This could quite possibly be the last blog of the trip... I cannot believe how fast it went by, yet at the same time certain memories feel like a lifetime ago. But before I get all sappy and make this like a bad yearbook signing let me just say that Vietnam is a-w-e-s-o-m-e !
Right now I'm in Mui Ne, a small beach town, which since the paving of the road just a few years ago has become a major kite surfing destination. All day I lounge on the beach and watch at least 40 - i stopped counting after 40 - kite surfers fly past. It's a little like extreme cirque du soleil. And as the kite surfers show off with their fancy tricks, the wind surfers whiz by underneath. All this does make it a little hazardous to swim ... but whatever. Mui Ne is a great ending to an unbelievable trip, nothing to do but lay on the beach, read a book, and think back on everything I've seen and done.
I don't want to make this one of those recap/montage-end-of-the-season blog entries, that's what the photo albums (and that's a big plural) are for, but if I had to wrap this whole thing up with one poignant statement I'd say that all the beauty I've seen since I left for Brazil last June, most certainly outweighs all of the ugly.
Anyway, my final Mui Ne dinner is calling. Tomorrow I'll soak up my last Vietnam rays and bus it back to Saigon in order to catch my very early Friday morning flight back home.
Home. I can't wait.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
Sapa
I arrived back to Hanoi early this morning. 5am the night train pulled into the station and we jumped in a cab over to our travel agency that doubles as a hotel. A room was promised to us, but upon our arrival we found the staff asleep on ma tresses in the lobby and no room available. They generously offered to hold our bags before sending us back onto the street and going back to bed themselves. It was still just 5:30am and Hanoi was slowly waking up, however you know it's early - or late - when there's no pho cooking; just a few man out for their morning jog and a lone woman hoola-hooping about a half block down - "good for the abs," Nigel said. With the town still dark and asleep for the most part, Nigel and I decided to kick on the stoop and watch the sunrise. Around 6 was when the first metal grate went up. At home you would usually see someone walk up and unlock the bars from the outside, but in Hanoi the shops and restaurants become bedrooms, living rooms, kitchens, and dining rooms after closing, so grates are unlocked from the inside and thrown up to let in the morning light.
By 8 Hanoi was wide awake, but still no room available. It was time for pho anyhow, so we sat on pre-school sized stools at the corner and slurped our noodles and soup with the rest of the morning pho rush.
Hanoi is a world away from the quiet mountain town of Saba where I spent the last two days trekking through the Tonkinese Alps visiting villages of minority tribes, and where it seems that time just stopped 30 years ago. The mountains surrounding Saba are home to a handful of tribes, all with different dialects and traditions. The common denominator here is rice, and every tribe grows it. The sides of the mountains are chiseled, step-like, with cascading rice terraces; after the rain fall it looked as if the hills were lined with glass shelves.
Back on the night train, we shared a cabin with a French Canadian who told us his story, in graphic detail, of how he had spent the day in the home of some villagers, killing a pig for the Tet celebrations this week. After a few cans of Tiger he was reenacting the battle with the pig, showing us how he held the animal's back legs and wrestled it to the ground; he included the squeals and all. Once dead, the pig was cooked, apparently with no part going to waste, and evidently delicious by the toothy grin on the French Canadian's face, "Also lots of rice wine, I'll be sure to wake up with a hangover, eh?"
Tonight we're back on the train, heading south to Hue.
By 8 Hanoi was wide awake, but still no room available. It was time for pho anyhow, so we sat on pre-school sized stools at the corner and slurped our noodles and soup with the rest of the morning pho rush.
Hanoi is a world away from the quiet mountain town of Saba where I spent the last two days trekking through the Tonkinese Alps visiting villages of minority tribes, and where it seems that time just stopped 30 years ago. The mountains surrounding Saba are home to a handful of tribes, all with different dialects and traditions. The common denominator here is rice, and every tribe grows it. The sides of the mountains are chiseled, step-like, with cascading rice terraces; after the rain fall it looked as if the hills were lined with glass shelves.
Back on the night train, we shared a cabin with a French Canadian who told us his story, in graphic detail, of how he had spent the day in the home of some villagers, killing a pig for the Tet celebrations this week. After a few cans of Tiger he was reenacting the battle with the pig, showing us how he held the animal's back legs and wrestled it to the ground; he included the squeals and all. Once dead, the pig was cooked, apparently with no part going to waste, and evidently delicious by the toothy grin on the French Canadian's face, "Also lots of rice wine, I'll be sure to wake up with a hangover, eh?"
