Nile Sprague Journal: India 2003

Nile Sprague Online Journal: India

Funny Things I Read

- Garbage cans throughout the city of Kanyakamary with the words "DUST PIN" carefully stenciled on the front.

- A store selling toilets with a banner at the top reading "4-year warranty: world cup to world cup."

- A billboard along the side of the road with a large photo of a maroon western style toilet, the words "Bring a bit of glamour into your life" below.

- The drinks page of the menu had the title "Dring Coketal"

- The menu at the train station cafeteria listed "Tea in 'D' Cup"

- The menu at the restaurant offered "Veg Speng Rulls" (vegetarian spring rolls).

- Outside the rooms at a bed and breakfast the word "MENU" was painted on the wall with "Chai: 5, Coffee: 6" listed below. Coffee was crossed out.

Calcutta, West Bengal, India
February 6, 2003

Street People

Earlier this evening I walked down the street outside my hotel towards the main road. On one particular block the sidewalk was quite wide. There was a hand water pump, and a little ways away an open urinal that drained into the gutter along the street. There were about fifteen people living here on the street. Women were cooking and washing dishes, and children were playing. There were only a few men. Two people were sleeping, wrapped in blankets. Their possessions were in cloth bags, spread out near the walls of the buildings. The people were spread out on the sidewalk. It felt a bit like their living room. I suppose it was.

Calcutta, West Bengal, India
February 5, 2003

Street Food

It was about 1:30 PM. The street was very busy. Indians crowded the food stalls along the edge, congesting the sidewalk as they ate hot food with their hands. The food being offered included fried breads, curries, samosas, and Chinese style stir-fried noodles. Low stalls, about a foot off the ground, were selling puffed rice, masala flavored crispy noodles, and pea-nuts. Others had cucumbers, already peeled for eating, and green and red grapes in tall stacks.

The air was hazy with pollution and I could taste it as I inhaled. As I walked by the food stalls I smelled something frying. Then a strong smell of garlic and spices hit. I got a whiff of propane from the burners cooking the food, and then smelled the strong odor of burning tobacco as I passed someone smoking a cigarette.

Beside me was a busy street, wide enough for three lanes of traffic on each side, with no painted lines. In the middle was a high divider of corrugated tin. The street was busy with buses, scooters, rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, and bicycles. Horns blared as the traffic chaotically wove down the street, spewing gray exhaust.

It was stressful to walk on the sidewalk. I had to zig and zag around the people milling at the food stalls. The environment was lively and energetic. People were smiling and talking as they ate. I finally cleared the crowd of people. The sour smell of wood smoke hit my nostrils, and then faded away. I was back to the polluted air.

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Bollywood Cinema

This evening I went to the cinema to see a Bollywood film. It was a love story about a man conned by the woman he loves into killing her husband so that she can be with another lover. In the end she shot the hero, the man she had conned. He was still alive. She came to him and kissed him and told him she loved him. As they kissed he took the gun and shot her, killing her immediately. He then drove to the end of a pier on the ocean and died as the sun set. The hero and heroine were beautiful actors. The woman was stunning, with a beautiful face and large, magnificent eyes. She wore tight dresses of either solid black or white, strung over one shoulder. The man was a little rough, always wearing about 2 days worth of stubble on his beard, but handsome, and fit. He wore stylish, relaxed clothes or tight sleeve-less shirts.

The film was all in Hindi with no subtitles. I would catch the occasional English words, like "Hi," and "Goodbye." And English was used for some of the most important dialogue, like the heroine saying, "I love you," or the hero saying, "It's over!" But beyond this I was oblivious to what was actually said. During long periods of dialogue I studied the actor's faces. However, despite the language barrier, the plot was not difficult to follow.

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Street Procession

When I emerged from the theater I heard drumming down the street and saw flashing blue and white lights. I walked quickly towards the noise and found a procession going down the street. In the back was a man pushing a tricycle carrying a running generator. This was connected by a cable to a car in front. It was a white convertible covered with fresh flowers and strung with flashing fairy lights. It looked very nice. In the back sat several Indian men with dramatic face-paint and small brim-less maroon hats with little yellow feathers. One man stood out to me - he seemed the most dressed up and was a little taller than the others. Around the men sat many children, dressed up, but not with face-paint and costume.

Before the car was a group of people dancing, and musicians playing drums. The musicians were dressed with the same face-paint and hat. Across from them was a line of five girls dancing. They were all young, with long straight-black hair and blue dresses. They were awkward and didn't really seem to know what they were doing. As I looked closely at their faces I noticed masculinity the jaw-lines and noses.

In front of the car was another tricycle and generator following as large lighted display. It was a 2-dimensional pattern of 1-inch circular multi-colored lights in a circle about ten feet tall. They flashed in series.

At the front of the procession was another group of men dancing, musicians drumming and dancing and playing around (also in costume). However, no dancing girls. They led the way, turning a corner at the end of the street.

I stood on the sidewalk watching as the procession passed. After they had gone I asked another spectator what the procession was about. He didn't speak much English, but I thought I heard him say, "Wedding." I said, "Marriage," and he nodded. I tried to ask another question, but he didn't understand. He smiled and pointed to a different man, asking in Hindi if he spoke English. The other man told me it was the bridegroom on his way to the wedding. I checked my watch. It was 10:30 PM.

Train Ride ñ Hospet to Vijayawada
March 2, 2003

Yesterday when I boarded the train it was roasting hot in our carriage. It was 5:00 PM and the many fans along the roof seemed to make little difference to the heat. The air was stagnant. When the train stopped at a station the air became stifling. I sat reading and sweated uncomfortably. The plastic s3eat was hot and irritating, my pants wet with sweat. In the background I could hear cheering - someone had just scored in the India vs. Pakistan cricket game. A man a few seats up was pressed against the window of the train with a small radio against his ear, trying to improve his reception of the game. A man started singing an excited chant, probably a prayer. People were clapping with the rhythm, and when he finished they gave warm applause.

