Happy New Year!

So, I'm currently in Mamallapuram (also known as Mahabalipuram), which is a nice beach village in Tamil Nadu (in the south). This place has a nice mixture of ruins from the Pallava period, sandy beaches, amazing sculptors (and sculptures...to some degree), a South Indian dance festival, and a laid-back crowd. And the question on everyone's lips is whether there's gonna be a New Years party tonight. The answer? Who knows...Still, whoever you are, I hope you have a great New Year. Be safe in all your activities. And hopefully you're year is what you hope it is. And if it isn't...at least it'll make your life more interesting.

See you in two double-zero six.

This is India?

India has changed over the past seven years. Technology here is, in some ways, even better than in America. People SMS everything, perhaps even more than Americans text message over their cell phones. The mobile phones in India are even cooler than those in America, with greater features and much more colorful and flashy designs (though people here rarely buy flip phones due to the roughness of Indian daily life and the concern about dirt entering the hinge). Also, on TV, Indian satellite provides a huge variety of channels, and the commercials are REALLY good. I remember when we used to mock the ads, because they all seemed so amateur and pointless (like many local ads back in America). But now they're so good that I wonder why many of them aren't showing in the States.

Cars are different. Before, the most popular car was the Ambassador, a clunky looking car that was unspeakably British. It had the feel of a Royce. Now, cars are hipper and much more varied. And smaller. People here prefer small cars in the same way that Americans want bigger ones. The most popular car makes are: Hyundai (the Getz is big), Maruti Suzuki (it's all about the Santo...the most popular car of them all), Toyota, Honda City (for cars; for motorcycles, it's Hero Honda); and even Ford. Colors now range from black to white, grays, browns, and blues. Before, the choices were black, white, and tan. The streets are definitely much more interesting to look at!

The prudeness of India has decreased slightly. Of course, there's the news about kissing. Not only that, but take a movie like the recently released "Neal N Nikki," which takes place in Vancouver, BC. This movie (which I plan to see once I return home) shows lots of skin (though of course no nudity): women in bikinis getting out of pools provocatively, and such. Large billboards and ads show men in underwear--not just boxers, but tighty whities. I've seen many a woman gawking longingly at the giant mostly naked man looming above them. And then I passed by a shop that openly and publicly (outside) displayed bras and lingerie. In Bangalore and Mysore, more boys and girls openly hold hands, skirts are getting shorter, and jeans are more common than salwaars.

Things have definitely changed...and yet some things simply stay the same. Most of India hasn't changed AT ALL.

Basic thoughts on India

People here rarely put their lips onto any glass, especially one that may be shared. So, I've had to practice pouring water into my mouth while holding the cup above my face. Aim is hard!

Almost every foreign tourist (particularly men) smokes. It's because most are European, and smoking in Europe isn't persecuted like it is in the States.

Women in the rural parts of developing countries must have very strong upper bodies due to the work they do. Their necks must not only support their heads and mops of hair, but they must also support large bundles of clothes, food, or water. Then, their required to wash the clothes. Each article must be put in the water, then pressed against a hard surface (often a boulder) many times, then slapped repeatedly against that hard surface with immense swinging and sweeping force, then dampened, then soaped, then repeat...These actions, which basically use the human body to do the work of a washing machine, strain the arms and back muscles. In all these tasks, women must be super strong!

Seven years ago, Indians referred to our country as "The States." Now, no one recognizes this term. It's America...

In America, we sell tanning lotion to make ourself darker, because there's nothing worse than light skin. In India, it's all about the "fairness creams," which lighten the skin over a period of weeks. Of course, I don't think this process is very healthy, but that's not the point. Apparently, it's in our nature to not be happy with how we are born.

Not only is Cricket much more popular around the world than baseball, it has one great advantage. You can place cricket anywhere. You don't need a field with bases, but instead just a small, narrow strip of land. I've seen kids play full games on the streets, in parks, on garbage heaps, and on beaches. Let's see baseball compete with that!

Journal Bits 3: Miscommunication in Communication

Why was I always so confused when I tried to follow directions or understand answers to questions? Why did people always feel the need to laugh at my foolish actions (beyond the normal reasons, of course)? Why did I often feel lost when it came to communication? Suddenly, I knew the answer. It was an epiphany of sorts that harkened back to my education. According to the world of sociolinguistics, cultures and societies can use one of two types of communication: explicit and implicit. America is explicit. We're blunt. We say what we want to say. Sarcasm aside, Americans tend to verbalize every answer or thought clearly with minimal use of facial expressions or gesticulation. When someone says something, typically the message is pretty obvious. Indians, on the other hand, are HIGHLY implicit. About a third of their communication comes from facial expressions and gestures. Understanding depends on both context and cultural awareness. The short wave of a hand can mean either yes or no. The sweep of an arm can lead you in any direction...you just need to know where. And then there's the head wobble, which can mean: yes, no, maybe, perfect, fine, don't know, it's unknown, okay, excellent, hello, see you later, etc. It really is that confusing. I've pretty much got the wobble down...the hand gestures get me.