Tonight we're back on the train, heading south to Hue.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Hanoi
I had a really great week with my Dad, he left last night and I could tell he had an amazing time as well. But all good things must come to an end, and I just can't believe this trip has flown by so fast. I've got 10 days left, and 3 more towns to see.
Tonight Nigel and I will hop on the night train to Saba - a minority village in the north, just before the Chinese border. There we will spend two days trekking with a group through the villages and terraced rice paddies. I'm sure it will be a far cry from bustling, non-stop Hanoi where everyone seems to be on the move - I'm not sure where they're going or if they ever get there, but its an endless sea of motorbikes and foot traffic here. Pauses are only taken to eat or drink. On the street in Hanoi you can get a bowl of pho (noodle soup) or bun cha (the juiciest grilled pork with noodles in a sweet broth) for a dollar, and bia hoi (draught beer) for about 12 cents. It's fabulous.
Our Hanoi experience was a little different than Ho Chi Minh City. We opted to stay out of the museums and instead remained on the streets - wandering, getting lost, taking pictures, eating, drinking, and shopping. We spent one day on a private junk boat in Halong Bay - translated as Landing Dragon, for the footprints of the dragon that are made up of 2000 islands scattered in the bay. On the boat we had one of the freshest seafood meals I've ever tasted - i think the shrimp, crabs, and squid might have been caught while we were off on one of the islands. The drive to Halong Bay and back afforded a nice glimpse of the Hanoi suburbs and country side. Rice paddies up against rice paddies, where women spend their days bent at the waist planting the crops for the next rice harvest. Men ride past on motorbikes with live pigs strapped to the back, taking them to their undoubtedly grim fate. And there are store front cafes after store front cafes that serve only one thing: "thit cho" - um yeah, that would be puppy meat. I don't want to yuk their yum... but yuk.
In Hanoi we are staying at the Metropole Hotel - thank you dad - circa 1901. The place to stay in Hanoi for ambassadors, writers, journalists, heads of state, etc. I can only imagine the scene during the decades leading up to the war, and then throughout the 60s and 70s - the deals that must have gone down sitting in the mahogany bar by the pool, and the journalists overhearing confidential conversations while sipping their Graham Greenes ... "tram pham tram!" (that's Vietnamese for "bottoms up!"). The hotel is classic and so is Hanoi.
Tonight Nigel and I will hop on the night train to Saba - a minority village in the north, just before the Chinese border. There we will spend two days trekking with a group through the villages and terraced rice paddies. I'm sure it will be a far cry from bustling, non-stop Hanoi where everyone seems to be on the move - I'm not sure where they're going or if they ever get there, but its an endless sea of motorbikes and foot traffic here. Pauses are only taken to eat or drink. On the street in Hanoi you can get a bowl of pho (noodle soup) or bun cha (the juiciest grilled pork with noodles in a sweet broth) for a dollar, and bia hoi (draught beer) for about 12 cents. It's fabulous.
Our Hanoi experience was a little different than Ho Chi Minh City. We opted to stay out of the museums and instead remained on the streets - wandering, getting lost, taking pictures, eating, drinking, and shopping. We spent one day on a private junk boat in Halong Bay - translated as Landing Dragon, for the footprints of the dragon that are made up of 2000 islands scattered in the bay. On the boat we had one of the freshest seafood meals I've ever tasted - i think the shrimp, crabs, and squid might have been caught while we were off on one of the islands. The drive to Halong Bay and back afforded a nice glimpse of the Hanoi suburbs and country side. Rice paddies up against rice paddies, where women spend their days bent at the waist planting the crops for the next rice harvest. Men ride past on motorbikes with live pigs strapped to the back, taking them to their undoubtedly grim fate. And there are store front cafes after store front cafes that serve only one thing: "thit cho" - um yeah, that would be puppy meat. I don't want to yuk their yum... but yuk.
In Hanoi we are staying at the Metropole Hotel - thank you dad - circa 1901. The place to stay in Hanoi for ambassadors, writers, journalists, heads of state, etc. I can only imagine the scene during the decades leading up to the war, and then throughout the 60s and 70s - the deals that must have gone down sitting in the mahogany bar by the pool, and the journalists overhearing confidential conversations while sipping their Graham Greenes ... "tram pham tram!" (that's Vietnamese for "bottoms up!"). The hotel is classic and so is Hanoi.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Goodbye Bombay, Hello KL, and Good Morning Vietnaaam!
My dad told some lady that he was going to Ho Chi Minh City to meet his daughter. She replied, "Wow, when did you find out you had a daughter?"
It's been amazing having my dad on the trip with me. But allow me to backtrack for a bit...