Dark came and the florescent overhead lights flickered on. The temperature cooled, but only slightly. A man came around taking food orders. I ordered chicken biryani. It arrived about an hour and a half later, presumably delivered at one of the train stations where we stopped. The chicken had hardly any meat on it and was difficult to eat, but I enjoyed the spicy sauce that came with it, poured over my rice. When I finished I dumped the cardboard, plastic bag, tin foil, and plastic cup out the train window onto the track, as I had seen Indians do before me.

It came time for bed and I climbed up to my top-level bunk, pushed my backpack against the wall and curled up, my feet hanging off the end of the bunk. I was uncomfortable: I felt dirty, my mouth was dry, and my hands felt swollen. I reached for my water bottle and took a sip. It was not good water ñ it tasted stale. I lay for several hours before I nodded off to sleep. I woke in the morning and lay on my bunk, feeling uncomfortable and slightly claustrophobic. One of the friends I was traveling with came and told me we were about to arrive ñ I needed to get ready to get off the train. 12 hours after boarding we arrived in Vijayawada and disembarked. It was 5:30 in the morning. We stood in front of the station with our heavy backpacks, comparing notes from our guidebooks about the different hotel choices.

I felt terrible. My face was sweaty and dirty and I had a few pimples starting. My body was sticky with sweat, and tired from lack of sleep. My teeth were scratchy because I had not brushed them. I had to go to the toilet. My mind was spacey and I felt light-headed. I just wanted to go to the hotel, go to the toilet, and take a shower. And eat breakfast.

It took another hour before we found a good hotel. And when we finally did, I decided to sit here and write this instead of taking a shower, bathed in grubbiness, to preserve the details and subtleties of how I felt.

March 1, 2003
Photo Prints, Hampi, Karnataka, India.

I got all my film printed. 13 rolls from 2 months. It was a massive pile of prints. And took ages to put into albums. The printing was pretty lousy ñ lots of spots and hairs on the prints. But it was very exciting to see my pictures. I had a few that were really good and I hoped to sell. People were fascinated with the photos, crowding around and taking the time to go through all the albums. One Indian boy of about 5 years old went through very slowly and seriously, and when finished returned to one of the albums with his favorite picture: a portrait of a beautiful woman from the Maldives.

I sorted through the pictures, removing the really bad ones. The ones that were blurry, too dark, or bad versions of duplicate shots were rejected. I collected them together, a stack of about 200 prints. I threw them away in my hotel room. On the last day after we ch3ecked out the cleaning lady cleaned the room and retrieved the prints from the trash. As we sat out front waiting for our taxi I saw her sit down on the packed mud, cow-shit ground in front of the hotel. She had the stack of reject prints in front of her. She slowly sorted through them, fascinated with the pictures. Another hotel worker walked passed and she held u a photo for him to see. I felt a little awkward and worried. What would she do with my reject prints? Would she have a blurry photo of me with a bad expression on my face and my hand waving in the foreground of the picture hanging on her wall?

As I sat there thinking all this, I started writing, and wrote what you have just read. When I looked back up she was gone, with the prints.

Artificial Lake, Hampi, Karnataka
February 26, 2003

The landscape was mostly rocks with yellow orange gravely dirt underneath. I couldnít see far, low rocky ridges surrounding. A long dam wall covered one end of the large man-made lake. I sat on a large boulder coming out of the water. Three Israeliís sat with my friend Marco (Switzerland) and I. They spoke mostly in Hebrew. The Red Hot Chilli Peppers Californication played on small portable speakers from a rock near us. Three Indians were with us, two of them selling chai, beer, soft drinks, and chips, the other just hanging out, rolling spliffs and partaking of the chellum being passed around.

The sun was low on the horizon, nearing the rocky ridge of mountains. The water was dark green and very deep. I wanted to dive in, but visibility was poor. The water was warm on top, but my toes could feel the colder water below. I swam deep with my eyes open to look out for rocks. The water was cold and deep. I swam back to the surface, a little nervous. Itís hard for me to relax in deep water. I paddle my hands to keep afloat, my breath quick.

I swam back to the rock and sat in the sun, sipping a warm King Fisher as the sun set behind the rocks. The Chilli Peppers ended and I put on Pink Floydís The Dark Side of the Moon. As the light faded we sat on the warm rocks, mostly silent. Two people were working on sawing and filing coconuts into little bowls. I could her a few crickets chirping, mixed with the rasping of the file and saw, and the music.

There was a distinct line about 15 feet up the boulders all along the lake, at the same height as the wall of the dam. Above the line the rocks were pale yellow tan, and immediately below dark gray gradually fading into lighter gray until the top of the water.

The light faded quickly. We could see the taxi drive along the dam, honking as it neared the end. One of the Indians announced that the taxi was coming and people began to pack. It was time to go. The coconut filing gradually stopped, the music was turned off, and we put on our shoes to walk back across the island through the small gap of water to the shore. Then a short walk through gravely road to the paved road where our taxi was waiting.

Thaly Fast Food
Hospet, Karnataka (near Hampi)
February 24, 2003

Today we ate in a fast food thaly place. My friend Tony (Switzerland) had a masala dosa, and I had ìmealsî, like a thaly (here they spell thaly with a ìyî not an ìiî). The masala dosa was 5 rs, the chai 3 rs, and the thaly 10 rs. The thaly came with 2 vegetable curries, sambar, dal, rice, 2 poris, and pickle. They didnít refill plates, so I went back and had another.

To get the food we first cued up to pay, then received paper tokens, and cued at the window for what you ordered - I got thaly one place and chai another. The restaurant was very busy, teaming with Indians. We were the only foreigners. We took this as a sign of good food.

To eat we stood at high tables which surrounded the different windows of the kitchen. The food I had was great - I think probably the best thaly I have had in India. It was hot and spicy, a rich variety of flavors. I enjoyed the poris very much - one of my favorite Indian breads, and the first time I had them on this trip.

After finishing my meal my lips and mouth burned a little. I walked away feeling stuffed and very happy. Awhile later I got a few spicy thaly burps.

Arombol Cliff Climb, Goa
February 18, 2003

Yesterday I climbed the rocky mountainside behind Arombol beach with Doron, an Israeli-American friend. We climbed about 300 feet and then the terrain flattened out into a plateau of dry grass with small black boulders scattered around. There were clusters of shrubs and small trees here and there.