In America, it's really simple. In India, you REALLY have to read between the lines.

Journal Bits 2: Why I'm So Confused 1

Traveling to India can be a confusing thing. Here are a few things to keep in mind in case any of you every decide to travel here. Keep in mind that my experience thus far only reflects Karnataka and parts of Tamil Nadu. These may not be true everywhere in the country:

The word "hotel" actually means "restaurant." For a real hotel, look for the words "boarding" or "lodging," or simply check into a "Guest House."

"STD" does not stand for a negative consequence for promiscuity. They are privately owned pay phones.

Whenever anyone uses the middle finger, it's not an insult. The middle finger is the longest, and therefore the most useful for pointing to things or for applying tikas.

Once again, men here are EXCEPTIONALLY affectionate toward each other. I've seen hand holding, ass grabbing, and upper thigh squeezing, just to name a few. Oh, and some men will just sit back and watch as their friends publicly bathe. And these men are JUST FRIENDS.

Don't be surprised if you are in a restaurant and some people come and sit at your table. Just ignore them and continue eating. They just wanted a place to sit, and apparently the restaurant was full. And when you have empty chairs at your table, they become fair game.

Next...gestures...the silent cause of confusion.

Journal Bits 1: Beware of Silence

I don't think Indians know how to be silent. They are frightened by the emptiness within a moment of no talking. When a quiet moment begins, one of two things can occur. 1) Someone feels the need to start singing some random Hindi song. I've noted this in passing. Specifically, Noori (from Hampi) and Ami (my bhabhi) both come to mind. 2) If we're walking or driving, someone tends to read out loud the random billboards or signs that are passed by, like the other people simply cannot read. Once again, Ami did this, as did Pinku (my cousin). I have continuously seen these phenomena, and have even told my cousins, who agree that though they had never noticed them before, these seem to be true. So, why does silence scare Indians? I don't think it does. On some subconscious level, it simply feels awkward. So, Indians find a way around it that involve reading or Bollywood.

Hampi to Pondi...at least the places in between

I refer to some pictures in this post, but there are no pics here. I will try to put them in later...I've already tried three times.

Since Hampi, my world has revolved around both sights and family. Take Bangalore, or Bengaluru, for example. I stayed with my cousin Hardik Bhai and his fun wife Ami during my time there. The first day of my arrival, we decided to go to a safari park. The trip to and from the park was fun itself. The terrible roads on the outskirts of town simply prompted more and more complaints from Bhai. He whined about the bad infrastructure...personally, I really liked the town. It was the most progressive I had seen. Shops displaying women's underwear, billboards of guys in briefs, men and women holding hands freely, more women in jeans than in salwaars...I liked it. Bhai apparently doesn't. He dislikes the Karnataka corruption, which in many ways reflects that which exists throughout India. Still, the complaints were amusing. And Ami was great. I know that she loves Lays chips, particularly the tangy tomato ones (I tried Pani Puri flavored Lays...it was a little weird). I know she has the ability to fall asleep anywhere and at any time. Plus, she has a great sense of humor...oh, and she's a great cook (despite what she may think). Staying with them was great. I was finally able to take a hot shower (yes, this was a first for me), using an actual shower head, not just a bucket. And after the communal and always worrisome squat toilets at Hampi, sitting to do number 2 never felt better! Plus, their warm house had a young and hip, while still totally spiritual feel to it. Oh, and this was the first time I had ridden in a car while on this trip. And each time I got into the back seat, I reached for a seat belt, and always felt a bit disappointed when my hand grabbed at empty space. Still, their Maruti Suzuki Santo Zip (a car which a third of car-owning Indians own, I think) was nice...definitely better than an auto(riksha) or a bus.

The next day, I visited with lots of distant family. I finally met the famous Chetan Bhai, along with Chaiyya Bhabhi, Kruti, Chirag, Ji Masi, and the fun-loving (and severely teething) Jackie. Above is a picture of Chirag and Jackie. This is one of my favorite pics! I had a great time with the family, and really wished I could have been there longer. After breakfast with them, we rushed over to Raju Bhai, Smita Bhabhi, and Manju Masi's place. Then, on our way to Sravanabelagola (which took me about a week to learn how to pronounce!). This place has the world's largest monolith, which happens to also be naked. If you don't want to see a very large naked man carved out of stone, don't look at the picture below. The story of Sri Gomateshwara, also known as Bahubali, is this. After Sri Adinath, the very first Jain tirthankar, attained moksha, his two sons fought to see who would carry on as leader of the Jainas. The second son, Gomateshwara, came to the realization that such squabbling and lust for power was contrary to the Jain philosophy. So, he renounced everything, meditated for a lifetime, and attained moksha. Hence, we like him. At Sravanabelagola (which felt like a poor man's Palitana), we climbed up a hill with about 700 steps to get to the temple at the top. And then, the large naked Bahubali. For some reason, I always imagined 17.5 meters to be taller than it really was. Still, the simplicity and the serenity of the statue were wonderful. And yes...he was naked, thus prompting questions from later friends as to the statue's "proportionality." Ahem...

