Always have fun

Feb 10. Cochin, India

2009-02-12T20:43:00.000-08:00

February 10, 2009This was the day we explored Cochin. The City created by a great flood in 1341. Before then the traders used a port 100 miles to the north . The flood destroyed the port also created a good natural harbor at the estuary of three rivers.

The dutch were the first Europeans to claim it for their own and they built the a church. The graveyard in the picture dates from 1724. The church is still standing as the oldest on this subcontinent. Then came the Portuguese and among other things made the Protestant church into a Catholic one. Then the British came along and changed into the Church of St Anthony into Church of England. It has remained Anglican ever since. Vasco de Gama was buried there but Portuges claimed him and took him home. The pictures below shows children on an outing standing around the origonal gravesite and the lovely old lace fans that the British had installed and someone would have had to pull to move the air.

If you are into history you won't want miss the Basilica origonally built by in 1557 by the Portugese or the Dutch palace and ancient Jewish synagogue that is lined with blue Victorian tiles from Holland. Oh, and the Chinese traders also played an important part and left behind their special technique of fishing. Large nets are held up on frames that the fisherman walk along to dip the nets into into the water. There they stay in the water until he walks back hoping that some fish have entered the net. The silhouetted nets standing dark against the sunset along the palm-lined shore were cand for my camera.

Spices are all important in India and have been from the beginning of time. This is the main stret where the spice merchants selling their wares

The Kathakali dance is a fascinating form or drama. It takes about an hour just to apply the makeup to the lead and women's parts are played by men. Although I could not understand a word of what they were saying their jestures and in particular the hands movements told the story clearly. I loved it

The food was fantastic everywhere we went. The variety was amazing, the flavors varied from region to region and the prices were more than fair. In Cochin we sat outside on a balmy evening among the hibiscus at a restaurant near the converted convent where we were staying. When we requested a couple of beers it was politely explained that they didn’t have a license but they would see what they could do. Shortly the waiter returned with a tea tray complete with teapot and cups. The teapot was filled with beer which was happily refilled on request.

Thrissur to Cochin, Karala, India

2009-02-12T20:29:00.000-08:00

February 9, 2009
I will upload pictures when I can. I have masses. It is not easy working at these internet cafes. This one has had to repaint the warn letters in the keyboard and for good measure they also painted the Indian script. I know I shouldn't be looking at my hands but it is hard typing on a strange keyboard and believe me this one is strange.
This was a transfer day. It was also my birthday. We went to a couple of jewelry shops as John wanted to get me something but i wasn't going to let him spend $700.00 US of a pair of earings for me. We will find something more my style.
We took a boat ride around the harbor and saw very few commercial vessels apart from fishing boats.
One of the things that the Chinese left here was their way of fishing. They have great nets that they lower into the water via fixed frames. The men walk up the poles as counterweight dipping the net into the water and a few minutes later they return and lifting it, hopefully with some fish. Where we were they made a lit more money from visitors than they did from any fish they caught.
Our hotel was a converted convent with large rooms and very old plank floors.
We dined at a restaurant that didn't have a liquor license. They brought beer in a very nice teapot.

Thrissur Festival

2009-02-12T01:48:00.000-08:00

February 8 2009

There was a sign over the door of the train carriage whether or not the WC was occupied. I presumed they meant “water closet” a term frequently used by the British. The squat toilet also had a little light next to “IC” for Indian Closet??
A note on Indian dress. When a woman is not wearing a sari she usually has on a Punjabi. This is a very comfortable 3 piece outfit with baggy pants, a long (at least to the knees) top and a “dupatta” or scarf that is elegantly draped over the shoulders with the tails hanging down the back. I think the British developed the pajamas from this outfit. Anyway I like to wear them and simply slipped off my bra after I had made the beds and slipped between the sheets.
I woke up frequently and saw what looked like scrub desert pass by, then lush paddy fields and then again succulents like agave in another desert area and then there were trees the next time I looked. It always seemed to be very flat.
John shook me awake. “We’re there.”
“Shoot!”
Count the bags. Get my glasses. “John your glasses” Can’t find my dupatta. Wake up the Danes and he is lying on it on the top bunk. Count the bags again. Grab my bra from the little net behind the bed. Scramble off the train and stand there stunned. This lady is not a pretty sight without a bra. But we have all our bags.
There is no man standing there holding a welcoming sign with our name on it. John walks off down the platform to find him and I stand swatting the swarm of mosquitoes with my dupatta, boobs drooping to my belly.
John returns with the driver and five minutes later we are at the hotel. It is locked tight and we can’t wake the staff. I suggest phoning. It works and the door is unlocked to reveal a “bed” just inside the door where this night worker had been sleeping.
We are lead by flashlight to the lift and cram in and he pulls the gates closed. We were about 100 pounds overweight. There was no air-conditioned room available (how long ago had we made this reservation?) but we would be moved tomorrow. It is already tomorrow! Anyway we happily flop onto the bed. There is just a fitted bottom sheet and pillow. Who cares I’m tired.
The Indian penchant for blowing their horn does not cease at night.
“OH!” I left my earrings on the train. Darn!
The Muslim call to prayer reminds me that I should at least try to sleep. My light Punjabi is flapping in the gale from the fans and I thought a towel might hold it down. I retrieve the towel from the bathroom, there is only one. Without the luxury of a tumble dryer the sun dried towel is like stiff cardboard. It waited down the Punjabi just fine.
I gave up trying to sleep at 8:00 and took a shower. There seems to be no need for shower curtains in this part of the world so the water splashes freely over the floor and commode. Time to do some writing but I was interrupted by the sound of drums and I looked out to see an elephant strolling down the street with a great flowery sign held up behind his head.

I call to John who comes dripping from the shower to peek naked from behind the curtains. As they pass between the overhead cables they lower the decoration.
It seemed like a brand new day. We were showed and refreshed. It was a chore to get t breakfast. An Indian meal would take 10 minutes but scrambled eggs, toast and coffee would take half an hour. We went for the Indian meal as the festivities were scheduled to start at 10:00. Then we were informed they start at 10:30 so we would have time to eat.
We took one of the little “motors” (three-wheeled scooters) about a mile towards the temple before the police manned roadblock and walked the rest of the way. The crowds became increasingly dense. All happy families brilliantly clad, groups of men and women all heading in our direction.
First we went under a temporary structure like a fifty foot temple built from wood the whole purpose of which was to hold lights for the evening and would be dismantled tomorrow.

There were 3 matching ones at the other two roads that formed the T junction where the real temple sat.
In this state of Kerala non-Hindu are not invited into the temples whereas in the other States on India we are welcome.