After leaving the little village of Pushkar we headed back to Bombay. It was great to be able to give the answer "no, second" when the children on the street asked "first time Bombay?" Bombay Round Two was not quite the shock it was when I had arrived to India back on January 3rd - a month traveling the country made me a little immune to certain sights and smells, and I was able to take in the city without those distractions. However I didn't have much time because midnight of our second day we flew to Kuala Lumpur, capitol of Malaysia.
KL was the perfect meat to my India Vietnam sandwich - the city is a true melting pot of Southeast Asia and India, the food, the people, the culture. It turns out that Malaysians are, and I quote from Let's Go, "obsessed with inter-racial marriage." This obviously lends itself to great fusion cuisine, and you only have to go to the hawker on the corner to get some of it. The city itself reminded me of a rundown Singapore - KL didn't have that squeaky clean, new car feeling, but like Singapore there was no sense of a single native culture. Plus, I think the level of obsession with inter-racial marriages could only be matched by the obsession with malls - very much like Singapore. So shop we did. I shopped and ate my way through Kuala Lumpur, pausing just for a moment to take the local bus out of the city to the Batu Caves.
The Caves are at the top of a mountain, 272 steps up, and are home to various Hindu temples and shrines. I climbed the steps with barefooted Hindus who had shaved and covered their heads in white powder for the festival that falls in January and February. Offerings of flowers and oranges are laid in front of the statues of the gods, incense is lit, and men pierce their bodies and connect themselves with chains to the walls of the caves. I didn't understand a thing.
On my last day in KL I had time for a quick breakfast of rice noodles in a peanut chili sauce, and then we were off to Vietnam...
I leaped out of my seat at the hotel bar when I saw my dad walk into the lobby, it's really nice having a piece of home with me for a week. And it's especially nice to have my dad with me in Vietnam, a place of so much importance and impact on his life; my visit to the War Remnants Museum - originally named the American War Crimes Museum - would not have been the same without him. I mean I was looking at these photographs of American GIs, men - and boys barely men - that could have been my dad or his brother. I'm looking at these photos, and watching my dad look at these photos - recognizing some from the pages of Life - and it was just something I can't put into words.
So my dad's been teaching me a few things about the Vietnam War and I've been teaching him a thing or two about bargaining. Like when you offer 100,000 dong for a set of salad forks and the man says no and types 60,000 on the calculator, you don't argue with him.
In between the museums and markets I've been eating well. Obviously. However maybe I should rephrase that: In between meals we've seen a few museums and markets. Yep that's more like it... Anyway, we've been slurping up bowls of pho and bon tham bi and cannot help but compare them to the pho and bon tham bi back in Philly - Little Saigon of Upper Darby still reigns supreme. And speaking of noodles, it's time to go get some ...
Tomorrow we fly to Hanoi.
It's been amazing having my dad on the trip with me. But allow me to backtrack for a bit...
After leaving the little village of Pushkar we headed back to Bombay. It was great to be able to give the answer "no, second" when the children on the street asked "first time Bombay?" Bombay Round Two was not quite the shock it was when I had arrived to India back on January 3rd - a month traveling the country made me a little immune to certain sights and smells, and I was able to take in the city without those distractions. However I didn't have much time because midnight of our second day we flew to Kuala Lumpur, capitol of Malaysia.
KL was the perfect meat to my India Vietnam sandwich - the city is a true melting pot of Southeast Asia and India, the food, the people, the culture. It turns out that Malaysians are, and I quote from Let's Go, "obsessed with inter-racial marriage." This obviously lends itself to great fusion cuisine, and you only have to go to the hawker on the corner to get some of it. The city itself reminded me of a rundown Singapore - KL didn't have that squeaky clean, new car feeling, but like Singapore there was no sense of a single native culture. Plus, I think the level of obsession with inter-racial marriages could only be matched by the obsession with malls - very much like Singapore. So shop we did. I shopped and ate my way through Kuala Lumpur, pausing just for a moment to take the local bus out of the city to the Batu Caves.
The Caves are at the top of a mountain, 272 steps up, and are home to various Hindu temples and shrines. I climbed the steps with barefooted Hindus who had shaved and covered their heads in white powder for the festival that falls in January and February. Offerings of flowers and oranges are laid in front of the statues of the gods, incense is lit, and men pierce their bodies and connect themselves with chains to the walls of the caves. I didn't understand a thing.
On my last day in KL I had time for a quick breakfast of rice noodles in a peanut chili sauce, and then we were off to Vietnam...
I leaped out of my seat at the hotel bar when I saw my dad walk into the lobby, it's really nice having a piece of home with me for a week. And it's especially nice to have my dad with me in Vietnam, a place of so much importance and impact on his life; my visit to the War Remnants Museum - originally named the American War Crimes Museum - would not have been the same without him. I mean I was looking at these photographs of American GIs, men - and boys barely men - that could have been my dad or his brother. I'm looking at these photos, and watching my dad look at these photos - recognizing some from the pages of Life - and it was just something I can't put into words.