I had to leave Bangalore too soon. The next day I headed out to Mysore on an excursion from Bangalore. And who should I meet but my buddies from the Hospet train station. The Welch dynamic duo, Sam(antha) and Ayesha. They had two new friends, Nell and Ella (who, I hate to say, was a spoiled brat but a damn good haggler). I met them in a market, which was a beautiful, bustling place. We spent the day, a lazy day, together. While in Mysore, I did not see the Brindavan Gardens or Chamundi Hill, as many people said I should have. If I hadn't come upon my friends, then perhaps I would have visited those places. Instead, I only saw the Mysore Palace, which is shown below. This place is truly multi-national, as its components come from about 30 different countries. Beyond the Palace and the Market, I also experienced the other great Mysori tradition...incense. This is one of the leading places in pure oils and incenses, and it's the only place in India where Sandlewood Oil is manufactured. So, I spent way too much money and bought natural sandlewood agarbatis (incense sticks), pure sandlewood oil (good for asthma), lotus oil (good for headaches), and water lily oil (good as a mosquito repellent). Let's just say I spent way too much...like a week's budget. Yikes!

The next day, I decided to head over to the Keshava Temple in the small small village of Somnathpur. The Keshava temple was the only finished piece in the Hoysala period. So, I decided to venture my way over. Of course, I took a local bus from Mysore. It dropped me off in the village of Bannur. I waited in their bus stand, which was simply a town square, or the dusty center of things, where people simply loitered around for no reason whatsoever. And, everything was written in Kannada, making it impossible for me to know which bus was appropriate without asking...which of course would draw to attention to myself. But what could I do? After an hour, the bus for Somnathpur finally came. It was already packed. People were jumping off and on even before the bus stopped. I suddenly felt transported back to the trains of Mumbai. Books and clothes were flying into the windows, hoping to save a seat. Boys and men climbed to the "upper class" seats on the roof. And what did I do? I didn't realize that this was the right bus until it was too late. It filled to beyond capacity within a minute. So, I settled for a riksha. I bargained him down from a 180 to a 130 to take me the 6 kms to Somnathpur, wait an hour, and then bring me back. I still overpaid. Lokas, the driver, was very friendly (probably because he had just made a bunch of money off of me), and showed me things along the way. This was a great way to see some villages up close. At Somnathpur, though, he caused a problem. He insisted on showing me the ticket counter. I tried to back off from him, but it was too late. The ticket man could tell I was a foreigner. He yelled at me for trying to pay the Indian price, and he called me illiterate. Lokas caused me to pay an extra 95 Rs, making my money a little too short. I would have to change a Traveler's Cheque upon returning to my hotel. Nevertheless, I entered into the temple complex. The carvings, shown below, were AMAZING! Every inch covered with something: Perhaps from the Ramayana, the Mahabharata, or the Kama Sutra. However, the temple was small. I was in and out in 20 minutes. 254 Rs. and most of the day, for 20 minutes. I still haven't decided whether going to Somnathpur was worth it. I think so.

Back to Bangalore. Where Hardik Bhai and Ami took me to a mall to see the Christmas decorations (they had read my mind!!!) and to eat at Pizza Hut. I had Tandoori pizza. With Indian masala and everything. Then, home, packing, sleeping, and leaving for the train station the next morning. I listened to Christmas music on the way to Chennai. Yeah, that was more boring than expected. I thought it would be nostalgic. Nope...just boring. And Chennai? Hectic. Crazy. Chaotic. You get the idea. It was wedding time! And I became immersed into the family on his father's side. Constant questions about why I don't speak Gujarati, about why I'm traveling, about why I'm not married, etc. And there were so many people! Bipin Fua has three brothers and four sisters, all married with kids. So, lots of people. And on my side of the family? Only the two sisters, their husbands, and one cousin: Amol...better known as Pinku (and his brother is known as Sweetu). Pinku was great. We had lots of fun. He's sarcastic, just like me. He shares my humor. And we just really got along well together. Without him, the trip would have been boring. At least we were bored together. What struck me as odd was the sheer number of rituals. Vishal and Nisha (commonly known as Nishal, like Bennifer, but less annoying) were constantly on their feet, fighting against sleep, and attempting to smile. Some of the rituals didn't even make sense to them. But, they did what they had to. Which sucked, because technically, they were already married. They had filled out the legal marriage certificate two days earlier.

One of my goals for this wedding was to fade into the background. Such wishful thinking was more than impossible. Since I was representing both of Vishal's mother's brothers, I became the center of a ritual in which I had to present monetary gifts to different people. I didn't know about my role until about 2 minutes before it started. Yeah, that sucked. Nothing too complicated, like hopping on one leg while reciting the Nokaar Mantra or anything. But, I still needed some assistance. As for the wedding itself, it was boring. The Sangeet from the night before was also boring. And the reception...boring. You see, it was all ritual, none of which involved the audience. In fact, you don't even need to pay attention during the wedding. You can talk all you want! And the reception? Nishal stood for 3 hours as people congratulated them. Uh huh...not what I would recommend for anyone's wedding. The only fun thing about the wedding was the procession leading up to it. Being on the groom's side is fun. Vishal sat in a horse carriage, and a band lead the way, playing bhangra for us all to dance to while walking. We took up the street, drawing lots of onlookers. This was the best part of the wedding, definitely.

