Another Different India

Is this really India?

Last night, trying to get to our destination, was a bit of a nightmare. We needed to get a train from Mysore to Bangalore and then another one to Kochin in Kerala. We had built in a 2 hour buffer for the connection, but for some reason the first train decided not to move. Eventually we made it just in time. But only to discover that our 9.45pm was moved to 3 AM!!! There had been a big derailement and most trains in South India were delayed.

We eventually got to Kochin this morning, 7 hours late. I was really hungry and Charles had to put up with my very short temper. I was only focused on getting some food and going to the toilet...

Things got better after a very nice lunch at the place we are staying, but once again, this doesn't look like the India I was expecting. Kochin is an old Dutch colony. To be honest, if you look at the pics I was thinking more Austria, more The Sound of Music than tulips.

Kerala is also famous for its Chinese fishing nets. They use a system of weights and pulleys to fish from the shore. However, I refused to be one of the tourists that pays to get their pic taken pulling one of the cords.

The town is relaxed and there are some great places to eat, though not to drink. My beer was a 'special tea'. A way for restaurants not to pay for an alcohol licence.

I have discovered that the last leg of my trip in India, my train to Kolkata, is 44 hours!!!

I don't want to do it...I may stay here forever!!!!

I Love Ghee

Mysore's suburbia, so not what I was expecting of India..

Our last day in Mysore before heading down to Kerala, the backwaters and the beach for a few more days before going off to Thailand and Laos.

Somehow I have managed to put on weight, 5 kilos exactly, in one week. And I know why...I have a problem with Ghee. It is clarified butter that Indians use generously in their cooking and Sandeea, James wife, even more generously than that.

Sandeea reminds me of my mother. If you haven't had two servings of everything she worries that you are still hungry. It's so nice to be looked after like this. A very pleasant lady with an easy laugh. Like my mother, Sandeea also enjoys it when people like her food, and I have loved it. I have felt so welcomed in their house.

James's house, about the same size that mine back in London...not


But fatty days are over. No more leafy suburbs. Now it's back on the budget and to the cheap guest houses.

I have taken some pics of the area where James built his house. Clearly not the setting for Slumdog Millionaire, but then again Mysore is not Mumbai.

This one has a bit of an 80's look and feel to it, which is quite common...


So another night train for us, and tomorrow we will be in Kochin.

Kochin is home to the last few Orthodox Kerala Jews, and to some Chinese Fishing nets.

I dont know why the latter are so famous.

So We Meet Again Doctor Jones

Today we went down to Sirangapatam.

In the 16th Century this little island had become the capital of the Mysore rajas. The place is famously associated with the Sultan Tipu who tried to stop the expansion of Britain in India. In 1799 Sultan Tipu failed to stop the Empire and the future Duke of Wellington brought the end of his seventeen year old reign by taking the fort and razing it to the ground.

And good job he did...there is very little left of it.

However, still standing, there is the Sriranganathaswamy temple. It's a great temple to visit. Not thousands of people around pushing you and touching the cows, but a much more intimate temple. Intimate, but still stunning...


Somehow the temple reminded me of Crete. A forest of columns. But in this one the columns are of different shapes. Sadly you're not allowed to take pics once you are inside. As you walk into the innermost sanctum the faithful are praying to the gods. I was drifting away, probably caught by my own imagination, it was all very Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom after all...


Without realizing it I find I'm waiting to be blessed by Vishnu. Charles had, wisely, moved away. So I had to put my hands on the flame, touch my head, and then be given some sacred water by a priest. I tried my best not to offend anyone by following the movements that everyone was doing...


If the island and most of its sites were a disappointment, then the temple was truly magnificent. Just so different to anything I had ever seen in my life though it reminded me of Angor Wat in Cambodia, except that here is still in use.

I wasn't expecting much from today, but I was pleasantly surprised. If you're ever around this part of India come and see this site, I think you'll really enjoy it.

Moment of Clarity

One of my goals this year was to be more thoughtful, to think
before I say something.

This is a long term goal and I'm clearly not going to achieve it in
one day or one month. But as I sit here I can't help but think
about what I said in my earlier post.

After that post I went down to the gym. Walking back along the same
leafy street that our lovely yoga class attendants do I had a
moment of clarity. I was walking down that street in my camo long
shorts, in a white vest, all pumped up listening to some old Love
Muscle dance stuff.