Below us the southern beach of Arombol stretched fo4 miles into the distance. The sand was pale white with a yellow-tan tint, the waves slowly rolling in and crashing along the shore. There were some small whitecaps - the ocean was a little choppy, but mostly calm.

We stopped to take portraits with the view behind. Doron posed on a rock sticking out of the mountain into the air - it looked like the mountain dropped out behind him. First I positioned the beach behind him, and then moved and zoomed in to show a beautiful rock formation far below.

We continued our walk across the plateau, the mid-day sun immersing us in heat. I realized that I had left our bottle of water at the spot where we took portraits, but we walked on. After 10 minutes we came to the other side of the plateau and saw the jungle below. The colors were beautiful ñ an endless mixture of rich greens and varied textures created by the different leaf patterns. To our left the fresh water lake, nestled at the bottom of the jungle between mountains, bordered from the ocean by a large barrier of white sand. We found a large boulder sticking out of the mountain, looking out and admiring the view. As we swat we watched a small bright yellow passenger boat cruise across the ocean and into the shore. The passengers unloaded and the boat went out to sea a little bit where it waited. The view was magnificent. We felt great, with the sun beaming down and a light wind on our faces and in our hair.

We then followed the edge of the plateau, working back to where we started. On the way we had a great view of the ocean and rocky cliffs. The mountain dropped away quickly, white cement houses scattered along the face, getting more numerous and closer together towards the bottom, coconut palms scattered between. A path ran near the ocean, before the front-most rooms. On the other side of the path a few restaurants, also white cement, were scattered among the rocks. Along the seashore was a yellow sandy beach with large, dark gray rock formations emerging from the water. At the southern point where the path curved around the hillside was a formation of rocks with 3 sharp fingers of rock sticking into the air.

The sun baked down on our heads, our dry mouths making us think of water, of the bottle I had forgotten on the hillside. As we walked on we came to a small rustic temple. It was a low cement structure, about 3 feet high, with a peaked roof. There was a small opening in the front with the picture of a Hindu god and a garden of marigolds. Two small trees grew on the left and right of the opening, with dark green leaves and tough gray bark looking like lizard skin. I donít know where they got the water to live. Opposite the temple was a single tree, of the same kind as the other two, but grown to full maturity. The tree was about 15 feet tall and at the top if branched out into a gentle hemisphere covered in pale white flowers, like the flowers of jasmine. They looked like they would have a wonderful tropical perfume, but I could smell nothing down on the ground. The earth was so dry, I was surprised there was enough water to keep the tree alive.

We continued on, under the baking sun, stopping once more to take pictures and portraits at a beautiful vantagepoint with the palms and rocky cliffs below. Eventually we came back to the path we used to climb the mountain and found the bottle of water I had left, sitting in the sun. We took deep sips of the warm water, almost finishing the bottle, and then descended the gravely face of the mountain.

February 10, 2003
Goa, India

Goa - Shabbat

On Friday night I celebrated Shabbat at a Habbad (?) house in Arambol. The table had about 30 Israeli Jews seated, the men all wearing yamacas. A meal was served, free to anyone who wanted to join, and between each course we took a break and sung songs in Hebrew (not knowing Hebrew, I just watched). The singing was wonderful, many people had great ability, and everyone participated (I clapped my hands). The crowd was young - many people in their thirties, some with small children, but most people in their twenties. At the beginning we passed around bread, each tearing a little bit, and a cup of red wine which had been blessed. After the meal most people left, but some stayed to talk, sing, and pray. I was welcomed with open arms, and invited to return - they do a similar meal every evening, with religious teachings (in Hebrew) afterwards.

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Goa - Jewish Israelis

Arambol is filled with Jewish Israelis - they probably account for 85 percent of the tourists. The most common language heard is Hebrew, followed by English. I have made lots of Israeli friends, and I often find myself sitting around the dinner table while everyone speaks in Hebrew. At times it's nice, it gives me a break, and I have some alone time, even though I'm surrounded by friends. And at times I feel very isolated.

The Israelis are mostly 22-24 years old, have just finished their compulsory 3 years military service. I have learned many new names, which are invariably difficult for me to remember. Names like Nadav, Yaniv, Layhee, Umbal, Doran, Moran, Ishalevit, Omri, etc.

They are very comfortable, and friendly towards each other. It is like a small community, people stopping regularly to talk to each other on the street, and very friendly. Most of the people are traveling in small groups, with one good friend, but they find a larger group that they hang out with regularly. Many of them seem to just come to the beach, not seeing any more of India, comfortable in the Israeli sub-culture.

People are very interested in my homeland and my heritage. I am asked often whether I am Jewish. I answer that my mother is, and they immediately grin and say, "then you are Jewish." I usually don't mention that my mother has been a practicing Buddhist for years. People wonder how serious religion is to me, and ask if I had a Bar Mitzvah. I've also been asked several times if I have been circumcised - a little embarrassing when I'm sitting around the dinner table with 7 people I've just met.

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Yoga

I have enrolled in a five-day yoga intensive. Today was day three. Almost all of the students in the class are beginners. The class starts at 9:00 AM and goes to 1:00 or 2:00 PM. You are not allowed to eat before, so by the end of the class I am starving, have a mild headache, and feel slightly light-headed. I start in the morning with a milk coffee and a little papaya (I need something in my stomach), then walk 25 minutes down the beach to get to the yoga center, and sit down with the 30 other students, waiting for class to begin.

The type of yoga is Himalayan Iyengar Yoga. I have also heard it called "HaTa" yoga. The instructor normally teaches in Dharamsala, in Northern India, but during the winter when Dharamsala is cold and Goa is beautiful, sunny, and filled with tourists he comes south to do instruction for several months near Arambol. He has long hair and looks like an Indian, but speaks English like a Tibetan: clear and slow, and very precise. Apparently he has studied yoga for 25 years, and learned from a great master (B.K. Iyengar, I believe). His teaching is good and clear, but at times somewhat abrupt and severe, almost rude, and lacking in affirmation: he doesn't try to make you feel good - he just tries to teach. Because of the size of the class he cannot give a great deal of personal attention, but has three or four assistants on the scene the whole time. They give a lot of attention to alignment and posture, and take special care for pre-existing medical conditions. When we are doing something that could harm the back all of the people with back problems do the poses with special aids. I expressed that I have a lot of neck tensions, and that this is the place that I feel ailment most often, and along the way I have been helped to reduce the strain on my neck while doing poses, especially things such as the shoulder stand.