Okay, now I'm sick of writing. I'll perhaps write more on the wedding later.

Pointless News from India

Here are two little snippets I find to be interesting.

1. The city of Bangalore will no longer be called by that name. It is now "Bengaluru." Of course, most people unfamiliar with this change will probably think that this city is somewhere in Bengal, not in Karnataka. This change is part of an effort that's been sweeping throughout the South to Indianize the country's political geography.

2. The Indian government has now finally declared that kissing on the lips is, in fact, not obscene. Beforehand, it was a very naughty thing to do, particularly in public. This announcement is good news for Indian cinema, which now doesn't have to concoct creative ways to get around mouth-to-mouth action. It will still probably take some time before we see lots of big, juicy smooches on the big screen. But at least they won't be censored out...hopefully.

What Are Manners, Anyway?

So, here's the common complaint, especially from my British friends: Indians have no manners. My Scottish friend Nadia, who is a quarter Indian, came here to search for her roots. She was seriously disappointed, and the lack of manners was a huge sticking point. The same bothered my English friend John, as well as the Welch dynamic duo, Samantha and Ayesha. So, what is this issue? Do Britons simply have impeccable manners? Are Indians really social clods?

I suppose the issue really involves what constitutes manners. The most common complaint is the lack of such words and phrases as: please, thank you, excuse me, sorry, you're welcome. All of these can be demonstrated through a smile, a slight nod, or the famous Indian head wobble. And yet sometimes these gestures aren't even present. So, then, according to British standards, Indians simply suck when it comes to being nice and using the universally accepted manners.

Yeah right. Imagine if all 1 billion Indians were always polite. Nothing would ever get done! Imagine every person apologizing for each person they bumped into on the streets. No one would get anywhere. It may not really be feasible for Indians to have good manners, at least in the British sense.

But we do have other good manners that are easily overlooked by the simple traveler. The biggest one is the respect we show toward elders. You always show them respect upon greeting and leaving them...and elders are simply anyone older or more distinguished than you. And the issue with the feet! Whenever you accidentally point the soles of your feet in someone's direction, or accidentally touch that person with your foot, apologies are almost always forthcoming. These are manners in their own way.

And of course, many Indians would see manners as unnecessary, particularly when it comes to work. You shouldn't have to be polite just to get something done. For example, my cousin recounted an anecdote from his residency in London. Wanting to get a bus ticket to, let's say Bristol, he told the ticket seller "One ticket to Bristol." Seems like the appropriate thing to say. But the man tsked him and said "You mean, one ticket to Bristol, please." He wasn't going to give the ticket until my cousin said please. Now, his job wasn't to be the maintainer of social grace, but to simply give the tickets. My cousin, already irked by this, later noticed that two Britons said exactly what he had said, and they were given tickets without a moment's thought. So, perhaps racism, or putting the foreigner in his place...who knows. Doesn't seem much like manners to me.

So, are Indians gauche and socially inept? Are Britons superior in this fashion? I say that the concept of "manners" is a subjective one, and that my British friends should stop complaining.

Pics

So, over the last few days, I've blogged a lot. I'm going to take a slight break from it to give you all a chance to catch up on the immense amount of reading. I just want to let you all know that the Yahoo Groups account has a whole bunch of new pics on it. I've updated the Badami, the Hampi, and the Family folders. Badami is finally finished. Hampi should only take another day or so. Soon, I'll start putting up pics from Bangalore, Shravanabelagola, and Mysore (where I am right now). But, until then, enjoy the pics, and don't forget to e-mail me.

Hampi...Finally!

Let me start this by saying that every time I come to India, I'm coming to Hampi. It's as simple as that. I originally planned to only be here for three days. That became seven. And this happens to about half the people who visit. It's that kind of place.

Hampi was the capital of the Vijayanagar Empire, one of the largest and most powerful Hindu empires in Indian history. It reached it's height by the 1500s, right before it was brought down by a coalition of Deccan kingdoms. Okay, no more history. The first thing you see when you arrive at the Hampi Bazaar is the amazingly imposing Virupaksha Temple. The details are amazing. It's beautiful because it wholly dominates the skyline. The picture above was taken from Hemakuta Hill, which is dotted with ruins and is a favorite for watching the sunset. Yes, sunset watching is the most important aspect of being in Hampi. You always try to find the best place to sit back and relax. Thrice I saw the sun go down from Hemakuta, once from on top of Matanga Hill, and once from a boulder in the middle of Tungabhadra River. Last night, I was chatting with a friend, so I didn't get to see the sun go down. Oh well.