So my dad's been teaching me a few things about the Vietnam War and I've been teaching him a thing or two about bargaining. Like when you offer 100,000 dong for a set of salad forks and the man says no and types 60,000 on the calculator, you don't argue with him.
In between the museums and markets I've been eating well. Obviously. However maybe I should rephrase that: In between meals we've seen a few museums and markets. Yep that's more like it... Anyway, we've been slurping up bowls of pho and bon tham bi and cannot help but compare them to the pho and bon tham bi back in Philly - Little Saigon of Upper Darby still reigns supreme. And speaking of noodles, it's time to go get some ...
Tomorrow we fly to Hanoi.
Monday, January 29, 2007
The Sounds
I think I packed pretty well for this trip. For a typical over-packer I knew the backpack would be a challenge for me, but there has really been no issue, I haven't missed an article of clothing, or wished for an overlooked toilitry. (Actually not true - last night I had a serious wanting for Fabreze or some sort of disinifectant spray. A mental note I took down for next time.)
The one item that I regret not buying before this trip is for sure a tape recorder though. The sounds of India are souvenirs I'll bring home but I'm afriad will fade after a while.
I'm in Pushkar now. A small village in the state of Rajastahn, about 3 hours from Jaiper. Pushkar is a rurul town that caters to travelers so it really doesn't feel all that rural. The village is situated around a holy lake, making it a pilgramage village, so Pushkar also caters to the pilgrams who come to bathe in the holy waters. It's all-veg and dry (that means no beer or liquor - it's detox time). And a really wonderful place to spend a couple days doing absolutely nothing but lounging on the beds and swings at the rooftop restaurants reading a good book. There's a great bazaar with lots of beautiful silver and textiles that is easy to get lost in for a few hours as well.
I woke up early this morning. The sounds of the AM are familiar to me now: random moos from strolling cows; beeps from the motorbikes - even when there's no one else on the roads, just out of habit I guess - oh and no cars in the center of Pushkar, there's no room for them with all the backpackers, pilgrims, cows, and wedding parades; high pitched Hindi chatter from uniformed children walking to school carrying silver tins filled with Thali; bicycle bells; metal grates going up as the stalls open for the day (which reminds me of New York); and the one sound that I could really do without - the spitting, some Indians have the habit of spitting all the time, and it becomes an entire production of sucking in to gather all the phlem at the back of the throat, rolling it around to get it cocked in the proper position in the mouth, and spitting it at bullet speed through pierced lips. Some, with I guess larger phlem build up that maybe rises from the lungs, sound as though they are actually vomiting. This I would maybe leave out of the fantasized tape recording.
(Side bar: I guess I shouldn't really be calling it a tape recording anymore... a little out of date ... anyway)
It's wedding season in India now, and throughout the day in Jaiper and here in Pushkar I am not reminded of it more. The brass bands squawk down the streets in dusty band uniforms, grooms ride sparkly horses, women in their separate parades wear the most beautiful saris and sing traditional wedding songs. Fireworks go off all evening, and big parties running on generators because in Pushkar the power goes out all the time. Nigel and I haven't crashed any of the wedding parties yet, but we're in talks - working out proper toasts and such.
Back in Delhi, the sounds of the bazaar surrounding my hotel were the most haunting. I'm sure if I spoke Hindi the calls of hawkers sellings tomatos, beans, carrots, bananas, oranges, and pomegranites wouldn't sound so chilling. But "apple" in a foreign language, repeated in a foreign tone is really quite creepy. Take my word for it.
As I head back to my hotel to get some breakfast (banana honey pancakes that are an "eggless wonder" - oh yeah no eggs in Pushkar either, practically vegan here - and a chai tea) I'll weave between cows and motorbikes as the men in the shops call out, "Yes, good price. Just look. It's free to look!"
The one item that I regret not buying before this trip is for sure a tape recorder though. The sounds of India are souvenirs I'll bring home but I'm afriad will fade after a while.
I'm in Pushkar now. A small village in the state of Rajastahn, about 3 hours from Jaiper. Pushkar is a rurul town that caters to travelers so it really doesn't feel all that rural. The village is situated around a holy lake, making it a pilgramage village, so Pushkar also caters to the pilgrams who come to bathe in the holy waters. It's all-veg and dry (that means no beer or liquor - it's detox time). And a really wonderful place to spend a couple days doing absolutely nothing but lounging on the beds and swings at the rooftop restaurants reading a good book. There's a great bazaar with lots of beautiful silver and textiles that is easy to get lost in for a few hours as well.
