does not address a place we are visiting or cultural curiosity, but a national body gesture which I have encountered many times thus far in my time in India. For those of you who have been in India, I am almost certain this will be a familiar. For those of you who have not had the opportunity to visit this wonderful place, you may be forgiven for wondering why you read this blog in the first place.

What I am blithering on about is the slow, sideways nod that you are offered once you have finished a transaction or an inquiry with an Indian. It is a gesture of welcome at the end of our “business”. The gesture is a graceful but definitive sideways nodding of the head. The chin appears to lead a slow and graceful open “figure eight” movement – a ripple that starts high on the left, arcing right and then looping back leftwards to end an inch or so lower than the point of origin. This gentle, weaving motion is posed in counter-synch to the upper torso – almost giving the appearance that the head, while nodding, is suspended on a slinky-coiled neck. This reminds me, oddly, of the “bobble head” figurines that grace the dashboards and rear-windows of cars in Langford, BC or (insert your own local locale here). There is nothing casual about this gesture. It is slow and deliberate and is often accompanied by a warm smile and trans-fixed eyes which, when performed with great aplomb can be most enchanting. So taken have I been with this gesture that I’ve decided to embark on a study of this happy nod in the interest of learning how to deliver it myself (with no success to date, according to Patty). But stay tuned to this site for the latest, breaking news on this particular pursuit. Who knows, it could be my first step to becoming a Bollywood choreographer!

Shimmering India - First Impressions

We've launched the next phase of the "If Not Now, When?" Tour de monde in India, where we arrived from Africa last week (BTW - as a general travel note, we took 8 flights in Africa all of which, surprisingly, took off and landed on time. This is more than can be said for our dear Canadian national carrier who managed to cancel the first flight of this adventure and send us and our luggage on a goose chase to Paris via Frankfurt).

India is a place I've always wanted to visit driven by a large curiosity about the size and density of the place and the prospects of exploring a new civilization, not just a culture. First impressions suggest we're in for a delightful albeit tumultuous ride. When Gandhi was asked what we thought about Western civilization, he famously replied "I think it would be a good idea". I have a strong sense that this country ticks to a profoundly different spirit and rhythm than I've seen elsewhere. Where Africa certainly had its deep tribal and spiritual pulses, it is fighting an uphill battle with "Western civilization" as it drowns under the trappings of cellphones and Christianity and struggles still virtually unnoticed under the HIV/AIDS pandemic. India clearly charts its own course through a complex web of gods and religions, temples and mantras - all of which we are keen to get immersed in as best we can. One senses that this is a shimmering place - from the wildly neon-coloured saris to the bright flower garlands seen around its temples.

One is constantly reminded that you are in a country of over a billion people. People are everywhere - down every lane way, piled onto overflowing buses that make Lesotho's mini-taxis look spacious. It is easy to visit several cities in one day that you had previously never heard of -all of which have populations of over one million. With a huge numbers of motorcycles, tuk-tuks, buses, trucks and taxis, the India driver tries to perform the daily alchemy of converting two lanes into four. Driving can be characterized more as weaving - with vehicles constantly pulling out in front of and then trying to cut-off other vehicles. I suspect that the most common component of an Indian vehicle requiring regular repair and replacement is the horn. All of this, of course, seeds the muggy atmosphere with a pall of pollution that makes you feel you are wearing the exhaust. It does, however, make for beautiful sunsets!

We started our Indian adventure in the old Portuguese colony of Goa. Goa was a Portuguese colony until 1961, when Nehru, tired of using diplomatic channels, overran the colony with the army in 24 hours. Despite much international criticism and accusations of violations of UN resolutions, it seemed pretty good retribution for a rich history of torture and slavery that the Portuguese apparently meted out over their 5 century tenure. The Portuguese tradition is much in evidence in Goa from the architecture, whopping big churches (and many of them) and even local wine production (which I was advised to leave unsampled). This is a picturesque but somewhat touristy place evidently favoured by "hail-thee-well" Whatney's Red Barrel British retirees who come year after year to the same beach chairs on Baga Beach. The beaches here have a rich hippy history and some of the aforementioned visitors annually try to reclaim their youth - packing their generously bloated bodies into tie-died sling tops and terrorizing the locals by trying to convince themselves they can actually drive motorcycles (not that the locals would be able to identify this trait themselves). We spent five days here with our friend Judy from Victoria who has just finished doing some volunteer work in Poona. It was nice to get an update on things at home and share the rich Goan cuisine with a friend. While the beaches are very nice and the Arabian sea affords a refreshing swim, they hold but a flickering candle to our present "gold standard" in Zanzibar (reviewed elsewhere in this blog).

Yesterday, we ventured to Kochi on the Malabar coast in Kerala, India's southernmost state. We travelled by "second class sleeper" on the legendary Indian train system (As strange as it may seem, the system is apparently phasing out "First Class"). One of the many bits of serious infrastructure bequeathed by the British to their "Jewel in the Crown", the Indian railway corporation is the world's largest employer with 1.3 million employees. The systems seems to work - but in its own pace and modus operandi. It retains a strong element of old-fashioned British bureaucracy - reservations a must, usually three days in advance of your trip and "applied for" through forms completed in triplicate. As a bonus for our initial train trip, the Corporation generously added 3 hours to our 13 hour scheduled trip from Goa. The trains themselves are very functional and somewhat Soviet in their appearance. Ceiling fans crudely tacked to the ceiling and whirling at full pace throughout the trip. Windows are grated but open, providing the opportunity to emerge from the train at the end of your journey wearing a souvenir of your journey in the form of a rich melange of dust and exhaust gathered through the window. The inside scenery is one of a market with the widest array of hawkers and beggars crawling up and down the narrow aisles plying their trades. In addition to a wide variety of drinks and snacks to be purchased, we were offered books, watches, colognes, toys (with very irritating noises emanating from within) and provided many opportunities to support beggars, some of whom presented printed pamphlets detailing their sadly pathetic plights in the world. This is, perhaps, an experience we will try to avoid repeating over the next few months here - but a colourful introduction to India nonetheless.