As we approached the temple we were confronted by enormous whirling tops. These 20 foot tall kaavada were covered with stylized bunches of flowers that stuck out all around and the form itself was a mass of little plastic flowers. They sort of reminded me of the floats at the Parade of Flowers but they were all psychedelic pinks and greens or shocking pink and purple or primary colors that come so bright in plastic. (There was none of the beautiful blends of colors so prevalent in the women’s clothes across India.) This whole structure was balanced on the head of a man who turned in circles and sometimes bobbed up and down.
There were eight of these kaavada turning at various speeds in the courtyard of the temple. There was a band attached to it with horns clarinets type instruments, drums and cymbals and more drums. This group was from a particular village and there were several more communities waiting to get into the courtyard. They all had their own bands and they all played and twirled and spun at the same time but not in time.
The smell of dust mingled with the perfume from the jasmine necklace Chandran, our driver/escort had given each of us on arrival. I was grateful for the bottle of water he had made us purchase on the way.
By 11:30 stalls began to appear selling homemade drinks (the kind it is wise that visitors avoid) flower leis and plastic brick-a-brack for the children.
The first band of twisting kaavada had moved behind the first temple building and into the next courtyard and then into the open area where the stalls has been wheeled. They were off duty and sat in the shade of their kaavada.
Another group arrived. Each group took a turn surrounded by increasingly ecstatic dancers waving their hands in the air and jumping up and down. Only the men participated in all of this. Women clustered for a good view and children in their finest traditional clothes peered on.
We were invited into a building that was a wedding hall with wide verandas all round. We were led upstairs and out onto the top of the portico where there were several signs saying VIP protecting rows of ubiquitous plastic chairs. I felt a little guilty and that I might get kicked out but it turned out that it was for the press and gringos. Any Caucasian wondering in the dust below was invited up. At most we saw a dozen foreigners mostly rather scrappy dressed grey-haired wanderers. I hope I give a better appearance than they do.
Taller kaavada arrived and twirled. These were accompanied by 20ft tall flat decorations fringed with peacock feathers. A group of smaller kaavada appeared outside the temple walls and we were informed that these were children, meaning youths. The whole place was a mass of moving color throbbing music, though I could not detect any melody and jostling bodies. But it wasn’t densely packed except where the dancers were going crazy.
My glasses were covered with dust.
I was taking so many pictures I thought my camera would complain.

We were exhausted so walked back towards the hotel to take get some food and take a nap before the evening festivities began. We met three elephants on the way.

We returned as the sun was losing its strength to come across the same three elephants but they had moved up the road a little. Now they were festooned with umbrellas.

Luckily we were invited back up onto the balcony when we reached the temple grounds. I could not have stood all day. Now there were nine gold clad elephants, each with men standing on top holding umbrellas. Six elephants faced each other on the street and another three were in the middle facing the temple.

With each trio of elephants there was a band of sixty musicians. Fifteen each of trumpets; great bugle like things that were about three feet long and curled over their shoulders, two rows of different drums and a row of symbols. There was so much din I could not hear my camera clicking.

At times the men on the elephants would stand up and hold disks in the air while others would hold what looked like a big fluffy ball of wool.

The dancers were going crazy, throwing each other in the air.

The crowd was crammed as close to the animals as they could get.

It was all a stunning experience. Too much color and sound for one very long day.

Sorry folks, but that is all I can add to the blog today. I have so many more pictures but some Internet cafes are better than others.

2009-02-12T01:35:00.000-08:00

February 7 2009
John filled his commitment and gave the rest of the presentations on floating structures while I took on the mammoth task of packing all our stuff so we would not stumble across John’s business suits and library of heavy books, new plaques, a book on Hindu beliefs and an elephant given to him by his students, on our daily business of cavorting around. He has a separate case now for this trip, but I still have my winter clothes for England at the bottom of mine.
We head for the station at 6:00 pm for the eight o’clock train. We arrived an hour and a half early to find the platform lined up with hundreds of people waiting for the train. And I mean lined up. They were in a neat queue with their bags, bundles, boxes and children trying to insure that they would get a seat. Ours was reserved so we could hang back and watch our bags.

John is trying to read the posting that told us where our reserved seat was. The porter had at least 80lb of our luggage on his head. The porter wanted us to lift the third suitcase onto his head but we couldn’t do it.
When the train came the line quickly progressed and it is hard to understand how so many people could get on just two carriages. It was orderly until someone tried to jump the line and then there was all sorts of words flying and the interloper went off down the platform. After about 300 people had passed us to board a policeman (perhaps the same one who told me I was not allowed to take pictures) broke in and said the rest of the people had to go to the other end of the train. The line curled and then broke up into a scramble and disappeared.
Now we had access to our reserved air-conditioned sleeping compartment. There were four beds: a couple of young Swedes were to share with us.
The train pulled out just 5 minutes late and we bought a tin dish of spicy rice from a vender walking through the carriages. My vegetarian one cost 25 rupee or 50c and John’s with a leg of chicken in it was all of 80c
The steward promised to wake us up so we could disembark at 5:00 am.
I woke up every hour and noted the changing scenary and at last went to sleep

Working in Chennai.

2009-02-05T21:21:00.000-08:00

Some of us worked very hard at shopping. This is Joanne on the right with our escort Magana in a typical little shop in a large shopping mall. There was hardly room for the four of us and then there was Luda the shop salesman and his assistant who climbed a stepladder so that he could display the carpets or whatever was too large to be easily seen. Joanne and I took the whole thing as a bit of a lark.

Not so Luda. This was serious shopping for her and she acquired some beautiful jewelry as well as this carpet.

One evening the convention had a visit to the dance school as I think I mentioned before. We were asked not to take pictures of the dancers but I had already pictured the announcer in front of this elaborate applique curtain.

John in the lobby of the Institute with some of his admiring students.

In case you can't read John's name plate at the head table it says "Prof. John Halkyard." A title that brings a smile to my lips. Here he is talking with one of the local dignitaries at the closing event.

Mahabalipuram, India

2009-02-05T20:30:00.000-08:00

Mahabalipuram

Just try saying Mahabalipuram fast three times. It certainly has a ring to it if you can get your name around it.

It is a magnificent ancient monument that is recognised as a World Heritage Site. I was there last year but I was having such fun with Luda and Joanne that, heck, why not go again. Oh yes, add into the pot that I'm also going again on Friday because that is the only time John can go. I should know it well by then.

First though, Joanne insisted that I tell all about getting money out of the ATM. I needed cash if I was going to hold my head up shopping but I didn't want much as John had arranged to get a supply to last the whole trip. $20 worth of Rupee should be enough or I could but anything grand on my credit card. Our driver kindly found us an ATM. there are 50 rupee to the dollar so if I get out about 200 that will be $40.00. I make my transaction and stuffing my purse with cash, happy that I had remembered my password. Yes, you are way ahead of me. I had just paid $1.00 to get $2.00 out of the machine. It was worth it for the laughs we got all day. Joanne kept making sure that I knew the price of the items that we were negotiating for. I just got a lovely silk scarf that I hope was $2.00 and not $40.00.

Back to Mahabalipuram. I described it in detail in my blog of a year ago so I won't go into history and all that again. It was much quieter this time. Not the cascades of children of colorful families all wanting to be photographed. Instead of hundreds of children sliding down the Krishna's Butterball there were a few goats enjoying the shade. Krishna is one of the Gods and he likes butter but lost his butterball so this must be it.

There are five Rathas. These are seventh century temples, each carved from a single bolder.

Then there is the life sized elephant also carved from a single granite rock. He is my favorite, standing there so lifelike. Unfortunately much of the work here is unfinished. The craftsmen were interrupted by war. War is such an inconvenience.

The lady was part of a wedding party, as is shown by her red sari. As is the case with so many of the locals she just loved having her picture taken.

Here is a cow being milked as it licks its calf. It is a beautiful piece of works and so highly esteemed that it is pictured on the currency. Again it is life sized and the whole bas relief in this temple is carved into one rock. Most of the temples were not consecrated which is why we can enter wearing shoes.
The venders were quite persistant. We managed to get a couple items that we wanted and then I noticed a young salesgirl that didn't stand a chance amonge the agressive adults. She stood towards the back with a bunch of beeds and keychains. I made her a balloon hat and she was delighted. Then a woman took it from her and insisted that I picture her. Eventually after a man had comindeered it I was able to return it to the 10 year old. But it was good to see the adults having as much fun as the children.