I woke up early this morning. The sounds of the AM are familiar to me now: random moos from strolling cows; beeps from the motorbikes - even when there's no one else on the roads, just out of habit I guess - oh and no cars in the center of Pushkar, there's no room for them with all the backpackers, pilgrims, cows, and wedding parades; high pitched Hindi chatter from uniformed children walking to school carrying silver tins filled with Thali; bicycle bells; metal grates going up as the stalls open for the day (which reminds me of New York); and the one sound that I could really do without - the spitting, some Indians have the habit of spitting all the time, and it becomes an entire production of sucking in to gather all the phlem at the back of the throat, rolling it around to get it cocked in the proper position in the mouth, and spitting it at bullet speed through pierced lips. Some, with I guess larger phlem build up that maybe rises from the lungs, sound as though they are actually vomiting. This I would maybe leave out of the fantasized tape recording.
(Side bar: I guess I shouldn't really be calling it a tape recording anymore... a little out of date ... anyway)
It's wedding season in India now, and throughout the day in Jaiper and here in Pushkar I am not reminded of it more. The brass bands squawk down the streets in dusty band uniforms, grooms ride sparkly horses, women in their separate parades wear the most beautiful saris and sing traditional wedding songs. Fireworks go off all evening, and big parties running on generators because in Pushkar the power goes out all the time. Nigel and I haven't crashed any of the wedding parties yet, but we're in talks - working out proper toasts and such.
Back in Delhi, the sounds of the bazaar surrounding my hotel were the most haunting. I'm sure if I spoke Hindi the calls of hawkers sellings tomatos, beans, carrots, bananas, oranges, and pomegranites wouldn't sound so chilling. But "apple" in a foreign language, repeated in a foreign tone is really quite creepy. Take my word for it.
As I head back to my hotel to get some breakfast (banana honey pancakes that are an "eggless wonder" - oh yeah no eggs in Pushkar either, practically vegan here - and a chai tea) I'll weave between cows and motorbikes as the men in the shops call out, "Yes, good price. Just look. It's free to look!"
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Golden Triangle
(( Ugh... power outage lost what I just wrote... this one might be half-ass... ))
I'm in Jaiper now. I've been to Bangalore, Delhi, and Agra since the last blog. It's been a little while... not that long though, just moving quick.
Bangalore was interesting, it was like a little bit of Europe in India. Or an Indian version of Europe. Or a third world Paris, if you could imagine such a thing. There was a nice botanical garden in the middle of town that offered some escape from the honking traffic, we strolled through here, people watched, and visited the "government aquarium" that is housed in the middle of the park. After paying the entrance fee we learned the "government aquarium" was merely a few small fish tanks arranged in a semi-circle with labels taped to the tops: "Guppy" and "Gold Fish" were some of the exotic fish featured here.
On to Delhi: Delhi was... very much a capital city. It had a bit of a DC feel to it in parts - the newer parts. Old Delhi looked more like sections of Bombay, crumbling buildings, tiny shops, and lots of cooking on the street. Oh and cows. Everywhere. Ya know Paris and dog poo, well in Delhi you have to look out for cow poo; and it comes in puddle size. In Delhi we saw some old ruins and temples,and shops that our rick driver thought would be of interest to us. However, I wasn't born yesterday, and was keen to these rick tricks thanks to my experience in Bangkok... but.. our rick driver was really nice so we appeased him and went to three shops where he received three coupons, each for a full tank of gas. And some commission from Nigel's rug purchase.
We drove from Delhi to Agra, about 4 hours southwest past sprawling farms and small villages. We stopped twice: once at a rest stop that a clown flagged us in to, and then again at a huge white marble temple that popped up out of no where. This place was a little different,they didn't lay claim to any one religion, prayed to their grand master guru, and preached vegetarianism. But the real eyebrow raising thing about this place was the small basement temple that was lined with neon track lighting - you can check out the pic on facebook.
Once in Agra we found a small budget hotel with a great rooftop restaurant with a view of the Taj Mahal. We wondered around the small streets of the Taj Ganj area that night and came across a wedding parade that consisted of the groom and his nephew both adorned in sparkly textiles, both atop a horse who was just as sparkly.