Am I just not part of another tribe, and one that's not integrating
in the country it visits?

I might say hello to the old lady that walks past, or let the very
strange local take a pic with me, but am I not just another gay boy
travelling the world. Didn't I come home and have a Philosophy 'Once
A Day' facial and moisturise afterwards?

Maybe I reek of self importance and i should acquire a bit more
self awareness...

I guess I am still learning. My aim is to think before I speak/
write. But at least I'm aware of it....

When Madonna Calls

Chamundi Temple...

Today we went up to Chamundi Hill, one of the holiest sites in South India. On top of the hill, 3 km from Mysore, is a temple to the goddess Chamundi.

I kept thinking of the bottom of the mountain in Kung Fu Panda...

From the bottom of the hill there is a path with 1500 or so steps that take you to the top, although half way through you go past a huge Nandi, Shiva's bull. I have been informed that the bull is still growing, and that it gets bigger every year. It's good to see that it's not only Catholics that believe in stuff like that...

At the bottom of the path there's a gate that somehow reminded me of Kung Fu Panda. The site is clearly very holy for Indians...it's a dump!!! It was so disheartening walking up the hill, there was so much rubbish. I really struggle to understand how you can go to pray there, but then throw your bottle of water or your packet of fags outside...

I wouldn't like to be as arrogant as to think that a few weeks has given me enough of an insight that I can claim to understand a culture that stands for thousands of years. However, one thing I am struggling to grasp is just why is this country so, so dirty? Obviously poverty is one of the main reasons, but i think beyond this there is a lack of understanding of what the true meaning of public domain is.

I failed to see the artistic value of this monumental piece of tat...

With all it's downsides, British society tends to respect what is public, what belongs to
all of us. We look after it, sometimes the same way that we look after our own, sometimes with extra care. Sometime in the 19th Century, following the Great Stink, there was a great civic movement to allow ever increasing numbers of people to live together. Everyone takes great pride on cleaning their own property, from a store to a flat to even the smallest open air stall.

But here the store owner, after his coffee, will open the door and through the plastic cup on the street. The family will finish their breakfast on the train and throw the remainders through the window.

Every day I am more convinced that money attracts money. In this leafy middle class part of India with very little poverty you can see lots of middle/upper class Westerners. I kept thinking how nice it was of them to come here, with their trust fund money, to see a bit of the world before beginning a career in Wall Street or at a law firm. Standing near them, there is a lot of American arrogance and snobbery, but you couldn't help but appreciate that they had travelled....until you discovered why they were there.

It seems that Madonna's yoga teacher lives around here, actually just 300 yards down the road. When he hasn't been jetting off to teach that cow he teaches all these rich kids. These are not the hippies from Goa, here they are wearing real Prada, and their hair has been conditioned with Aveda...it must be the latest fad in NY and Tokyo...

As I don't like to sound bitter and twisted I will say that actually I'm in a great mood. I've just received my new camera and well, I am so excited...thank you Stephen!!!!

The National Sports Of India

Spending time with Charles's family you get a glimpse of a disappearing world.

James, Charles's uncle, is an endangered species. An old fashion gentleman, an Old Etonian, he belongs more to the days of E.M Foster, to the days of "A Passage To India" than the Britain we know these days. A source of knowledge for everything, he would be the perfect Trivial Pursuit partner, as long as you didnt have any pop culture questions.

He arrived in India in 1973, having just graduated from Law School, with a dislike for life in the UK, and a trust fund, and decided not to go back to the motherland.

We also got another glimpse of that bygone world when visiting the Maharani Palace, the main attraction in central Mysore. It was built in 1912 to replace the old one that had burnt down at the end of the previous century.

Charles and his cousin...


Built, like most old grand buildings, with taxes on an already poor country, and the use of forced labour, its another monument to and reminder of the dangers of absolute power.

The building itself is stunning, clearly Indian from the outside, but with Muslim influences.

However, the inside, its Main Hall for example, has an undeniable Victorian flavour. It reminded me of St. Pancras station in London that has just recently been restored.