The center is placed among a grove of coconut trees in a beautiful location, set back 300 meters from the ocean behind a small screen of bushes. Along the side opposite the ocean is a small river. A gentle wind blows through the air, rustling the palm fronds (a very calming noise) and refreshing the body...

(I'm in a restaurant and my tali has just arrived - my first meal of the day (2:30 PM) - so I must take a break from writing)....(Okay I'm taking a mid-meal break to continue writing)

Between the center and the beach is a cluster of hotel huts (made from wooden framework, wells from woven palm fronds) and a restaurant. The wind must blow right through the place, because today I kept smelling food cooking, Indian spices wafting through the air, like cumin, and later garlic cooking in butter. My stomach was growling, and I started to salivate as I held standing poses, stretching my fingers towards the sky, my arms aching.

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Motor Bike

Ah, what fun. I rented a motorized scooter a few days ago and cruzed around the local area. I rode to the weekly Anjuna Flea Market about 20 miles away. I didn't know how to get there, so at every fork in the road I stopped and asked a local, "Anjuna?" and pointed the way I guessed I should go.

I had never driven a scooter or motorbike before in my life. And only a few weeks ago I rode on one for the first time in over 15 years. It was wonderful - to have so much freedom to explore anywhere I wanted, speeding along with the wind in my hair, leaning as I turned corners. I loved it.

I was advised by friends to get only two liters of gas just enough to make it to the market and back. On my way back I got a bit lost, mis-directed by a local, and went about 4 miles in the wrong direction. My gas gauge was broken, so I was watching the odometer, trying to gauge how much gas I had used up. I kept wondering if I should pull off and get some more gas, but my sense of adventure and thriftiness kept me pushing on. I raced along the curvy roads, leaning with the turns. I gradually neared my village, my eyes constantly between the road and the odometer. I stopped at a fruit stand and bought large papaya for 15 rupees (about $0.30 American). I was wondering if the bike would have enough gas to start again, but it did without trouble. The sun got low, and then started to set. I stopped at a high vantage point a few miles from Arambol (where I was staying) and watched the sun sink behind coconut trees, into the ocean. Again the bike started with no problem. I rode on.

Finally I came to the outskirts or Arambol - home free! As I rode through the village I saw the man who I had rented my bike from. He told me to stop so he could return my passport (security for the bike) and ride with me back to my hotel so that he would have the bike back. I waited while he fetched my passport and then he climbed on the back of the bike. I tried to start it, and it would not go. The starter kept firing, but the engine would not keep running. The owner of the bike tried, and he also could not get it to start. We lifted the seat and removed the gas cap. He rocked the bike back and forth and heard no sloshing - I was out of gas, and I had just made it. I left him there with the bike, and walked the half-mile back to my hotel.

I had such a great time. The next day I rented another scooter and went riding with an Ethiopian Israeli man who spoke hardly any English. It was his first day riding a scooter, and my second. We explored the coastline, stopping at three beaches, and returned after dark, bugs hitting our faces and getting caught in our hair as we rode.

February 8, 2003
Arambol, Goa, India

Tali at Dolphin View: Lakes Paradise, 12:00 noon

I sit at a beachside cafe at the south end of Paradise Beach in Arambol. Behind me a barren cliff covered in dry grass and spotted with dark pumice rock rises upward, its face zig-zagged with animal paths. Before me is the beach and ocean, also spotted with pumice rocks. The waves are small and the water is choppy. The color is a murky brown with hints of green.

In the air I smell garlic and other spices as my tali is being prepared, and hear first the music of Shaggy, then "That's the way, ahuh, ahuh, I like it." Now the music stops and I hear only the gentle crash of waves and the faint sounds of knives cutting, coming from the kitchen.

The floor of the restaurant is sand, surrounded by a low cement wall. The roof is made of woven palm fronds, covered by a tarp, held up by yellow painted wooden poles, secured with string. Around the outside are a few small coconut palms, apparently to small to bear any fruit (I see none).

A light breeze moves my hair slightly. Its strength picks up a bit, then dies away. I sit with my shirt open and I am not cold, not warm, just between. The temperature is mild and pleasant.

February 4, 2003
Irinjalakuda & Palakkad, Kerala, India

On the job with Sean

Sean and I just finished a five-day job in inland Kerala. During the time we stayed in the homes of 2 bishops, eating dinner with them. The food was an interesting fusion of Indian and Western, with lots of meat - we had meat with nearly every meal: mutton, chicken, and fish. Sean and I would have been happy to eat vegetarian, but we felt obliged to take the meat. The food was not spicy - for my taste it was quite bland. But it was nutritious, safe, and we got a good dose of vegetables (boiled cabbage at every dinner and often lunch as well). It was unclear whether the food was special for us, or how they normally ate.

The first day we visited a recently started center for abandoned people about 2 hours driving into a remote hilly jungle area. The center had 80 residents, all of whom fell into one of the following categories: orphans, physically and mentally handicapped, and elderly people. We met two boys aged 7 and 9 who had been abandoned by their parents and living on the streets for 5 years until they had recently been brought to the center. Two young men who were previously coconut pickers were paralyzed from the waist down after falling from palm trees, requiring cathoders to deal with their urine. Their upper bodies were fit and lean, but their legs were weak and immobile. A few elderly men and women explained that they were at the center simply because their children did not want to care for them and had abandoned them. A young woman had been kicked out of her family after getting pregnant out of wedlock, by one of her relatives. She lived at the center with her daughter.