This is the lady who wanted .50 cents for 4 necklaces. No, on second thought I think she wanted $2.00. I'll get it right one of these days.

Chennai, University of Madras, India

2009-02-04T17:49:00.000-08:00

Chennai, India.

We arrived here after a long flight but a comfortable one. John's assignment guaranteed him a business class ticket on the flights and somehow I managed to finagle my way to join him. On Continental we had very comfortable seats that leaned back to a horizontal position and on BA we had sort of little cubicles. When sitting I faced backwards but facing him like in a love seat, and then when reclined we were both completely horizontal. Wow! What a difference to be able to sleep through the flights. We left on Friday afternoon and arrived on the early hours of Monday somehow loosing a day.

We were both up and at it first thing for the conference opening. He then had to give the opening presentation while I went off and made new friends among the "accompanying" folks. There are four of us; one Indian lady with a 6 year-old daughter, a German who is a lot of fun (and laughs at all my jokes) and a charming Croatian lady.

This conference is held at the University of Madras. The name conjures aromas of hot curry but the city in which it is situated is now called Chennai. The University id situated in a large plot of natural forest of which only 20% has been utilized. The rest is like a breath of fresh air in a crowded city where 4 rows of traffic weave and flow down 2 lanes of black-top avoiding the occasional cow and brilliantly saried woman. All the women wear traditional clothes. I have noticed only one student in jeans. It is all flowing saris and three piece Punjabi that flutter as much with the "dupatta" or 2 meter long scarf that cascades across the shoulders.

This is our charming escort who is one of the Ocean Engineering students.

Monkeys and attractive spotted dear abound on the university grounds together with flocks of students, walking mostly on bicycles and little motorbikes and the occasional ox cart. There are few cars.

Yesterday there was a strike in favor of the Tamil Tigers who went to Sri Lanka and now want repatriation here in their home State of Tamil. At least that is what I think it is all about. It is sometimes hard to understand the local English especially when the speaker gets excited and talks fast. The public transportation was not going to operate and shops would be closed and we were told not to leave campus, so I planned to stay put. There was none of that so we just missed a fun day's outing.

I stayed at the University guest house for distinguished visitors. It was not as I had expected. I did get a second towel on request and some soap after a deal of pleading but no one can control the influx of mosquitoes from joining us through the permanently open bathroom window. Putting the fan on high does help but I worried that the force of propulsion might lift the ceiling.

Oh, another rather unusual system in this 24-room Guesthouse hotel, is that they post the names of each resident on scripted cards on a board so you know exactly which room they are in, and all the keys are out on the counter where you drop them off as you leave and can find them easily when you return.

The first of our little-group excursions was to the cultural Center where they had displays of the various regional homes showing the arts and cultures of that State. Interesting. I had my hand decorated with henna by a little old lady who did a dreadful job. I now have thick squiggles dribbling up the back of my hand instead of delicate swirls and filigree figures. No worry it will wear off in a week or two... or three!

The whole conference went to a dance school where we saw fantastic folk and classical Indian dances. The colors of the costumes were glorious but was out dazzled by the skill of the dancers. A good event that ended with good Indian food.

Ah, the food. Great Indian food. Great Indian food for lunch. Great Indian food for dinner. Great Indian food for breakfast. A little too much great Indian food. And not easy to get a cup of tea the way I like it. They make it rather like espresso; very strong and about an inch in the bottom of a cup then filled up with hot milk. I have made a deal with the kitchen here at the guesthouse; they make it "light" in a pot for me and serve the hot milk in a little jug. It works well. I love learning the differences.

All is well and we are having a very good time.

Some Faces of India

2008-10-19T09:36:00.001-07:00

Some Faces of India
Whenever I brought out my camera the locals wanted to have their pictures taken. Only the women were occasionally shy. This group of young men insisted that I photograph them. We were on the beach of Chennai, that used to be called Madras.

The picture behind this charming lady is of the god Gnasha and the girl on his lap is almost as charmig as the real girl.

A girls in a tourist shop in Tamil Nadu.

Tourists enjoying the 8th century Shore Temple near Mamallapuram

The markets were always rich with people and color.

The people we passed on the roadside were friendly and always smiling

This is a woman from the Bishnoi people who welcomed us into her village and showed us her home.

There were camels everywhere in Rajisthan because of the vast loads they can carry, which can be as much as a third of a ton in spite of their less than pleasing personalities. This young camel herder in the Great Indian Desert made up for all the charm the camels don't have.

A man with the pipe of his hooker across his lap in the Mehrangarth Fort in Jodhpur.

I have at home a couple of antique irons. They are the kind that my grandmother might have put in the fire to heat before pressing the cloths. That is what this man is using. He is also standing in the hot sun while he is ironing. Jaipur

These men have a slightly cooler profession. They are using a carved block of wood that they dip in the tray of ink on his right, and then stamp on the fabric. I could see no overlap and the pattern appeared continuous. Jaipur

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The man pictured below is making a knotted carpet. Faster than I could follow his movements he threaded wool between the white virticle cords, knotted it and sliced it off with the curved knife he is holding. Jaipur

Women are often seen performing hard manual labor. The one below is part of a crew in the Jantar Mantar Observatory in Jaipur.

Women maintance workers carrying baskets of sand on their heads in Jantar Mantar Observatory in Jaipur

Children visiting the Taj Mahal in Agra

Hurricane Ike, Texas

2008-09-30T07:11:00.000-07:00

Not all my travels are to the far ends of the earth and not all of them are glamorous and exotic. I am a volunteer with the American Red Cross and the past month was quite a deal for me. It was as much of an interesting challenge as some of my travels.

First of all I was deployed up to the Dallas/Ft Worth area to help with the preparations for the arrival of Hurricane Gustav and landed up as the job director for the close up of a non event in Texas. I was asked to stay on at the Headquarters because Hurricane Ike was coming and that became a real event.

The Headquarters by-the-way was in an old Sam’s Club building and then we moved into the building that had housed a Wal*Mart next door that was slightly more pleasant. Both buildings had the charm of a warehouses with bulk tables and chairs scattered about and phone and power lines drooping across the ceiling. The picture below shows our little motorhome camped up against the side of the out-or-business Sam's Club with a variety of Emergency Response Vehicles in the foreground. The ERVs are used to deliver food and supplies to neighborhoods.

After Hurricane Ike there are small towns on the Texas coast that no longer exits. A million people were out of power. I am not up on the headlines as I didn’t see a newspaper or watch TV for the first week but I do know that there were people inland who did not have a hot meal for a week and perhaps not a meal at all for a while. At the Red Cross we were desperately trying to get our feeding trucks out and about but couldn’t get to every street and had to hand out food at fixed points. If little old Mrs. Smith can’t go the mile to the Point of Distribution she is out of luck for a while. We just hope that neighbors and helping neighbors. Some PODs were 45 minutes from villages but we didn’t have the resources to have additional PODs.

Sheltering has been a scramble too. We had enough space for the evacuation of almost a million people. Fortunately only 10% had no other place to go. They drove and were bussed hundreds of miles away to places like San Antonio and Austin and flown to the far side of the state. Unfortunately after a couple of weeks the schools out of the hurricane affected area need their space back. The evacuees are being bussed back to Houston and we really don't have anywhere to put them. There was more than buss load of displaced people who were bussed all day back to the city of Orange only to find out that there was no shelter there for them and they had to sit on the bus for hours to return to the same shelter. We are opening old stores and putting thousands of people in them with a cot a couple of blankets and a "comfort kit" which contains a toothbrush soap etc. Some of these good folks have three toothbrushes by now as they have been shuffled about so much.