And both looking really bored as they rode through the streets escorted by a brass band and small boys carrying bright lanterns bigger than them. The next morning we planned our day while having breakfast on our roof facing the taj. We learned that most everything in Agra has to do with the Taj - we hired a rick to take us around for the day, he took us to see the "baby taj" (built 35 years before and with better craftsmenship says the driver), the view of the taj from across the river, a shop that sold mini taj's, a marble factory where mosiac inlay was done just as it was done on the Taj, and then finally after all that anticipation we saw her for sunset. As the sun goes down, the Taj Mahal changes from bright white to pink to orange to a hazy shade of grayish blue. It's really quite spectacular; it's kind of so perfect that my pictures look as though I'm standing in front of a green screen and I've inserted the Taj digitally.
The next afternoon we boarded the bus to Jaiper - a short six hour ride past more farms and villages, and what felt like miles of brick-making plants - a weird contrast between the green landscape and the brick smokestacks. Yesterday we walked through the old city, all of the buildings are done in red sandstone which gives Jaiper its nickname of The Pink City. For sunset we went to the monkey temple a few miles outside of the city. It's a series of old temples built into the mountains where hundreds of monkeys live. I bought some peanuts and made some friends. It's so creepy seeing the monkeys up close in their natural habitat - they don't feel like animals, more like little people the way they move and behave; the way they took the peanut from my hand, and then grabbed the entire bag when they were impatient with me. At sunset every day two men come down in their car and toss out bananas, before I could even see the car the monkeys knew it was time. Hundreds gathered at the bottom of the road and waited for supper. It was amazing to watch them peel and eat the bananas, there was a clear hierarchy of who ate more. The blog does not do it justice, it was one of the coolest things ever. I swear.
Anyway, taking it easy today, might go see a bollywood movie tonight. Then we go to pushkar in the morning.
I'm in Jaiper now. I've been to Bangalore, Delhi, and Agra since the last blog. It's been a little while... not that long though, just moving quick.
Bangalore was interesting, it was like a little bit of Europe in India. Or an Indian version of Europe. Or a third world Paris, if you could imagine such a thing. There was a nice botanical garden in the middle of town that offered some escape from the honking traffic, we strolled through here, people watched, and visited the "government aquarium" that is housed in the middle of the park. After paying the entrance fee we learned the "government aquarium" was merely a few small fish tanks arranged in a semi-circle with labels taped to the tops: "Guppy" and "Gold Fish" were some of the exotic fish featured here.
On to Delhi: Delhi was... very much a capital city. It had a bit of a DC feel to it in parts - the newer parts. Old Delhi looked more like sections of Bombay, crumbling buildings, tiny shops, and lots of cooking on the street. Oh and cows. Everywhere. Ya know Paris and dog poo, well in Delhi you have to look out for cow poo; and it comes in puddle size. In Delhi we saw some old ruins and temples,and shops that our rick driver thought would be of interest to us. However, I wasn't born yesterday, and was keen to these rick tricks thanks to my experience in Bangkok... but.. our rick driver was really nice so we appeased him and went to three shops where he received three coupons, each for a full tank of gas. And some commission from Nigel's rug purchase.
We drove from Delhi to Agra, about 4 hours southwest past sprawling farms and small villages. We stopped twice: once at a rest stop that a clown flagged us in to, and then again at a huge white marble temple that popped up out of no where. This place was a little different,they didn't lay claim to any one religion, prayed to their grand master guru, and preached vegetarianism. But the real eyebrow raising thing about this place was the small basement temple that was lined with neon track lighting - you can check out the pic on facebook.
Once in Agra we found a small budget hotel with a great rooftop restaurant with a view of the Taj Mahal. We wondered around the small streets of the Taj Ganj area that night and came across a wedding parade that consisted of the groom and his nephew both adorned in sparkly textiles, both atop a horse who was just as sparkly.
And both looking really bored as they rode through the streets escorted by a brass band and small boys carrying bright lanterns bigger than them. The next morning we planned our day while having breakfast on our roof facing the taj. We learned that most everything in Agra has to do with the Taj - we hired a rick to take us around for the day, he took us to see the "baby taj" (built 35 years before and with better craftsmenship says the driver), the view of the taj from across the river, a shop that sold mini taj's, a marble factory where mosiac inlay was done just as it was done on the Taj, and then finally after all that anticipation we saw her for sunset. As the sun goes down, the Taj Mahal changes from bright white to pink to orange to a hazy shade of grayish blue. It's really quite spectacular; it's kind of so perfect that my pictures look as though I'm standing in front of a green screen and I've inserted the Taj digitally.