Of course, Hampi is nothing without all it's ruins. But what are also great are the boulders. They are the biggest I had ever seen. This is a climber's paradise, and the boulders provide plenty of challenges. The boulders are so great, you often see people (including myself) just sitting and staring at them for quite some time.

Still, it's all about the ruins. There are three main areas here toexplore. The first is the Sacred Center, which includes Virupaksha, Hemakuta, Matanga, the monoliths, and all surrounding ruins. The above picture comes from the Krishna Temple in the Sacred Center. The second is the Royal Center, which includes the Noble Quarters, the Islamic Quarters, the Zanana Complex, and other areas. The picture below comes from there. The third generally encompasses the wide area covering the Vitthala Temple, the Achyutaraya Temple, the Hanuman Temple Hill, and Anegondi. The picture of the chariot down below is at the Vitthala Temple. Of course, these names probably mean nothing to you, but here, they are everything.

By the first two days, I was done with sightseeing. I had walked EVERYWHERE (except to the Hanuman Temple and Anegondi, which are both across the river), and I was exhausted. The first day, I walked probably around eight kilometers. The second day, probably around 12. But the walking was the best part. Many people rented bicycles and motorcycles. I chose to walk because it allowed me to go to places that others couldn't get to. And often times, I'd be walking in the desert or through a banana plantation, and I couldn't see another person around in any direction. These times were the best. After the sun would go down, I'd spend the evening looking at shops, talking with people, finding a nice place to eat, watching a movie at one of the restaurants, or going back to my guest house and playing backgammon with my neighbors, Jean-Baptiste and Melanie.

One day, I was planning to visit the Achyutaraya Temple, then walk down to the Royal Center. I ended up climbing the nearby Matanga Hill. And then I stayed up there for three hours, just chilling and chatting with my new friends Ana and Sergio, as well as the "banana cake boy" Noori. It was at that moment when I realized the truth about Hampi. Screw the sightseeing. Welcome the relaxing. So, every now and then, I'd go for a nice walk to see the sights, but I found much more pleasure in doing absolutely nothing. I found a favorite spot by the Ghats, where I could watch the women do laundry, the men fill water jugs, and the children go for a swim. I spent three entire afternoons there. And it was amazing. Other times, I'd go to a high place, like Matanga Hill (950 steps to get to the top), and marvel at the view of the desert, the boulders, and the banana plantations. The scenic contrasts in Hampi are astounding.

Beside the four Europeans (two from France, two from Spain) I mentioned earlier, I also met another couple, Angela from the UK and Josef from France, as well as Shay from Israel, and Nadia from Scotland. And these are only those people whose names I know. I also now know many of the shopkeepers, and am constantly greeted by first name as I walk down the street. It's a nice feeling. I've witnessed many wedding processions that fill the streets with the sounds of trumpets and drums. I think Sejal and Joe, Vijay and Crissy, and Bryce and Purvi should all have processions that take up entire streets with dancing and general merriment. I've seen an elephant lead a religious procession, a scruffy little puppy go up against a cow, two wild mongoose (or is that mongooses, or perhaps mongeese?), and the stars amidst numerous city blackouts. I had a guy try to sell me marijuana...because apparently I bought some from him the day before. I got lost in bramble and had to shimmy my way out, on my stomach, from underneath the thorns. I experienced the sickness and death of my guest house owner's father. I relearned how to play Backgammon, just to realize that I suck at it. I got hounded by a boy named Karan who is now calling me his "bhaiyya," which means "brother." I faced my fear of heights as I scaled some large boulders to get to the top of Matanga hill when I couldn't find the stairs. A rode on a motorcycle with a guy who had never driven a motorcycle before...thankfully we went slowly. I met a girl who is writing a book on how culture and religion affect a society's interation with the environment...I may contribute a bit to that work. I slipped and fell twice in one day, hurting my left arm something fierce. I learned that my chappals (sandals) suck on hills, so now I have Indian feet...I climb up and down things barefoot. I had a lesson in how to play the jhamba drum, which may be more my style than the tabla. I relaxed so much that I don't want to leave and hit the busy tumult of Bangalore and Chennai. Oh well, all good things must come to an end.

But that doesn't mean I'm staying away from Hampi forever. Next time I'm in India, even though this place is out of the way, I'm coming here for a few days. Hampi is just that kind of place.

Hampi Teaser 6: Kashmiri Row

The row of shops running to the Ghat and to the river
is mainly run by Kashmiris. They head down south
while their homes in Ladakh or southern Jammu are
covered in snow. For some reason, they've all been
placed in the same area, thus prompting me to call it
Kashmiri Row. These guys are all really nice, though
obviously they are all trying to sell you something.
And I feel bad for them for two reasons. One, since
they're all stuck together, none of their products are
unique. You find the same Tibetan goods in each shop.
Two, they all have some serious issues finding
buyers, particularly after the sunset, when typically
business would be the best. This is because the boat
that crosses the Tungabhadra River to Virupapur Gaddi
no longer functions after 6pm. This is the first
season ever where the boats stopped right after the
sunset. This means that very few people have a reason
to walk down to the river at night. So, no one comes
near their shops. Hopefully next season they can fix
this. Until then, Kashmiri Row will have to deal with
fewer sales...that is, until they move on to their
next location.