Even better was the Court room, an arcade where Fortnum and Mason meets Moulin Rouge. Once again it's all bright colours, the Fortum and Mason blue/green shades, all high camp. But nothing beats the Palace lit up at night, it is like Christmas by Jack...


Although Mysore is so leafy and middle class you can still see in it's people the traits that make Indians the nation that they are. So in no particular order I have listed what I consider to be India's national sports:

* Spitting - I will never get used to it. Men, women, children. I am surprised the cows don't do it. I only have one thing to say...yuk!!!!

* Staring - This really is a national sport for men. We are not talking of subtle checking of totty as he passes by. This is plain, almost invasive, staring. Charles is a constant target. At 6'5" he towers well over everyone..."how many height?...you movie star?"!!!!

* Cricket. Now we're talking serious obsession here. There is a blo*dy Bollywood movie about it. It's, what's the word...DULL!!! I'd rather watch my laundry dry.

It would be faster. And a lot more entertaining.

Off to a bird santuary ...

Charles Finds Love

We have finally arrived in Mysore though somehow last night I managed to lock from the inside the train door so people couldn't get on.

Drama started really quickly with people shouting and the police rushing to see what was going on. I somehow remembered that I had closed the train door, so discreetly opened it and got off the train to get some chai whilst everyone was screaming at each other.

In Mysore we are seeing a very different side of India. This is middle class India with lovely suburbs, and little poverty on its streets. South India is a lot wealthier than the North, and that is very apparent on the streets, though there is still some rubbish around.

James, Charles's uncle picked us up and brought us home at 4 AM. The sight of a large confortable car put a smile on Charles's face. I have to say I was happy for once not having to deal with anything, no hassle, no tuk tuk.

After a few hours kip we went for lunch. I made an effort, and to fit with the modesty rules of this country, I put on a sleeveless, ie. my shoulders were uncovered. I just didnt know that we were going for a posh meal in a hotel. The food was lovely, but I think I prefered my experience yesterday when I was a bit bored and hungry and left Charles by the water and went off looking for something to eat. Eventually I settled for a canteen. I had a vegeterian thali served on a metal tray for 20 pence. There was only one dish served, and there was no knife and fork, so you ate with your right hand. Always your right hand cos you use your left to wipe yourself after the toilet...

Anyway, we have visited the local market. It's a hive of activity and full of colour, both from flowers and from the powder paint. I initially thought they were spices for food, and was wondering who on earth could eat something that bright...

Charles also was chased around by a 'new little friend' who painted a little pink lotus flower on his hand and gave him some sandlewood incense, adding that he gave it only to "special people".

He was also told that he should not discount Indian men as it would mean a lot to them...now that's a new angle.

It was love at first sight....

I have also managed to buy my flight to Bangkok.

I'll be heading to Thailand and Laos on the 19th February.

Yesterday's News

Yesterday we traveled across Goa and stopped in Panjim, Goa's capital, for the afternoon.

As the Portuguese did not leave here until the 1970's the city still has a look and feel that is anything but Indian. The main square, Municipal Gardens, with its 'Church of Our Lady' on its south side could be the postcard image of most large colonial towns in the Caribbean.
While in Panjim we had dinner at Viva Panjim, one of the local restaurants recommended by the Rough Guide.

The setting was lovely. An open space outside that reminded me of eating al fresco in the South of Spain. The lady that runs the restaurant comes out to check that everyone is enjoying the food, and to explain how she prepares the dishes. The fish was good, but my dessert, a variation on creme caramel, was out of this world. So light and delicious.

We had to take three buses and one tuk tuk to eventually get to the train station that would finally take us out of Goa. We could've done this in one cab, but then we wouldn't have stopped in Panjim, we would've produced more pollution, and we would have wrecked my budget.

This way, it cost us just over £3. A cab would have been £32.

Once at the station we realised that we had booked the wrong onward ticket. Our 00.10 train was no longer on the 4th, but on the 5th. Our names were not on the seating chart. Luckily the conductor took pity on us, and only made us buy a very cheap ticket. Actually he went and bought for us at the next station.

I get the impression that India has got a very reputable and serious press. It's broadsheets, such as the Times Of India or The Indian Express, seem to have content comparable to its British counterparts. But I have also noticed the quality of its op-ed and the contributions from external sources. For example this week, the vice-president of the World Bank wrote an article on infrastructure projects and growth in these times of crisis.