The next afternoon we boarded the bus to Jaiper - a short six hour ride past more farms and villages, and what felt like miles of brick-making plants - a weird contrast between the green landscape and the brick smokestacks. Yesterday we walked through the old city, all of the buildings are done in red sandstone which gives Jaiper its nickname of The Pink City. For sunset we went to the monkey temple a few miles outside of the city. It's a series of old temples built into the mountains where hundreds of monkeys live. I bought some peanuts and made some friends. It's so creepy seeing the monkeys up close in their natural habitat - they don't feel like animals, more like little people the way they move and behave; the way they took the peanut from my hand, and then grabbed the entire bag when they were impatient with me. At sunset every day two men come down in their car and toss out bananas, before I could even see the car the monkeys knew it was time. Hundreds gathered at the bottom of the road and waited for supper. It was amazing to watch them peel and eat the bananas, there was a clear hierarchy of who ate more. The blog does not do it justice, it was one of the coolest things ever. I swear.
Anyway, taking it easy today, might go see a bollywood movie tonight. Then we go to pushkar in the morning.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Kerela
Tonight I will be in Bangalore and sleeping in a proper bedroom for the first time in three nights.
From Goa, Nigel and I took the overnight train to Cochin, Kerela. First class didn't exist on this train, and second class AC was sold out, so third AC all the way... It wasn't so bad though, just a big car with beds lining the walls. Waiting on the platform for the train to arrive we met an older British couple who we later saw twice more throughout our Kerela trip, and two young guys both traveling alone - one offered up some Valium seeing that we were all a little bugged out, not knowing what to expect from the third class sleeper car, (so cheers* to George from England). Sleeping just across from us were two other travelers from just outside London, we decided to pair up with them and get a hotel together the next night in Cochin. The sleep that night on the train was fine, but I awoke to what seemed to be sudden chaos, but was only the morning routine on the train - loud Hindi chatter, and vendors walking up and down the coaches selling drinks and breakfast. In that deep, nasally tone that only vendors can do so well: "Chai, chai" "Coffeeeee" and "Samoosas! Samoosas!"
Cochin seemed like a nice town from what we saw of it - only having less than 24 hours we made it to the Dutch Palace and Port Cochin to see the Chinese fishing nets. We had a pretty good dinner at a Lonely Planet recommended restaurant with Fin and Jackie - our London friends - and then drinks at a rooftop bar around the corner. It overlooked a stadium that looked as though it was setting up for some big concert and just next to that was a dumpster and trash pile, that was almost as high as the stadium, where the tallest cows I've ever seen we're having their dinner. I swear they were massive - i wanted to take a picture but was afraid the flash would piss them off, and I didn't want to do that. Nigel said that they were just normal cows, that I was just seeing them up close, "city girl," but I still think they were weirdly huge.
The next morning we drove down to Alleppey where we boarded our houseboat and met our guide Biju. The backwaters of Kerela are listed as one of the "1000 sites to see before you die" and now I know why. One of the most beautiful landscapes I think I'll ever see: Rice fields that go on for acres and are a color green Crayola couldn't duplicate. Many parts of the fields are flooded, depending on the stage of harvesting, and in these the duck herders bring the ducks to feed off of the bad rice. Duck herders?? Have you ever?? It's great, they make these noises that tell the ducks where to go and when. Little villages pop up along the banks too, and for every village there is at least one, usually two, Hindu temples. These past two days happened to fall in the middle of a 10 day Hindu festival - where the religious leaders spend the day reading, explaining what they've read, and singing Hindu songs over loud speakers so everyone in the village can listen while they work in the fields, markets, etc. So as we cruised south on the backwaters the sounds of Hindi chanting followed us, echoing 360 in more densely populated areas.
All meals were served on board - some of the best curries I've ever tasted (pineapple curry, have you ever??), and little side dishes like chili mango salad and beet root, everything included some different form of coconut - even the french fries, which they called finger chips, were fried in coconut oil. And you could tell.
Floating down the backwaters we would often pass another houseboat or two - one of which was carrying that older English couple from the train platform, we waved and then realized who they were and waved harder. For the three days spent on the boat, it was like three days sitting on the back of a convertible riding in a parade: kids run to the banks and wave and shout "Nice to meet you! Nice to meet you!" Ladies doing their daily laundry in the river would stop to watch us float by.
Midway through the trip the water changed from fresh to salt, leaving the rice fields behind. We were entering the fishing villages now. Chinese fishing nets lined the banks, and our second night was spent anchored amongst them. The nets are worked all during the night, they attach a light to the top which attracts the shrimp into the net. Every 15 minutes I could hear the creaking of one of the nets and could tell if it was going up or down by the direction of the light. A successful catch was met with the sounds of flopping in a plastic bucket.
It was a good thing Biju had mentioned the tradition of the Hindu festival, because when I was woken up at 5:20am to the sounds of Hindu chanting coming from both sides of the river, up and down stream, I knew I hadn't just woken up in some weird Bollywood horror movie. Nigel goes, "ya hear that? it's like outta Deliverance." But daylight came and the chanting seemed to rest for a bit while everyone was having breakfast I guess. Then it was cruise down the river a bit more until we reached our docking point and jumped into a rick that took us to the train station, where we hopped the train that the older British couple was riding, that took us back to Cochin.