The second day we visited a Christian school that has been running only a few years. The school provides education primarily to isolated poor children who cannot afford to pay. As a result the school is running on a shoestring budget. They are building classrooms as they are required, for that is all they can afford. They will have to build a new classroom before next school year, or the ninth graders will have no classroom. The schoolteachers are paid less than 1/3 of what is required by state law - the school must "fudge" the books in order to avoid trouble with the state. The teachers have stuck with the job in party because they are dedicated, but also because teaching jobs are very hard to find in Kerala, and they have been promised proper pay in the future, as well as a chemistry/health lab and computer lab. The school has already taken out a loan, and isn't sure where it will get the money to build the classrooms for next year.

The school had 369 kids, up to grade 8. 151 girls and 218 boys. They were dressed in smart blue and white uniforms with pale blue ties. All seemed cheerful and happy, and eager to learn. When asked what they wanted to do when they were finished with school, all expressed high aspirations, and more than half said that they wanted to help people. One girl said she wanted to be a lawyer and would help people, but take no money. I was impressed, but cynically I wondered if their compassion would endure as they matured and became aware of the rampant greed and corruption in the world.

The next day we rested, and in the evening moved to the second bishop's house.

The next day we drove for 2.5 hours to reach our destination. We started in a mini-van, driving for about an hour through flat terrain, surrounded by lush green rice paddies, coconut groves, and rubber trees. Then we began to climb a small, funky road into the mountains with a long, steep drop on one side. After 45 minutes we stopped at a Christian boarding school. We had tea and snacks with the sisters who ran the school, and then changed to an off-road vehicle, similar to a jeep. I sat in the back on a beach, a priest across from me. I watched our climb from the back of the truck, everything disappearing into the distance as I looked. Eventually we left the paved road and continued our climb on a rutted, pot-holed dirt track, averaging less than 5 miles per hour. In some ways I was glad I could only see things after we had crossed them, such as the fragile 1 lane wooden bridge, made form small un-milled trees. The foliage changed, becoming scarcer. Coconuts were uncommon, replaced by beautiful tall bamboo, covered in vines.

Our destination was an isolated village with no electricity, running water, or bus service. The nearest school was a 5 km walk. There was a monthly health clinic with free vaccinations, but this was also a 5 km walk. The people had moved from the coastal city of Cochin because land was cheap. Most had been there for 30 years. They lived on the edge of a government forest preserve, which had recently been re-surveyed. The government said that their land, for which they had full papers and titles, was within the bounds of the preserve, and the only reason they were not being removed was the presence of the church. However, they were not permitted to remove any trees, and therefore most of them could grow only shade crops among the bamboo, such as coffee and pepper. A few had enough light to grow bananas, but they said that as soon as these were ripe they would be eaten by the wild pigs, which they were not permitted to kill, because they were under to protection of the government. They also had frequent troubles with wild elephants, and occasionally tigers.

After meeting some of the villagers we watched as they celebrated Mass in a small wooden hut, the priest who had been our guide leading the service. The men were on the left, the women on the right. The prayers were said in the local language, Malayalam. After the Mass all the villagers stayed and we sat before them asking questions that were translated to Malayalam by the priest. The people described their difficulties and their lives, but they had no idea as to a solution. We also had no ideas, but this kept going through our heads: "But you own the property, you have the papers, it's yours..."

We descended the mountain, driving towards a beautiful sunset that lit the sky and cumulous clouds on fire and created beautiful silhouettes of the dark, dramatic, steep mountains towering around us, and eventually came to the luxury of the bishop's house. We enjoyed a bland meal and discussed the day and the recent space-ship crash.

Male, Maldives
Published February 3, 2003 from Palakkad, Kerala, India

I went to the Maldives and stayed for one week with a Maldivian friend I had met in Kovalam, India. His name is Mohamed Naeem - he is called by Naeem.

Everything ended up being a lot easier, and cheaper, than I had expected (see "Maldives," below, January 20th, 2003). I arrived with several litres of water because I had been told that it would cost $5.00 for a litre. This was not completely false - at the resorts things do cost this much. However, I was not staying at a resort, I was staying at my friend's house in Male. Water prices, and everything else, were quite reasonable by American standards, and tap water was chlorinated and perfectly safe to drink.

My worries about getting a permit to visit islands (see "Maldives," below) were based in on miss-understandings. The Lonely Planet guide stated that a permit would be necessary to leave the capital (commercially, politically, and socially) island of Male. My host, Naeem had told me that he lived on an island ten minutes by ferry from the airport. I falsely assumed that the airport was on the main island of Male. In truth, the airport has its own island. So, I was staying in Male, where no permit was necessary.

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The Food

The food was very good and appealed to my taste: lot's of spices, black pepper, chilies, etc. However, it was very high in protein. The main staple of every meal was Tuna, supplemented by other proteins. Generally the only carbohydrates were a few chapathis, or sweet white bread.

For breakfast I had:
- 3 egg omelet with onions
- 2 chapathis
- 6 sausages
- a pot of sweet, milky coffee
- a plate of tinned tuna fish with onions and lemon

On the evening of my arrival a special meal was prepared for me which consisted of:
- Tuna fish on kebab with black pepper
- Tuna fish in red sauce with pineapple
- Fried tuna fish
- White rice
- Salad with onions, leaves, and coconut
- Fresh papaya, mango, and another juice (small orange fruit bought earlier at the market. similar flavor to honeydew melon)

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Things to do

There was not a great deal for us to do on Male. On the first night we went out to a pool hall, which I enjoyed very much (pool is one of my favorite games, and I played regularly last summer in California, but had not played since leaving California), but we did not return.

We spent a great deal of time cruising around the island on Naeem's scooter, stopping in cafe's (often called Hotels) for coffee, orange juice, and cigarettes. Naeem and his best friend, Hussein, were prolific smokers. The coffee and orange juice were invariably sweet (unless you specifically requested no sugar), to the point that it was hard to taste the flavor of the beverage. The Maldivians really like their sugar; almost as much as tuna.

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Cigarettes: Marlboro Light Soft Pack

Marlboro Lights were Naeem's cigarette of choice - he would not smoke any other - and they had to be in a soft pack. I wanted to bring him a gift, as I was staying in his house, so I searched in India for a carton of soft pack Marlboro Lights, but after checking eight places, I still had found none. So, I settled for a carton of hard packs instead.