FEMA has been hopeless and in fact a real blockade to what we are attempting, but that will have to come later.

It is really humbling to know that there are so many people in desperate need and we can't help them fast enough. Still over two weeks after the hurricane there are over a 145,000 people without electricity. We were one of them for eleven days. We had the motorhome rumbling away outside with an extension cord coming into the house. John would wait for me to get off the computer so he could plug in the microwave and heat last night's leftovers. At least we have the motorhome. It is getting hot at night and harder to sleep without air conditioning. Much hotter and we will move back into the motorhome. Like I said we are lucky. Our neighbors to the left were not at home. If they had been they would have been killed by the tree that fell onto their bed. They still have power but the neighbors to the right and across the street had no electricity like us.

Enormous grandfather trees are lying around our neighborhood here in Houston. Some logs as big as 3ft across. I keep thinking all those women in Central America who walk for a day to collect wood. What would they give for all this? As it is the broken trees lie in piles too high to see over but gradually sinking as the live branches wither.

I took the day off today. It is Sunday and I would not have made much headway with the business people I need to contact for sheltering space. I slept in, went for a hair cut, took a nap and went for a walk. After dinner we plan to play scrabble.

John has been so good, getting dinner when I crawl home after twelve hour days and stringing lights all over the place. Great clusters of extension cords to step over. Love him. I can’t grumble about my hours as there are Red Cross nurses who are working long shifts in shelters and then stay on call all night in a shelter. While I was working at the Red Cross HQ in the Sam’s Club in Ft. Worth, John was sitting in our motorhome outside doing his work on the computer. At least he had power there and I had the very welcome company at night.

Hard to live without power at home though. I walk into the bedroom and tell myself not to put my hand on the light switch but then reach out to turn the fan on. It has become so automatic.

There are still almost four hundred people missing. They are men women and children. Most did not evacuate when they were told to and now are simply listed as missing. The occasional body is found among the debris but who knows how many people were swept out to sea in the storm.

Galveston Island and the worst hit areas are now coming back to life. Home owners and business people are returning to reestablish themselves. By next year I expect the tourists will be welcomed back to enjoy cotton-candy and sun on the beaches. Perhaps there will be a memorial somewhere that they drive past, like the memorial to those lost in the 1900 storm.

Borneo. Sarawak, Melasia

2008-05-08T01:00:00.000-07:00

Borneo. Sarawak, Malaysia

Borneo is one of the largest islands in the world and is home to three nations; Malaysia, Indonesia and Brunei. We visited Sarawak, one of the Malaysian states on the north side of the island.
The Chinese came to live here in the eleventh century and then along came Briton James Brooks in the nineteenth century. When Brooks arrived it was a land of head hunters but with his superior arms was able to quell an uprising on behalf of Brunei and was then given a vast territory to govern as the First White Raja.
The capitol of the State, Kuching is now a charming town. Nestled on the Serawak River it is just as an outpost next to the jungle should be. Little water taxies ply the river that is overhung on one side by dense undergrowth. The other side is a pleasant riverfront walk with kiosks selling refreshments. Across the road is a row of shop houses that contain the main bazaar. The little shops are full of fascinating crafts made primarily on the island but with a liberal showing from “West Malaysia” as the rest of the country is known, and also from Indonesia. Great items though if you are interested in that sort of thing. A little further along, behind the Hilton Hotel is a classy set of shops that rival those anywhere with quality merchandise.

The Kuching is an interesting city with a pleasant character. We made a trip to the park to see the Worrier monument that has the likenesses of important warriors on the sides of a cenotaph. On the top is a large pot that is said to contain the tears of fairies as these can cure an injury. Nearby is a tower, from the top of which we could see the layout of Kuching. Kuching means “cat” and there are several statues of cats around to keep the feline feeling alive.

Our goal was to visit jungle and we left Kuching and headed inland. As we began our adventure, driving on a four lane highway through flat farm land with high rocky outcrops covered with jungle, our guide, Taylor, began to tell us about his people.

Taylor is Iban the largest of the tribes on the island and he was going to take us to his family longhouse.

Headhunting was practiced all over the island. Initially it was a proof of defeating other tribes who had encroched on their terratory. Then it became necessary to prove you were strong enough to protect a potential bride and family so you had to produce one for your sweetheart in order to get married. This meant that every home had at least one head hanging in front of their door. The heads were carefully cleaned in a fire to get the smell and the spirits out. It is considered a sin not to look after the skull so each is preserved so as not to anger the spirit. Offerings are also made to it. Now a days many of the families have burried their heads but you can see some of them hanging in the communal room.

Taylor showed us this skull the nex day. It is dressed up with feathers and accompanied by one from a monkey. There is a tray with refreshment offerings hanging below it.
At least one of the tribes used to be cannibals but not the Iban our escort insisted. He did tell us to look for dots tattooed on the hand between the thumb and first finger or on the knuckles. A man might have as many as three on one hand and then would mark his other hand with the heads he had won. When I remarked two days later that his old and now blind father had a full six tattooed dots but Taylor insisted that they were just decoration. The tribes still keep to their old geographic territory and still hold animosity towards each other.

Taylor’s grandfather had been the chief of the longhouse but he had a dream that he should not pass the control to his son. The dream he had the next night told him that the longhouse would split. Dreams are most important to the island people so he did not pass the control to his son and the longhouse members elected another man. Several years later the longhouse divided into two with half of the members going to a new cement block long house building and the rest remaining in the wooden one closer to the river bank.

Taylor’ storytelling was interrupted when we reached the town of Serian. In the Iban language this means “durian.” The durian is a strange fruit the size of a football with a prickly hide. The outer skin is lined with a thick layer of pith. Inside the white pith are several seeds covered with a creamy flesh that has a sweet delicate flavor and the most obnoxious smell. When I tasted it the first nibble was fine. When I took my next bite I had to breathe and the smell went deep into my lungs. The odor seeped up into my sinuses and wafted around my head and stomach for a day. Every time I burped I could smell it. Some people really like it, but I can smell it a room away. You are not permitted to take it on the public transportation in Singapore and many hotels in this part of the world have signs up prohibiting it. Enough about the fruit, we were in the town named after it and hardly saw any in the market. However, I have never seen so much produce that I didn’t recognize.

Taylor told us this is called snake-skin fruit which is understandable considering the look and feel of the skin. You can peal the crisp skin with your fingers to reveal a soft fleshy fruit inside that is incredibly sour. (My mouth waters now just thinking of it) The sales woman open one and we tried it on the spot to the amusement of the local venders. We found it just as unpalatable when Taylor prepared it with soy and other condiments the next day.

Ferns grow throughout the jungle and we ate them each day. They are an mild green vegetable.

There were pitiful little ears of corn, and eggplants the size and color of smooth oranges and others like crooked purple fingers. There was a bowl of larva worming about, chilies and fresh ginger, all sorts of roots and tubers and leafy greens.
Continuing inland on a narrow two lane road we made a brief stop to look at wild orchids and pitcher plants. The latter are most strange as the flower is an extension from a leaf and forms a pitcher-like receptacle to trap water and insects.