Flight tonight to Bangalore, where all the call centers are located, so you can think of me while you're sitting on hold for 20 minutes. :)
From Goa, Nigel and I took the overnight train to Cochin, Kerela. First class didn't exist on this train, and second class AC was sold out, so third AC all the way... It wasn't so bad though, just a big car with beds lining the walls. Waiting on the platform for the train to arrive we met an older British couple who we later saw twice more throughout our Kerela trip, and two young guys both traveling alone - one offered up some Valium seeing that we were all a little bugged out, not knowing what to expect from the third class sleeper car, (so cheers* to George from England). Sleeping just across from us were two other travelers from just outside London, we decided to pair up with them and get a hotel together the next night in Cochin. The sleep that night on the train was fine, but I awoke to what seemed to be sudden chaos, but was only the morning routine on the train - loud Hindi chatter, and vendors walking up and down the coaches selling drinks and breakfast. In that deep, nasally tone that only vendors can do so well: "Chai, chai" "Coffeeeee" and "Samoosas! Samoosas!"
Cochin seemed like a nice town from what we saw of it - only having less than 24 hours we made it to the Dutch Palace and Port Cochin to see the Chinese fishing nets. We had a pretty good dinner at a Lonely Planet recommended restaurant with Fin and Jackie - our London friends - and then drinks at a rooftop bar around the corner. It overlooked a stadium that looked as though it was setting up for some big concert and just next to that was a dumpster and trash pile, that was almost as high as the stadium, where the tallest cows I've ever seen we're having their dinner. I swear they were massive - i wanted to take a picture but was afraid the flash would piss them off, and I didn't want to do that. Nigel said that they were just normal cows, that I was just seeing them up close, "city girl," but I still think they were weirdly huge.
The next morning we drove down to Alleppey where we boarded our houseboat and met our guide Biju. The backwaters of Kerela are listed as one of the "1000 sites to see before you die" and now I know why. One of the most beautiful landscapes I think I'll ever see: Rice fields that go on for acres and are a color green Crayola couldn't duplicate. Many parts of the fields are flooded, depending on the stage of harvesting, and in these the duck herders bring the ducks to feed off of the bad rice. Duck herders?? Have you ever?? It's great, they make these noises that tell the ducks where to go and when. Little villages pop up along the banks too, and for every village there is at least one, usually two, Hindu temples. These past two days happened to fall in the middle of a 10 day Hindu festival - where the religious leaders spend the day reading, explaining what they've read, and singing Hindu songs over loud speakers so everyone in the village can listen while they work in the fields, markets, etc. So as we cruised south on the backwaters the sounds of Hindi chanting followed us, echoing 360 in more densely populated areas.
All meals were served on board - some of the best curries I've ever tasted (pineapple curry, have you ever??), and little side dishes like chili mango salad and beet root, everything included some different form of coconut - even the french fries, which they called finger chips, were fried in coconut oil. And you could tell.
Floating down the backwaters we would often pass another houseboat or two - one of which was carrying that older English couple from the train platform, we waved and then realized who they were and waved harder. For the three days spent on the boat, it was like three days sitting on the back of a convertible riding in a parade: kids run to the banks and wave and shout "Nice to meet you! Nice to meet you!" Ladies doing their daily laundry in the river would stop to watch us float by.
Midway through the trip the water changed from fresh to salt, leaving the rice fields behind. We were entering the fishing villages now. Chinese fishing nets lined the banks, and our second night was spent anchored amongst them. The nets are worked all during the night, they attach a light to the top which attracts the shrimp into the net. Every 15 minutes I could hear the creaking of one of the nets and could tell if it was going up or down by the direction of the light. A successful catch was met with the sounds of flopping in a plastic bucket.
It was a good thing Biju had mentioned the tradition of the Hindu festival, because when I was woken up at 5:20am to the sounds of Hindu chanting coming from both sides of the river, up and down stream, I knew I hadn't just woken up in some weird Bollywood horror movie. Nigel goes, "ya hear that? it's like outta Deliverance." But daylight came and the chanting seemed to rest for a bit while everyone was having breakfast I guess. Then it was cruise down the river a bit more until we reached our docking point and jumped into a rick that took us to the train station, where we hopped the train that the older British couple was riding, that took us back to Cochin.
Flight tonight to Bangalore, where all the call centers are located, so you can think of me while you're sitting on hold for 20 minutes. :)
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