When I arrived I gave him his present. He didn't really react, but I could see disappointment in his eyes (he certainly didn't seem pleased or show much gratitude). The carton was placed on a shelf and went untouched as he daily bought more and more soft-packs.

It was clear immediately that he was not pleased with his present. I asked him to take me to a shop where I could buy soft pack cigarettes. His answer was always evasive: "Too late, they're closed now," or "Okay, tomorrow we will go." After five days like this it was clear that he was trying to avoid letting me get them (out of his sense of generosity, trying to not let me spend my money), so I eventually had his best friend, Hussein, take me to get them.

When we returned he seemed a little upset with his friend, but I quickly explained that it was my idea, because as the guest it was important for me to bring a gift (and cigarettes were the only thing I knew he liked). Within two days 3/4 of the carton was gone. The carton of hard packs was still untouched when I left.

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Religion

The people of the Maldives are 100 percent Muslim - no other religion is allowed by law - and Muslim belief is fundamental in all aspects of education and law. The Maldivians hold very strong beliefs about what is right and wrong, and about religion and faith. They had a hard time dealing with the idea that I do not believe in god (in fact, I usually tried to avoid the subject).

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Romance

At the forefront of the Maldivians' interest is romance. Every TV program and music video I saw was about love between a man and a woman. The conversations were generally about love, or at least the discussion of girls (I was hanging out with mostly guys).

The people were very conscious of their looks - always trying to look as cool as possible. Clothing was Western style (generally: only older people were wearing traditional Arab jalaba's, and foreigners in lungis (sarongs)) but tight, fitted to the shape of the body, reminding me of Italian style. The guys like their sunglasses - even if they did not need to wear them, they would always keep them on their heads.

The younger people were very upfront about attraction. They would commonly "cat-call" each other, making kissing sounds with their lips, or saying something in Divehi (the Maldivian language). People did not take this as offensive. The people were also completely unabashed about making eye-contact and giving a smile ore wave. Men and women felt very comfortable about making their attraction clear (but only towards the opposite gender - homosexuality is punishable by imprisonment).

The cat-calling was as common from women as from men - several times I had girls making noises as I passed, telling me I was cute, or saying something in Divehi. this is not something I am used to, so at times I did not know how to respond and felt uncomfortable. But, overall it felt good and I took it as a complement, and became more comfortable with giving a positive response.

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The look of the people: "race"

The people of the Maldives are a complex racial mix. In general they are of small stature - I was of average height, and I had much broader shoulders than most men. Skin color ranged from rich olive to dark brown. Every one had dark eyes and dark hair (except a few young men who had stylishly bleached their hair).

Racial features predominantly resembled those of Indians, but there were obvious genetic influences from the Middle East and Africa. No white-Caucasian genetic influence was evident in the people I saw - I really stood out.

The people were very beautiful. The men were lean and fit, and carefully groomed. The women were petite and very beautiful, and also well groomed.

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About the island of Male

The capital island of Male is very modernized and sanitized. Almost all the people are well dressed, well groomed, and well educated (virtually all young people speak English excellently). The few who are not dressed well are workers from Sri Lanka or India (as I was informed by my host). There were no beggars on the streets, and everything was very clean. I felt no worries of disease, and forgot many of the precautions I had adopted in India (such as don't chew my finger-nails, and washing hands at every opportunity), and was as relaxed as I am in the West.

I think it was a bit too clean for me. The house where I stayed was extremely clean and smelled of moth-balls from the sanitizing tablets in the shower drain (of the same type you get in the urinals of public restrooms). I spent a lot of the time in this house, and I also had a bad headache much of my stay. I think these were related.

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Resorts

For my last night I had the resort experience. I went to a resort called Paradise Island, owned by Villa Resorts who also run Fun Island, Holiday Island, Sun Island, and Royal Island. Each of these is a beautiful, uninhabited, pristine island surrounded by white beaches and corral reefs, fitting the picture of desert island paradise which I thought only existed in the imagination.

To get there I took a high speed luxury boat for three and a half hours. The whole island was filled with Italians - the owner had made some exclusive arrangement with an Italian tour operator. I was the exception because my friends knew someone who worked at the resort and could get me in. I felt isolated because most of the guests knew each other previously, and I did not speak Italian.

The island was purely a resort, with no long-term inhabitants other than the staff. It was small - I could walk all the way around in 20 minutes. The interior of the island was populated with one story luxury rooms with hot running water (my first hot shower in one month), bath-tubs and full western bathrooms, refrigerators, satellite television, and a porch facing the ocean, with jungle plants as a privacy screen. The rooms were interspersed with beautiful gardens with brightly colored orange, purple, and red flowers, coconut palms, and lush vegetation.

The outside of the hotel was surrounded by plants, so from the sea the buildings were not visible. Beyond the plants was a beach of clean, white sand. I had trouble seeing the first time I came out in full sun-light. Beyond the sand was beautiful, luke-warm, aquamarine water about three feet deep. This extended about 300 feet out to sea, and then suddenly dropped away into deep, dark blue ocean. The shallow water was spotted with corral, in which swam amazing tropical fish. Some were very small and swam in schools, their bright blue scales flickering as they turned. Others were larger and swam alone, bright streaks of neon color running down their sides, and odd shapes: one kind of resembled a pig, another was long and pointy, like a small swordfish, and another looked like a small, white eel. The fish were very, very numerous.

The island was completely self-sufficient, using de-salinization plants for water production, incinerators to dispose of garbage, and diesel generators to produce electricity. All food was brought in by ship.

The food was great: a multi-ethnic all-you-can-eat buffet with Indian curries, Chinese stir-fries, and an assortment of European cuisine. The salad bar was terrific (I do like my salad) - 15 kinds of dressing, and an assortment of vegetables, including olives and lettuce (my first lettuce since leaving the U.K. one month earlier, and one of the few cravings I had experienced in India (I also crave good, dark chocolate)). The dessert bar was also amazing, with fruit salad, custard, cheese, chocolate, and other cakes, tarts, etc.