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Hampi Teaser 5: Food and the Lonely Planet

Food in Hampi is quite the mixture aiming to cater to
the international crowd. For breakfast, you can
anything from eggs to pancakes to Muessli. For lunch
and dinner, I've seen Chinese food, Israeli food,
Tibetan food, Italian food, American food, and of
course, Indian food. The funny thing about the
restaurants here is that they each spell everything
wrong. For example, I just saw the term "Spainish
omelette", thus prompting me to ask how it was
Spanish. Nope, "Spinach." I've seen the word
"lasagne" spelled with an "r" instead of an "l." Part
of the fun of eating out is deciphering the names of
the dishes. Many of my fellow tourists and I have
decided that all the restaurant owners should get
together and decide on uniform spellings for all the
dishes. Even better: have an native English speaker
with them. The other amusing thing about restaurants
here is that many of them proudly announce a
recommendation from the Lonely Planet. Of course,
what they don't tell you is that the recommendation
might have been from 1973. Still, they wear the
praise like a badge, thus causing me to snicker every
time I walk by a place touting the name Lonely Planet.

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Hampi Teaser 4: The Kids

Okay, kids are cute. Unless they are trying to sell
you sell you sell you (no, this is not a typo)
something. And that they are in Hampi. In a place
that soley exists for the tourists, the kids are
either self-employed, working for their parents, or
are too young (like five years old) to bring in any
money.

Here, unless the kids are really good at picking up
languages, most of them only know a few words or
phrases, which they then use randomly. Here are some
of the most common:

Hello
Hi (if they're feeling cheeky)
One/Two Rupee/s
Name of product (eg. bananacake)
Price of product (eg. twenty rupees)
Schoolpen

The last one is my favorite. I question how many of
the kids who ask for one actually knows what a
"schoolpen" is. In fact, I finally broke down and
gave a lone kid (I'd never ever do this when the kid
is in a group!) a pen after he asked for a
"schoolpen." He took it with surprise, and stared at
it for a half minute with confusion. Who would have
thought that a "schoolpen" was a pen? Apparently, not
him.

When a kid asks for something, and you say no, then he
takes the words he knows and mixes them together into
an annoying, sometimes unintelligible mess. For
example: "Hellohellohellohello bananacake hellohello
twenty rupees hellohello twenty rupees
hellohellohellohello." Yes, they really like to say
"hello," a lot.

Sure, kids are cute. Kids in Hampi...worth walking
out of your way to avoid.

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Hampi Teaser 3: The Man Who Hates Indians

I met a man today from England who has come to India
five times. He knows the Bharat Natyam dance, plays
traditional instruments, and apparently loves Indian
culture.

And yet he hates India and Indians. He's cussed at
them many times while I talked with him. He was
loudly complaining about how slow the internet is
(obviously...we're in a small town in India...they
aren't going to have Broadband!). All my interactions
with him have led me to believe that he doesn't just
hate India and its citizens, he loathes them. And yet
his interests show otherwise.

So, here's the ek crore question: Can a person love a
culture without even respecting the people and places
that inspired, promoted, and maintained that culture?

Apparently so.

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Hampi Teaser 2: The Guest House

Hampi doesn't have hotels. It has guest houses, which
are family run. And they're everywhere. Mine is the
Deva Guest House. It's really simple, with only four
rooms, all leading to an outside patio. We all share
one bathroom, and one squat toilet. Lakshmi Ben cooks
food, but of course it's not free. Still, the fact
that I'm paying 70 Rs a night is very good, and the
food isn't bad either.

Some people wake up to the sound of birds chirping. I
wake up to the sound of monkeys running across the tin
roof and making a ruckus. We'd have to throw them
bananas just to keep them happy. But of course, by
giving them bananas, they just keep coming back. The
monkeys have a lot of power.

Yesterday and today were both somber days. The father
of Deva Bhai and Lakshmi Ben (the proprietors) passed
away yesterday. I paid my respects to him last night.
He seemed so much at peace. Previously, he had
always looked so frail. Still, the mood is quite
somber, though the drums and trumpeting during today's
annointing may indicate otherwise.

I only planned to stay in Hampi for three days. That
became six. The guest house, though simple, serves
its purpose well. And sometimes I feel like I'm part
of the family. But only sometimes...when they aren't trying to get money from me.

Hampi Teaser 1: A Boy Named Karan

So, I met Karan the first day I arrived in Hampi. He
was the first to see through my "I'm Indian but can't
talk with you" ruse. When I said I was Gujarati, he
told me that I should be able to speak Hindi.
Therefore, I couldn't be born here. Karan's a smart,
14-year old. He's also a bit of a leech. His whole
goal, as is the case with everyone in Hampi, is to
make money off of people. We've become friends, or so
he says. We chat everyday, not because I want us to,
but because he's "working me." Two days ago, he
actually grabbed my hand while we were walking. I
wasn't shocked at the gesture. No, what surprised me
was his belief that I believed we were friends. Then,
yesterday, he asked me to go Hospet today to see an
American movie with him. Of course, I told him maybe
(I don't plan to go). Maybe you're thinking that he
really is my friend. Yeah right.