Taylor turned off the road again a little later to take us to a pepper farm. Pepper is a major export for Melasia. The vines grow up stakes and the stalks of berries are picked as they ripen. They are dried and sorted. For white pepper the outer husk is removed weheras it is the dark husk that gives black pepper its character.

After another hour in the car passing little homesteads with bananas drooping around we crossed a bridge and Taylor said, “That’s the Lemanak River. We are nearly there.” There was no dock. The charming boatman with a broad bad-tooth grin under a grey mustosh had a twenty foot long narrow boat tied to a twig of a tree. Golat was his name and he nimbly carried the metal icebox on his shoulder and the other provisions that we were going to consume in the following days, down to the boat.

The ride was fun. It was a Disney “E” ride if ever there was one. Golat gunned the little outboard motor and spray flew from the bow as we headed upstream across the smooth water. Then he would cut the engine and lift the propeller out of the water and we skimmed over little rapids that splashed more water on me. The river ranged from twenty to forty feet wide and was for ever winding. Golat had to slow down to make the sharp corners so that we didn’t capsize the long narrow boat. There was the constant feeling of instability as he stood at the back steering around submerged logs and rocks along the way. The water was filled with sunken trees, little islands of pebbles, shoals and overhumg with low branches. I took about a hundred pictures. In places the trees met overhead forming a tunnel where the sunlight danced through. Enormous trees hung low over the water defying gravity, at least until the next rains set them loose of the bank and they became just another obstacle to avoid.

The rain began gently at first in a fine mist and then giant drops fell through the leaves creating giant bubbles in the water. It wasn’t at all cold, in fact it was a refreshing and fun trip. We were sitting on little chairs about four inches off the bottom of the boat. I kept my bags on my lap as the water level around my feet was gradually increasing. I wasn’t sure if it was splashing over the bow or seeping between the old boards.

By the time Golat grounded the boat on the pebbles below the longhouse we were drenched to the skin. I slipped off my shoes and stepped into the cool water and waded onto the warm sand and up the sand hewn steps to the guest house. Golat hefted the cooler onto hie shoulder and brought it up to the kitchen

There wasn’t much to do that afternoon because of the rain so we relaxed and attempted to dry off, a thing we were not able to accomplish until our return to the Hilton in Kuching.
Our accommodation was in a structure similar to the traditional longhouses on stilts except that there were larger rooms. Each of our rooms were divided into eight areas, one taken up with the doorway. Rattan dividers separated the long raised platform into sleeping areas about the size of a king-sized bed on to which was placed a double-size sponge mattress. Mosquito netting was hung over each bed. Over it all was a corrugated iron roof. The tropical downpour made it difficult to talk. The rain poured onto the sand in a steady streem from the roof and I wondered, as I lifted my bottle of imported water to my lips, if drinking water is so prescious why don’t they collect God’s gift.
The kitchen was equipped with a couple of burners and plenty of tiled preperation area. The toilets were tiled throughout and although co-ed, were clean and had both platform and camode toiletts. The shower stalls were quipped with a pipe that jutted from the wall providing a spout of cool water a little above shoulder level.
We spread our clothes over the mosquito netting in our quarters to dry. It never did. There was only one other couple staying and they had the next room but with the open ceiling and the loosely woven bamboo walls I don’t think they had the romantic time they planned.
Taylor with the assistance of the local women cooked us supper of rice and ferns among other interesting delicacies.

We then walked up to the Nanga Kesit longhouse that had been his family home for generations. There were forty rooms off a long group room that stretched the length of the building. There was no furniture in the group veranda nor in the individual rooms other than storage space and the ubiquitous sponge mattress.
We were invited to sit on the hand woven mats and were offered rice wine and rice whisky. The wine came in a wine bottle and was a murky thick brew with an interesting flavor. The whisky was completely clear and served in recycled water bottles creating the opportunity for mistaken consumption. When provided with your first drink, as we were in pink plastic tumblers, it is expected that you sing out “Yahoo” three times and then downing it all in one shot. Well, that put us in a good mood for the dancers that were to follow.
The shaman was invited to show off his tattoos, a sign on manhood, and he also honored us with a song. Sureng is known to be a great shaman, known for his knowledge of medicines as well as his ability to offer worthwhile advice to his followers.

Sureng on the left had just taken off his shirt to display his tattoos.
There were four individuals who presented us with charming dance performances. There was a young man with feathered headdress representing a bird, followed by a shy girl both dancing to the same rhythmatic throbbing of four women playing a variety of drums. Throughout the dances drinks were being consumed and we were instructed to offer them to the dancers. The young girl seemed embarrassed and handed her plastic mug to a man who might have been her father.
Then a man gave us a worrier’s dance and I would not have wanted to have met the likes of him in the head hunting days. The final dancer was the wife of the chief and she gave a charming and alluring dance that was full of happy smiles. She was charming. Both the dancing women wore wide beaded collars and high headdresses with twinkling pressed tin that twinkled like chandaleers.

Now that we were thorougherly relaxed by the flowing liquor in the pink tumblers we were invited up to join in a group dance and aided by the liquor we all waddled around in a circle. When we were about to collapsed back onto the floor in a sweaty pile we realized that we had another obligation. There must have been a representative from each of the families as forty people were sitting around the length of the long house with little displays of merchandise spread before each of them. Too much! How could we possible buy something from each of them? I wanted a mask that shaman Sureng had made and asked John to ask how much he wanted for it. It was too much so I bought a smaller better finished one from another man. Then John declared that the shaman had dropped his price and he had bought Sureng’s big black one that was made for the ghost festival and had a suitable ghoulish grin. So now we have to get two back in our luggage. I also got a mat that three different women had woven from the local rattan.
We made it back to our mattress and removed our damp clothes and went to bed, tucking the mosquito netting tightly around the mattress. The netting was actually a variety fine net curtains with printed flowers, or cheese cloth. They were good enough to keep the critters out, or in, in the case of the large bug in ours. They definitely kept our body heat trapped with our sweat that rose like steam.
I lay there listening to the little river babbling over the pebbles twenty feet away. The minute cicadas that are local to Borneo created a high pitched rattle over the deaper croak of the frogs. There was a gecko blowing kisses to his sweetheart at the other end of the open ceiling. Rain pattered on the iron roof and poured off in rivulets. Behind all these sounds was the gentle throbbing of the generator.
At midnight the generator stopped and the lights went out. John snored. How could he be asleep with all this noise going on? I envied him. A cat screeched, not a block away but out of the rain in the open space under the lodge, right under our bed. She continued caterwauling and searching for a mate all night. John continued to snore.
If dawn is first light how does a rooster know before it comes? These roosters knew and began to crow in the blackness. As the grey light creped through the bamboo I look forward to an afternoon siesta.
After breakfast we were given a display of dart blowing. Not an easy skill and one wonders how they drilled out the six foot wooden pipes. Then they had a display of cockfighting. It is an activity that is held often and there was to be a real match the next day. I walked back to my room in protest but these particular critters only had a little banter. (The less charitable side of me wondered if it was one of those roosters that woke me up.)
The only chickens in the area were a few in wooden cages and there were non scratching about the longhouse. There were a couple of pigs that looked like close relitives to the wild boars rooting around.
Under a clear bright sky we took short ride across the river for a walk in the jungle. We learned about a variety of plants the jungle provides for those who know how to use them. Clambering up paths with the aid of roots and hanging branches we made our way to an ancient burial ground. The Iban bury their dead and then in the insuing years bring them gifts. A couple of the locations had very old pots while another was that of a young child who had only died a couple of years earlier. Once a year all the graves are tended and the encroching jungle is once again cut back. Although this esteemed man has a charming hornbill box to contain the gifts, there is also a cross on his grave.