I spent a brief 12 hours at the resort, enjoying the most luxurious accommodations I have ever experienced. I did not take rest that night, because I had to leave at 3:30 in the morning (to make it back to the airport in time for my flight). At 3:30 I sped back to Male, hopped on a plane, and was back in crazy, un-sanitary and disorganized India by the afternoon. In some ways it was a relief, in others a shock.

February 1, 2003
Irinjalakuda, Kerala, India

Backroads...

We raced along a road, barely wide enough to be called single lane by American standards, every time we passed a car the outside tires were off the tarmac, driving in the gravel lining the road.

The road was lined with a ditch on either side, dry and filled with leaves, plastic bags, and other garbage. Beyond the ditches were jungle plants, lush green with large leaves, and trees: coconut palms, rubber trees, banana trees, and others I could not recognize, offering a criss-crossed canopy, sheltering the sparce plants below from most of the sun's energy.

Thick cob-webs were spotted along the banks of the ditches that lined the road. They looked very strong - if I were falling and was caught by a net made from these, I think they would stop my fall.

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Intermittantly the auto (like a jeep - 4 wheel drive, built for off-road and heavy terrain) slowed to an almost complete stop to carefully pass through a rut or pot hole in the road. At times these were very numerous, perhaps every 500-1000 feet.

When we came to a turn in the raod the driver would honk the horn several times to warn anyone that is in the road and any on-coming traffic of our approach. At one point we rounded a corner at high-speed, and bearing down in front of us was a large bus, also going at high-speed and in the middle of the road without room to pass on either side, despite the warning honks our driver had given before rounding the corner.

Both the bus driver and our driver slammed on the breaks and we heard a screatching. My breath, and probably my heart, came to a stop as we slowed and finally came to a stand-still about two feet before the front of the bus, our car pointed at an angle off the road. To allow the buss to pass we had to back-up and pull to one side of the road.

The bus passed and my heart and breath started again, and we sped off down the road.

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When we came up behind a vehicle, we always had to pass (by the actions of the driver, this seemed absolutely necessary), often on blind turns. The driver would sound the horn to signal our presence, and then the hand of the driver of the vehicle in front would come out of the window, beckoning us to pass.

Once, when our driver was getting very ansi, we started to pass a car but then there was a on-coming car approaching very quickly, and we ended up backing down to avoid a collision. However, usually in these situations, the driver would accellerate more and barely squeek by as the on-coming vehicle slowed to avoid a collision.

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Twice I got really scared and thought we were going to wreck, or hit somebody crossing the street, and most of the drive I felt that the driving was reckless and too fast. But we reached the job site, and that evening returned, without coming to any harm.

Somehow, there is a gracefull harmony and safety in all the chaos and danger...

January 20, 2003
Kovalam, Kerala, India

Back in Kovalam...

I'm back in Kovalam, hanging out with my Dad and Pete. We've been here for about 5 days, lounging on the beach, finding the best places to eat talis, and sipping chilled King Fisher (a very light Indian lager).

We've found some good friends in the area, predominantly English (about 90 percent of the travelers I have met in India have been English). The evenings usually end up being longer than the days, staying up until 1 or 2 AM talking philosophy, politics, and bullshit. Last night there was a brown out and all the lights were about as bright as candle light. My fan was spinning so slowly it created no wind. I layed in bed for about 3 or 4 hours, unable to sleep from the heat, and scratching the occasional bites of mosquitos. Finally I got up and just opened the windows - not worried about the mosquitos, I just wanted a little breeze to come through the room so that perhaps I could get some sleep.

On the Job...

Last Thursday my father and I went on a job in the field. We visited a womans collective - a union of women which fascilitates empowerment of women and strenthens their political control, as well as providing a secure place to save their money, where their husbands cannot access it.

After this we visited a very poor farming village where they are experiencing severe drought. Normally in drought conditions they would be able to get water from a nearby reservoir, but recently the water has been diverted for the nearby construction of 8 nuclear power-plants.

All the rice fields are drying up and turning golden, long before they could yield any harvest. Everyone is very sad and they don't know what to do. Some farmers have committed suicide. The peoiple are very poor and as a result they don't have the political clout to achieve any government action (the government seems very corrupt), so they are left at the mercy of mother nature, and thus they suffer the effects of global warming and abnormal rainfall and drought.

Next we visited the home of one of the women from the collective. She introduced us to her oldest son and daughter. Her and her daughter worked as beedi (beedis are cheap local cigarrettes rolled in a beedi leaf) rollers for 8 hours a day, 6 days a week. Their minimum quota for a day was 1000 beedi's, for which they would be payed 50 rupees - roughly $1.10 (USD). This is a very good wage, because they are in a union. Non-union workers would generally recieve about 30 rupees for the same work.

As a result of the work the women suffer from asthma, arthritis, eye-strain, and back problems, as well as the side-affects of absorbing nicotine through the fingers all day.

Maldives
Tomorrow I go the Maldives, a group of about 1200 islands off the Western coast of India. It is world famous for snorkeling and scuba diving. Three-quarters of the world's varieties of reef fish can be found there. Each island is surrounded by squeky white sand and corral reefs. The highest elevation in the island chain is 2.4 meters (just over 7 feet). The Maldivian government expects the entire country to disappear under the sea within 100 years due to global warming.

The country is 100 percent Islamic and very strict. They have very rigid guidelines for land use and development, and therefore most of the islands are uninhabited, and where islands are developed, the environment is strongly protected.

I am staying at the home of a Maldivian man named Mohamed Naeem. I met him here in Kovalam and started a friendship, and he invited me to come and visit. The governement is extremely strict about visitors that are not staying in resorts - I am required to get a permit for every island I visit, I must be accompanied by a local, and Mohamed Naeem must vouch that he will feed me and provide a place for me to stay. As soon as we arrive on his island we are meant to go the the island chief and show him my permit and explain why I am there.

All of this sounds like a big hastle, and I'm curious how difficult the procedure will really be once I arrive (all this information was according to the Lonely Planet guide to the Maldives). I will give you the report when I return.

January 12, 2003
Kanyakamary, Tamil Nadu, India

I am in Kanyakamary, a town positioned on the southern most point of India. It is a major pilgrimage destination for Indians. The air is full of the energy of the pilgrims.