Let me tell you about Karan. The first day we
chatted, he told me that Israeli people only want to
f*** each other. He also didn't believe (perhaps
sincerely?) that America also had the sun, the moon,
and the stars. Additionally, he made light of the
fact that his father was a mean person, thus causing
him and his mom to flee Delhi. Yes, I know lots about
Karan. But I still don't trust him. He oozes
insincerity, claims to be your friend when all he
wants is something from you. No, I don't trust him.

The problem? He's VERY well connected in Hampi. And
now he knows where I live (he followed me back to the
guest house last night). I'm still not going with him
to the movies. And yet we'll still be "friends."

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Before Hampi

Alright, I've now decided to start adding some details to my blog, since I've decided to stay in Hampi for a while. Unfortunately, the internet connections are very slow here, so I won't be able to post as many pics as I'd like. Still, something is better than nothing.

So, I started off in Mumbai, where it was great to see my relatives again. They were all so open and welcoming, and they helped me however they could. To see some pics of my relatives, go to my Yahoo Groups account. Param, my nephew, was really shy around me at first, but then he latched on and wouldn't let go. He was constantly seeking my attention...it was cute at first, but then I felt that I couldn't spend much time with my other relatives. Still, it was fun.

I took a sleeper class train to Bijapur. Sleeper class is 2nd class, where there's no A/C, where the passengers are more rural, and where you leave feeling dirtier than when you entered. It was great! Seriously. The countryside in the morning was beautiful. And the people were nice, even though we couldn't communicate. When I got to Bijapur, I decided, perhaps foolishly, to walk the 2 kilometers to my hotel. The streets were noisy and INCREDIBLY dusty. The air quality in Bijapur is actually worse than Mumbai! People in northern Karnataka tend to stare openly and without stopping. And stare they did. Once I got to my hotel, I put down my stuff, freshened up, and went exploring. I got lost and wound up in the slums. The only redeeming part of the day was the restaurant, which had an amazing thali and a hungry cow (see previous post). Thus far, I really wasn't impressed with Bijapur. There were no tourists, and even without any bags or cameras, people could still tell that I didn't belong. And they stared.
The next day, I decided to see at least one of the sites: The Gol-Gumbaz, a mausoleum from the Adil Shahi empire. This massive place has the second largest dome ever made, after the one atop St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican. At the top of the dome, on the inside, the acoustics are amazing. The Whispering Gallery abounds with whispers and claps and screams echoed throughout. You clap once, and it echoes ten more times. You whisper near the wall, and anyone standing around the wall elsewhere will here it with perfect clarity. Overall, the Gol-Gumbaz was pretty cool. It didn't quite redeem Bijapur, but it helped. Still, I was glad to finally leave!

I bused over to Bagalkot, then to Badami. I love the local buses, though my butt and my knees were in serious pain once I reached Badami. Still, I found my hotel, and pretty much relaxed for the rest of day. Even from a first glance, I knew that I would like Badami. It had the feel of a village, wasn't really as dusty as Bijapur, and just came across as being friendlier. Badami was the capital of the Chalukya empire (like Bijapur was for the Adil Shahi), one of the oldest empires in the South. The Chalukyans really experimented with architecture that would eventually spread throughout the South. Actually, as I explored Badami and Pattada Kalla, I really wished folks like Crissy and Eric were there, because I knew that they could appreciate the sights a lot more than I could. Oh well.

In Badami, I climbed up a canyon to the forts and temples that protected Badami. I also, saw the caves cut into the rocks. It's hard to express the beautiful views, the amazing sculptures, and the serene atmosphere of Badami's sights. Pictures are perhaps the best way to show what I saw. Of course, the rest will be (at some point) on the Yahoo site. The first morning in Badami, as I walked to the North Fort (through the canyon), I met a kid, Raju, who proceded to act as my guide, though of course he wanted something. He pushed me to employ his friend as an autoriksha driver on a trip to Pattada Kalla, Aiholi, and Mahakuta the next morning. Of course, the bus seemed much more preferable to me. Then, he wanted a "gift." Money to help pay for a new cricket ball. I gave him a little, but not too much. I felt bad, but I simply can't pay everyone who wants it.


The caves were nice. The monkeys were better.

Then I got sick. A cold. Thankfully that was all.

Luckily, I had chosen a room with a TV. I stayed in my room, more or less, from about 1:30pm that afternoon until I went to sleep. I really tried to rest up. This way, the next day, I felt up to traveling to Pattada Kalla. The bus ride was nothing fancy. At P.K., I explored the temples as I had been doing. I'm glad I had chosen not to go to Aiholi or Mahakuta, because it would have been overkill (Aiholi alone has over 200 temples!). Also, in P.K., I experienced my first school group mob. A large group of about forty kids saw that I had a camera, and they wanted me to take a picture. When I did, they mobbed around me to see how it looked on the LCD screen. They almost knocked the camera out of my hand! And I'm Indian...I blend in. I can't imagine how difficult it must be for everyone else!