Taylor explained that they didn’t really have a religion before the outsiders came, they just felt that there was a spirit in everything. The missioneries came and gave them a direction and a name for their spirits.
We slipped down a wet bank and found Golat with his longboat waiting for us. I had asked Taylor why we had a couple of youths tagging along with us and he shrugged and seemed to say that they just wanted to come. I was grateful when they used their parangs to chop me and John a sturdy walking cane. Mine was made from a rubber tree and the white sap dribbled down the stem glueing my hand securely to the shaft.

We would not have made it up the river had it not been for the young men. As before Golat gunned the little outboard motor as we approached rapids, but this was a smaller river and the shallows were longer. The youths grabbed poles and pushed the longboat up stream. They also were lookouts and constantly pointing to submerged logs and pertruding shoals that constantly threatened to capsize us.

On one occation they lost their concentration and were chatting when we suddenly ran aground. They were chided and one jumped overboard and pulled us off the single. All was in good humor and the sun sparkled through the trees.
They pulled over at midday and proceded to cook us a jungle lunch. Logs were pulled from the water to create a fireplace and dry wood found. Bamboo was cut into lengths and a handful of rice wrapped in palm leaves were stuffed down the bamboo before it was filled with water from a nearby clear streem. Chicken with herbs was also stuffed into the two foot lengths of green bamboo before they were all stacked across the flames.
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Fish was cooked over a little grill along with more chicken. We sat on the little chairs that were taken from the longboat and placed at the other end of our forty foot island. We swam and drifted in the strong current and dried in the sun and enjoyed some of the beer we had purched during our stop for supplies in Serian. (Was that really only yesterday?)
Golat serving chicken, eggplant and beens cooked in bamboo.

We were taken for a walk around the neighborhood and visited another longhouse.

Again we presented them with numerous little bags of cookies but here I also produced my baloons.
I began giving them to the children but in not time the adults decided not only did they want one but they wanted to learn how to sculpture with them. Refreshments were shared and a good time was had by all.

As we made our way back to our boat I was delighted to see the children playing in the water with the balloons

Traveling back downstreem was just as thrilling as the trip against the current when we arrived. It wouldn’t have mattered had we capsized but one always hopes to stay dry before going for a swim. The lads lept to their feet when we reached rapids too shallow for the outboard motor.

The primary school and local clinic both, blue painted sturdy block buildings, appeared very servaceable and were within a walk of both longhouses. We watched boatloads of teenagers going downriver to the secondry school the next morning.

On our final morning in the jungle we had another thrill ride back down the river. I enjoyed it as much as our first trip. We were returning to Kuching but on the way we visited the Semenggoh Rehabilitation Center. They rehabitate unfortunate orang utans that have been injured or captured and set them free within the park. They are not restrained within the area but tend to return when food is scarce.
We wondered up an hour before feeding time to find Richie, the patriach sitting in a tree over one of the feeding stations. He was enormous with long golden hair that looked groomed and great cheek flaps that are charastic of the species.

If the shape way up in the tree looks like a man standing there, that is Richie.
A female with young one appeared and gathered fruit and a coconut. The young one tried to hold too many banabas in its mouth and landed up dropping half of them. They then came down and sat on the ground behind us.

Then Edwin appeared and gracefully clambered through the trees and then bantered with his brother among the branches. He could carry five bananas at a time in his mouth, with them sticking out like fingers. Richie came down to the ground and wondered around and so did his mate with the little one. We were no more than twenty feet with these beautiful great animals with a dozen of them surrounding us.

More tourists arrived including a gaggle of squeeling young women and the charm and special feeling was lost. John went down a path and I stayed taking pictures of Edwin up in the trees until I had filled the memory card in my camer. The women squeeled. Edwin broke a branch off the tree he was sitting in and I watched as he dropped it down, followed shortly by another and another. These animals are six times as strong as a human and they were big branches. John returned to the clearing.
“Phew. That was close!”
“What was close?”
“That branch almost hit me.”
“What! I was watching Edwin breaking them off and dropping them.”
“It was more like he was throwing them. I was watching another orang utan when Taylor moved me to one side and a branch hit the ground where I had been standing.”

The Taj Mahal and the train to Agra

2008-04-02T03:43:00.000-07:00

We found India to be a load of contrasts. The cities were jammed with traffic, three of four across in a two lane road, and in the country we would pass a lonely ox cart or camel. We only visited a very small part, the country is as big as Europe and has part of the Himalayas, schorching desert, tropical jungle and beautiful coastlines. There are something like seventeen different languages and the clothes are as varied. Yes, you see the sari just about everwhere, but in Rajasthan the women wear colorful full skirts with a tunic blouse and a long scarf often over the head and used to keep the sun and dust out. The men in the north wear dhoti which is a length of white fabric wraped like a loose loin cloth and frequently a turban, neither of which were so visable in the cities.

We were not inundated with beggars as I had been led to believe. Yes, there were a few, but they didn't harrass us any more than they did the locals, and were usually located outside the temples.

In all we were welcomed with friendly smiles and waves.

India was considered to be the "jewel in the crown" of the British Empire. The Taj Mahal is therefore the jewel in the crown of India.

We had been told that travel by train would not be very comfortable unless we took the Palace on Wheels. We looked into it. It is the Indian equivalent of the Orient Express and looks fabulous. It is fabulous…. fabulously expensive; way over our budget.
However, travel by train did have an appeal as the roads were becoming clogged with traffic and the drive uncomfortable. We decided to take the best available seats from Jaipor to Agra. We made our reservation and had assigned seats.
We were in an air-conditioned carriage in an area with four seats aside. There was an isle down the carrage with single seats on the other side. We were with a charming Indian family who were escorting their son's new Vietnamese bride and her elderly father to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. The old man didn’t speak a word of English and was rather out of it. I gave him a packet of my seeds. The family attempted to translate and tell him what they were but he knew before they did. He gave me a knowing smile, almost a wink, and tucked them into an inside pocket.
The picture below is of the less expensive carriage with comfortable reclining seats and air-conditioning. The windows have curtains and note the backpacks and suitcases in the racks.

The next picture is of the cheapest carriage on the express train. There might not have been confirmed seats as there were plenty of folks standing. Note that much of the luggage consits of boxes and bundles. There are masss of fans as there is no air-conditioning. The windows have exterior shutters to keep the out sun, and the view, and there are also blinds.

Although we were anxious to see the Taj Mahal we were obliged to visit the fort in Agra first. Also we wanted to be at the Taj for sunset.
Although I had to admit that I had seen all the forts and palaces I need to see for a while this was a treat. This shot shows the details looking up at the eves of carved sandstone.

The Fifth great Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan ruled this part of India in the seventeen century and this was his fort palace. It had been built two hundred years earlier but he moved into what had been the delicately decorated women’s quarters on the western side. When his favorite and beloved wife died in childbirth while delivering their fourteenth child he promised to build her a splendid monument. He could watch the construction of the Taj from his rooms and when his son had him imprisoned there he could mourn her from a distance.