The streets are thronging with Indians, but I see very few Western tourists. For me this is a bit of a relief - I'm glad to have a break from all the Westerners who have surrounded me for the past 12 days and experience a bit of real India.

I just had a wonderful tali for lunch. Tali is a common lunch-time meal with rice and an assortment of curries, dahls, and other sauces.

This tali was served on a banana leaf. First the waiter laid the banana leaf on my table, then poured some water into a cup, and instructed me to wash the banana leaf with water and my right hand. I did this, then he picked up the banana leaf and poured the water onto the floor of the restaurant.

Next the waiter brought out large stainless steel containers and served me two vegetable curries, one called Porial with green bananas, coconut, salt, and spices, the other called Kutta with a vegetable (or maybe fruit) called chocho, and spices. Before preperation chocho looks like green apple. The waiter also gave me a pinch of salt and a spoonfull of lime-pickle in the corner of the banana leaf.

Next the waiter brought a dish of white rice, 4 small dishes of liquid, 2 chapathis, and 1 pappadum. The 4 dishes consisted of: 1) Samber, a dahl (thick lentil sauce) mixxed with vegetables and spices. 2) Rasam, a watery tomato soup. 3) Curd (for desert), plain yoghurt (which at first I didn't like, but after following the advice to add sugar, I enjoyed very much). 4) Buttermilk to drink.

The chapathis (like a flour tortilla, made with flour, salt, water) were fresh and hot, and slightly oily. I proceeded to dish out the rice to mix with the curries, but I was stopped and instructed that I should eat the chapathis first ("in Tamil Nadu chapathis first"). I was happy to oblige.

After finishing the chapathis I proceeded to mix the rice and curry and then ate it using the pappadum to scoop up rice and curry.

I had many eyes on me while I ate. I kept feeling like I was doing something wrong. I carefully made sure to eat only with my right hand (in India the left hand is considered dirty, used only to wipe the bum, tie shoes, etc. - you never eat with your left hand, or even give or accept something with your left hand).

Half-way through my meal I ordered a masala chai. When it was brought out the milk looked like it had a froth on top from being freshly boiled. I added a bit of sugar (I had requested sugar seperate, as Indian tea is usually much too sweet for me) and took a sip. Wow! Lots of cardimum. Yummy!

For desert I had the curd with a spoonful of sugar. Mmmm! I enjoyed that meal. After I had finished I went to the sink to rinse my hands (the fingers of my right hand was covered with curry, as I had been eating with only my hands), but first made sure that they would not clear away my banana leaf and remaining food.

When I returned I asked my waiter to sit down and explain to me the names of each dish and the ingredients. He was very friendly, but instead called over another man who spoke better English. This man wrote down the names of each of the dishes and then answered patiently when I asked him what was in each dish.

At the end I told him thank you very much and explained that I would write about the tali on the computer and send my description home. He seemed to chuckle slightly, and gently bobbed his head from side to side.

When I walked out of the restaurant my lips and mouth were burning wonderfully from the spice in the food, and I felt very nurished.

January 8, 2003
Varkala, Kerala, India

I am in Varkala, a mellow beach village, somewhat similar to Kovalam. However, it is much less developed, and therefore a much more relaxing place.

The restaurants, hotels, and tourist stalls are all located atop 200 foot high red sand-stone cliffs. At the base of the cliffs is a long white sandy beach.

The water is lovely and clean, with a very nice wave breaking. I have been told (by a surfer) that it is one of the best breaks in the world when the swell gets big. In the morning the water is calm and glassy, but around mid-day it stirs up and gets very choppy.

This morning I took my first yoga class. It was interesting - some parts were quite difficult and somewhat painful. Our teacher led us very quickly through a series of different positions, sometimes alternating between them, but always repeating the same position at least 3 times. I found the instruction very abrupt - I would have preferred a more gradual approach building up to the difficult positions.

Last night I did not get much sleep (I have been having a hard time sleeping since my arrival in India), so I was exhausted when I woke at 7:30 AM for the yoga class. During the instruction I was sweating and often in pain. At the end we did a short meditation, laying on our backs. I nearly fell asleep.

When the instruction finished I was quite drowsy, but my body felt very good. As my brain awoke I realized I felt very flexible and relaxed physically. I think I would like to try this again tomorrow morning, but perhaps with a different teacher.

January 4, 2003
Kovalam, Kerala, India

This morning for breakfast I had a masala dosa. Dosa is a thin bread made from rice flower. It is similar in consistency and thickness to a crepe. It has a slightly sour flavor, like plain yoghurt, and is speckled with little holes from air bubbles. It reminds me of Ethiopian "injira" bread.

Masala is a spice and vegetable mix.

The dosa is folded to enclose the masala, forming a triangular shape. As I ate, I would tear off pieces of dosa and use them as pockets to pickup the masala.

When I finished the meal I was stuffed. It kept me going all day (aided by several chai teas).

January 2, 2003
Kovalam, Kerala, India

I am staying near the beach in a small tourist town. It is near the city of Travandrum (recently renamed Thiruvananthapuram), just north of the southern tip of India, on the west coast. Typical sounds in the background are Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley, Emminem, Kruder and Dorfmeister, and the occasional modern Hip-Hop or pop number, the whirring of a fan, and every now and then a generator, when the power goes out (regularly each night, between aprox 7:00 and 7:45 PM).

The weather is very nice. In the night I sleep with only a sheet. During the day my usual wear is shorts or a lungi (like a sarong: a cloth wrap usually worn on the lower half of the body) and nothing more. The water is warm enough that I could stay in all day.

I have been eating primarly Indian food. Sometimes the spice is a bit too "exciting" for my stomach, especially at breakfast. I have been calming this with fresh papaya and mango.

Throughout the village is a network of cement paths and water ways, and further inland are marshy gardens growing bananas, papayas, and vegetables. Everywhere there are palm trees, creating a gracefull canopy above. When viewed from a distance it is hard to see the town - it looks like a forest of coconut palms. Thus far, a favorite pass-time for me has been the exploration of these paths, walking through the lush vegetation. And a dip in the ocean for some refreshment and body-boarding.

All content (c) 2003 Nile Sprague