I left P.K. through the most personal way possible: van. No buses were coming for a while, so a little boy led me to an already packed van heading back to Badami. And when I say packed, I mean people were standing inside because there wasn't room to sit. I was by far the largest person there, meaning that they had to really make room for me. A kid ended up sitting on my lap. And everyone knew each other, so of course they talked about the funny tourist in Malayalam. However, I became very friendly with the kids along the way. We had fun. Lots of fun. Though I was cramped the entire time, I was glad that I experienced the van.

And that was that. Mumbai, Bijapur, Badami, Pattada Kalla. Hampi comes next...but that's for another time. Some further thoughts and observations before I go:

1. Malayalam is a funny language. Hindi flows off the tongue. Malayalam trips. It's fascinating to listen to...just don't laugh.

2. For a while, I tried pretending to be South American to avoid the mobbing of kids. Throw a few Spanish words their way, and they get confused. But now I just ignore them. I hate to be rude, but it's necessary.

3. I felt weird walking through the village of Badami, because most of the time, I was wandering through narrow streets where people lived. It was like if someone were to walk through my neighborhood as a tourist. I know I'll get over this feeling of guilt, like I don't belong. But it'll take some time.

4. In Mumbai, I tried Paan for the first time. Paan is an after-dinner snack, like a mint. Except it's MUCH STRONGER. And it makes your mouth very red. I now know that paan is not for me. But at least I tried it, right?

Alright, more later.

Has It Only Been A Week?

Okay, so I arrived in India only just more than a week
ago, and it feels like a lifetime. I've already
gotten a little homesick, a little sick sick (a
cold...not the Delhi Belly, yet), and a bit starving
for someone to natively speak English. Nevertheless,
things are going well. I'm not going to really write
much about the trip thus far, because I'm on dial-up
at an expensive place...pictures and more details will
come once I get to Bangalore in four days.

Still, here's the route thus far: Mumbai to Bijapur
to Badami (with a side trip to Pattada Kalla) to
Hampi. So far, I've barely come across other
tourists. But not anymore. Hampi is uber-touristy.
Still, the nice thing about not being with other
tourists, and about looking Indian, is that I can get
by with paying the Indian entry fees, not the
Foreigner fees. That saves me quite a lot of green
(or, actually, reds, blues, etc etc.).

I'm not going to go into too many details, but give
you a quick sketch of things I've observed in India
thus far:

1. Only here can a cow walk into a restaurant, just to
be given a bisquit.

2. A baby monkey snuck into my room and stole my
toothpaste one night.

3. I've got the gestures down cold! You will all me
so annoyed with my head bobbing once I get back to the
states. (fyi, head bobbing is similar to the Italian
word "prego." It can signify anything from maybe to
thank you to perfect to not sure to you're welcome to
okay to sounds like a plan...)

4. Men here often hold hands when they walk together.
It's a way of showing friendship...and nothing more
than that.

5. The buses are an excellent way to travel. They
take you to all the rural villages, allowing you to
really explore. However, you have to have a strong
stomach, a strong butt, strong knees (if you have long
legs), and a great life insurance policy.

6. Kids are soooo cute. Unless they mob you and
almost make you fall down. Still, they're cute while
doing this.

Alright, final thoughts before I leave to explore
Hampi. Mumbai is a zoo. Bijapur isn't worth
visiting. Badami rocks! And Hampi seems VERY
promising.

I'll try to blog again once I reach Bangalore in a few
days.

Not Even in India...and Already There Are Issues

Alright, first of all, long flights suck. But what's
worse? Long layovers. So, I'm in Malaysia, and I've
already been traveling for about 22 hours. I still
have 3.5 more hours of layover before five hour
flight. Fun.

So, three things have happened to me thus far. First,
and I'm really unhappy about this, I ate pork
(willingly) for the first time in years. China Air
had two choices for dinner (at 3am), and they both had
pork. And being incredibly hungry at the time, I went
with the congee, because the pork was a little more
hidden in it.

Second, I lost my passport, kinda. In Taipei, I went
through security to transfer planes when a guy bumped
my bag. That made me bit paranoid, thus prompting me
to check my bag. I tore my bag apart and couldn't
find my passport. It had fallen out in the airplane
when I was pulling out my ticket. I made a mad dash
for the terminal. As soon as I got there, a man asked
me "Passport?" Strangely enough, they had found it,
but they hadn't found me in their system. It was like
I never flew with them. So, this whole thing taught
me to be much more careful with my things, and also to
be thankful for the little favors (like the guy
bumping me). I still can't believe I almost messed up
the trip even before it began!

Finally, I HATE SLOW INTERNET CONNECTIONS LIKE THIS
ONE!! Doesn't bode well for my blogging.

Alright, another few hours to kill. Then, off to bug
my relatives.

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