From here you get the full picture of the Taj Mahal complex which includes the mosque to the East of the Taj and the Guest House on the West. The mosque is still very much in use which is why access to the Taj area is closed on Fridays except for Muslims going to prayer. The Guest House currently houses the military.
At last it was time to visit the Taj. We had to abandon our internal combustion car 2 km from entrance, as was required to protect the white marble from pollution, and took the special propane driven bus most of the rest of the way and then had to walk. Unfortunately the government was not very thorough in cleaning up the pollution and we had to cross a stinking open sewer on the way.

The mausoleum is hidden from view behind a red sandstone wall; it is said, to emphasize the partition between heaven and earth.

The gate to the Taj Mahal.

Everyone has heard of the Taj Mahal and how beautiful it is. I have seen so many pictures and read so many laudatory descriptions that they had become trite. It can't be that nice.
I don't think there are words to truly describe this magnificent structure and no picture can do it justice.
We had chosen to see it at sunset. So had about twenty thousand other tourists. I don’t think I am exagerating.
This was our first view of the Taj over the heads of the other visitors.

Through the arch of the gate it opens out into gardens with pools. There were continual groups of visitors posing for their pictures and there was even a conductor (unofficial and working for tips) to make sure they moved on from the classic Photo Opps.

We were are asked to remove our shoes as is customary in all religious buildings (and give some small change in order to retrieve them), then we weaved between visitors and made our way into the mausoleum.

It was packed. Cameras were flashing all over the place in spite of the sign outside requesting no photography and to prove that there was a good echo everyone was calling out. There was a severe lack of reverence.

You can’t take a bad picture of this building. It seems to glow in the sunlight. When you get close you can pick out the details of inlayed stone that form flowers and scriptures.
We wandered around the edges taking hundreds of shots, trying to find a new angle. We photographed little green parrots, walked back over the stinking river and through the swarm of venders selling souvenirs and then back to our hotel to a quiet evening.

We had planned to see the Taj at sunrise as well as sunset, but after the crowds in the evening I nearly didn’t return.
Then I said to John, “I’m going to go straight up to the Taj and not meandering taking pictures. I want to get inside when it is not so crowded.”

When I arrived inside the mausileam there were two other couples whispering with their guides. They left, and for a whole glorious minute I was completely alone. The gently cooing pidgins mumbled at the dawn. One moved on the overhead cable that supported the cut-metal lamps overhead and the beams of light danced like a disco light on the white marble tombs. The embossed gems glowed. It was magical.

As others entered I left to witnes the sun rising.

The Taj Mahal blushing under the kiss of the rising sun.

Jaipur, India

2008-04-01T01:52:00.000-07:00

Jaipur was one of my favorite places in India and quite a surprise.
The Hawa Mahal is also called the Palace of Winds. The lattice windows are carved in stone and would have permitted the breezes to enter. It was built in 1799 so that the royal ladies could watch the processions passing by. However beautiful, it was in fact little more than one of the glorified prisons built for the wives and concubines of the Raj.

We visited the Pink Palace. Have you noticed how so much is this country is defined by color? If you were there you would understand. Vibrant color is everywhere from the sky to the rocks and the houses and especially in the clothes.
So here we were in the Pink Palace. I would have described the color more as a peach tone but it probably glowed in the evening sun. We were there early in the morning.You can ride an elephant up the long ramp if you are prepared for the long wait with the tour groups. The elephants are very well cared for and are only permitted to make five trips up the ramp to the Palace and they don’t work after nine in the morning when the pavement becomes uncomfortably hot for their feet. They used to be allowed to make ten trips but there was an unfortunate incident when one swiped a tour guide with his trunk and then stomped on him, killing him. Unfortunately elephants are dangerous creatures that appear to be charming and some people forget their unpredictability. An unhappy elephant with hot feet is not one that I want to be around. Never-the-less plenty of visitors waited and had rides up the hill and no doubt had their pictures taken. It did make a colorful procession especially as some of the handlers had painted their animals.

Here is the palace, overshadowed by the fort on the horizon. You can see the parade of elephants making their way up the ramp to the castle entrance. Unglamorously we drove around the back and made our entrance from there.

Where ever we went there was a splash of color, even in the palace.
There was also maintenance work being done just about everywhere we went. I took this picture because of the colors in the doorway without noticing the working women on the far right. They are carrying sand and rocks out of the Palace in tin bowls on their heads.

Below is an attempt to create a cool place to live without air conditioning. This isn’t actually marble but plaster made to look like marble. I think they ground shells into the plaster.

Other rooms and spacious areas were decorated with silver and mother of pearl and fine glass from and tiles from Europe.

This picture gives a feeling for the courtyards within the palace.

In Rajasthan if there was a palace a lake or reservoir would be created nearby and on the lake there would inevitably be gazebos or a summer palace. This was to take advantage of any cool breeze that might come across the water. This palace was in disrepair we heard that it was going to be made into a hotel.

We continually came across camel carts.

The picture below give you a glimpse of life on the roads in the city of Jaipur. Notice the little statue of the Hindu elephant-headed god Ganesha on the dashboard with a design drawn next to it in red powder, and the sparkly tinsel around the reverse mirror for good luck. There is a tanker on the right side that could be carrying water of gasoline, and as this is a two way road you can just see a tuc-tuc coming towards us to his right. Because the English introduced rules of the road they are meant to drive on the left in India. There are two pedi-cabs, motor scooters and bicycles going our way, and an elephant has just crossed in front of us.

A little later I noticed this motor scooter carrying a family of six. The good news is that the traffic doesn't to move very fast.

We paused in this restaurant for lunch, and although I do like to eat where the locals eat it was very refreshing to get into the air-conditioning. The picture is included so you can see the chairs. The peacock is the National bird of India but these chairs were something else! They had the unpleasant look of sitting of a snake.

A little more history: Jai Singh ruled this area at the beginning of the seventeenth century. He loved the sciences and had the city laid out mathematically. He had Ptolemy and Euclid translated into Sanskrit and took great interest in astronomy. He had the most amazing structures built to tell the time and forecast the movement of the stars. They look like magnificent works of art but each has a purpose and is still accurate today. The long ladder to nowhere actually is pointing up to the North Star.

These shapes tell people more knowledgeable than I about the stars and planets. I would have very much liked to have been there at night to have some of it explained but the Jantar Mantar Observatory closes at dusk.

In the evening we returned to the Bazaar which is one of the major streets we had driven through a couple of times. The city was laid out back in the early seventeen hundreds to a Hindu design. There are little shops all along under the overhang.

There were ready made outfits, usually for children, and so much fabric for saris or other outfits.

We wondered down some of the side streets that were packed on each side with little shops. I purchased a little picture of Ganesha and the shopkeeper framed for me and charged .35 cents. Here is another friendly cow and the two men to the right…. well, they are doing their in thing a place designed for it.

I could have had any amount of body art done in any color. Henna wears off in a couple of weeks

We didn’t try these goodies but they looked tasty.

It was at about this time John asked me if I was going to take pictures of every shop we came to. I simply said “Yes.”

Who would have thought there could have been so many different turbans?

I was having a ball. I love color and I was drowning in it.

Some of the little stalls were cluttered while others were more selective about their merchandise. A rat skuttled along the perimiter of the establishment below.

Jodhpur

2008-03-31T02:24:00.000-07:00

Jain temples are very elaborate. We paused en route to Jodhpur in the town of Pokran to visit this exceptional example. Pokran was a major stop over on caravan route but the tall houses stand as home to the bats now; their elaborately carved sandstone walls and windows are all that remains of a lost lifestyle. Although these havelis are empty the temple is very alive and used for daily worship.