But being India, everything had to have a twist. The Times of India subtitles its International section as 'Love all nations alike'. I cant really see that tagline under the Guardian's header.

However, even more amusing was today's headline: 'Simon Cowell Laughs Off Rumours That He Is Gay'...

'Hello is that Yesterday's News? Well I'm moving my subscription to Behind The Times."

Sorry, couldn't help myself with that really cheap joke, it was too easy.

Hopefully tomorrow we will get to Mysore without any more incidents.

Dignity

I hear it's snowing in London...well I'm not in London...

Me moody, thinking this was my last feni...

Our last day in Goa.

I wasn't that convinced about coming here. I thought it was going to be some type of Benidorm hell, the Costas of India. But it's not at all. Yes there are tourists, plenty of them, some odd, some plain bizarre but we have been able to relax, sit back and enjoy the show.

Goa also has an amazing mix of food to offer. I'm not talking about the typical tourist traps that you find along the coast of Spain, Greece or Thailand. There is a very large ex-pat community here, and they've made Goa their home, for half the year at least, and have brought with them their food.

Among all the stalls selling tat there is a place called Fellini's with a proper wood oven that does one of the best pizzas I've ever tried. And Double Dutch is famous for their Apple Pie, warm with vanilla ice cream. The pastry was so light and soft I'm convinced it was diet pie, that it helps you lose weight.

Yes, Goa is the perfect place to come after three weeks travelling around the rest of the country eating rabbit food...However, one thing I want to understand as we leave is....what makes a mature adult man wear a thong?

What brain cell switches itself off during the flight, that they then think it's somehow ok to punish us with the view of their flabby ars*s? It seems that once some people decide to go on holiday to Goa, their dignity goes on holiday somewhere else.

With nothing better to do with my last day I decided to risk my life. I can only say that the shaving cream they used was not L'Occitane and didn't have shea butter...

We are now heading off to Mysore (I swear, that's the name of the place, I haven't made it up....).

Local Tribes

Today we rented a scooter for 24 hours.

I know, I'm feeling guilty about adding to the pollution, but I had to compromise. Anyway, we went off to see a fort that has recently been restored as a hotel. The drive there was through a much hillier part of Goa, and the views over the rivers were stunning. And to get to the fort you have to take a ferry across a river.

...i wonder why this ferry is free?

I was surprised to see that the ferry was free, even for foreigners. Nothing is normally free here, and especially not for Westerners. As you can see in the pics the coastal views from the Fort are stunning.

There's a beautiful white sand beach on the other side of the river estuary dotted with palm trees and the occasional shack. Although the views are amazing, there is not a lot to do when you get there, especially as you have to take another ferry to get to the beach, so I'm not sure I would enjoy staying in the hotel here. But sitting there, having a refreshing ice tea, we reminisced about the good old days when we weren't so poor, when the daily budget was over £15.

We have discovered that we are in the nice quiet side of Arambol. Over on the other side are all the stalls selling rave wear, tat, and clothes for hippies. You know, MC Hammer trousers and the like.

In general the place is full of the following tribes:

* Hippies*
Normally the hard core type, covered in tattoos, dirty hair, they remind me of characters from "Blade". Here they ride 'Harley Davidson-esque' motorbikes. They dont do scooters. I guess it suits the hard look, but to me it's like wanting to wear diamonds but making do with 'Diamonique'...

a local hardcore hippy

* Dodgy looking Russians*
They are everywhere these days, except in Russia.

* Yoga and meditation freaks*
The kind that are following Geri Halliwell's steps on ' How To Lose Your T*ts'. I like Yoga, Tai Chi and all of that, but within reason. You've also got the ones doing meditation on the beach with their ipods on...and listening to Britney!!!

* A small but increasing contingent from Essex, Liverpool, etc*
Attracted by low prices they're easy to spot. Half of them are salad dodgers. Some female salad dodgers have attached to themselves (and their wallet) to a local or some other money grabber from further afield.

* Regular people*
An ever diminishing group, but luckily our neighbours next door belong to it.

* Goans*
So far the most open of all Indians. They love stopping you just to say hello, especially the old dears.

So, as Charles has said, a frakking freak show. And I'm loving it.