The irony is that some well-meaning Christians sent fine Belgium glass balls to India so the locals could decorate their Christmas trees. The locals were not Christians and there are no Christmas trees for thousands of miles. The Jain broke the balls and used them to embellish their temple with stunning results. You can see the balls in vertical rows just above the lower arches. There is additional tile and glass imported from Europe all over the temple and the Jain also covered their door with a thick layer of solid silver. Not exactly the impoverished Indians that needed the European charity.

The road to Jodpur, like most of the roads we traveled, was good and there was little traffic away from the towns. The women appeared to do most of the maintenance work although it was the men who worked with the equipment.

I had heard of Jodhpur when I was a child as this was where the British discovered the tight riding pants known as jodpurs that I used to have to wear when I rode my horse in England. I actually saw some people wearing them but the overwhelming attraction in this part of India was the Mehrangarh Fort.

Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur is another of the forts of Rajastan that appear to be completely impenetrable. It rises imposingly out of the desert, sitting on top of an acropolis with walls rising over a hundred feet higher.

The fort was taken. These are the hand prints of the wives and concubines of various maharajahs who threw themselves on his funeral pyre rather than become prisoners. I find it hard to conceive of such an act.

The entrance to the fort is a winding path to prevent a high speed elephant charge. This picture was taken looking up from the entrance way to the houses inside the fort.

The houses inside the fort are magnificent examples of finely carved sandstone and marble.

Jodhpur is known as the Blue City and it is clear to see why. Many locals paint their homes blue. The chemical copper sulphate in the whitewash turns it blue and deters termites. They believe it keeps the houses cooler as well. It does give a distinctive cool charm to the city.

We then went down to the market in the center of town. The approach was through

an elaborate tower with arches.

It didn’t matter whether it was bags of rice or children’s dresses there was always vibrant color.
Piles of various rices and beans were available with a selection of spices to tickle your nose.

Beyond the actual market, shops extended into the narrow streets of Jodhpur offering everything you can imagine.

... and in the middle of it all there is an assortment of vehicles to avoid.

Jaisalmer, India

2008-03-29T20:10:00.000-07:00

The fortified city of Jaisalmer rises out of the Thar Desert like an ocean liner at sea. It was built to protect the traffic on the Silk Route. It grew magnificent from the tithes it incurred

The Raj, or warlord lived in the fort and protected the merchants who built their homes in the town at the foot of the fort walls. Some of the merchants became very rich and are the forefathers of some of the elite of today’s India. Both the castle and the town below are still vibrant with life.
Although the merchants had to pay homage to the Raj there was still enough profit to build magnificent homes. Without air-conditioning it was important that the air should flow through the havelies. It was also important that the women were not seen by the outside world. Sandstone was the material at hand and artisans carved delicate designs like lace into the stone.

From our room in the castle we could look down on the town below. The streets were filled with life, people and animals during the day but in the middle of the night when I looked our from our balcony there wasn’t anything moving. All the cattle must have gone into their homes. It was still and calm beneath the stars.

At sunrise the fort shone like gold over the town below. It was no surprise that Jaisalmer is known as the Golden City.

There were cattle wondering everywhere within the castle and this beast nearly knocked John over simply by bumping him out of the way in the narrow lanes, as he ambled by. Walking was a little uncomfortable as you had to be careful not to twist an ankle on he rough cobbles and you had to keep an eye out lest you trod in a cowpat.

Meandering around the fort was like returning to the middle ages with the narrow streets and the high walled houses. We came across the milkman delivering fresh milk from churns fastened to either side of his motorbike. He just fit down the lane and we had to wait to pass him while he ladled his product into the jugs of his customers.

This was a mighty fort and it looked impenetrable. Surely no one could breach the walls and the entrance-way had bends so that no elephant could charge. Most of the time these Bhati Rajput people held supremacy over the Mughals but they were defeated three times. They could not survive a siege as long as seven years. The warriors capitulated and rode out into the hoards below to certain death but taking as many of the enemy with them as they could. Before that the women took the rite of Jauhar; preyed and cleansed themselves and then threw themselves onto a fire rather than be taken by the enemy. They left hand prints on the walls before they died.

The city fell into decline when the British opened Bombay as a port and trade was easier by boat than by camel. Now, resting near the Pakistani border, Jaisalmer is an important military base although you seldom see a soldier.

I don’t like to hand out money to beggars although I occasionally give fruit I have some on me. Today I bought some vegetables I didn’t need from an elderly lady sitting at the corner of one of the markets. That evening while John was taking this picture of the fort a little boy came up who was living with his family under canvas nearby. He literally skipped away, barefoot over the rocks, when we gave him the vegetables. You can just make out his home.

Shopping in India

2008-03-29T18:35:00.000-07:00

20080225-5211

Rohet and the Road West

2008-03-28T23:44:00.000-07:00

This hidden cluster of tents in the middle of the Rajasthan desert is where Madonna chose to spend New Years 2007. It was certainly away from the crowds. When we were there the only people occupying three of the other half dozen tents were interesting couples. The only concession that was made to the celebrity was that instead of having hot water for just 2 hours a day her party could take a hot shower at any time.
This is the only mark they left; besides the smiles and memories among the staff.

Around the tents there was nothing but scrub desert and the occasional peacock. The thatched hut in the center is the community room where guests can sit in the cool of the evening and enjoy the company of the other residents and the good food provided. A waterhole was being created behind the tents to attract more wildlife which visitors would be able to watch from comfortable lounge chairs.

At night without any ambient light at night the stars were bright and stretched deep into the universe.
The road heading east was bare, but always there were women dressed in colorful sari. They cover their faces for protection from the sun more than in modesty.

There is a distinct shortage of transportation vehicles. It seemed that everyone would climb onto anything heading their way. This is a little Jeep.

If there were no longer seats inside a bus or train passengers just climbed on top. We wondered if they got a discounted fare.

In fact almost every vehicle was overloaded

The landscape was becoming more and more baron as we drove into the Great Indian Desert.

Camels were everywhere; wondering freely and nibbling the vegetation when not carrying or pulling enormous loads. It was interesting to know that a camel can carry a greater load than an ox. It was only the tourists we saw riding them but they pulled carts and carried whatever was piled upon them.

We were heading for the fortress of Jaisalmer where we were going to stay the night.

Ranakpur, Rajasthan, India

2008-03-28T00:02:00.000-07:00

The road across Rajasthan to Rohet didn’t have much to say for itself. Fortunately there was not much traffic and always some treat to feed the eyes. Turbans became more prevalent on the men and it was a wonderful picture that I missed of three men on a motor scooter. There was a turbaned driver in the center and a turbaned head on either side of his, coming straight towards us. Folks around here are a little careless about which side of the road they drive on, they just avoid each other and the stray animals.
We happened upon a lone tree dripping with fruit bats.

Where there was water it took a bit of an effort to get it to the fields. The boy behind the oxen kept them moving and turning the wheel that lifted the water in the little buckets and spilled it into a canal.

Even the least advantaged woman dresses colorfully and looked elegant beneath her load of wood. That is more than I could carry wearing jeans!

We saw a few monkeys along the way. They were mostly hanging around the road waiting for someone to toss them dinner. We also passed signs warning us to be on the lookout for leopards but we had no such luck.

Ranakpur was an oasis in the dry wilderness. This is Jain temple was built in the 15th century. Its main feature is the 1444 pillars finely carved from marble creating cool cloisters. Each pillar is unique but together they create a serene whole. The air flows around and through open arches pulling up the heat and it is carefully designed to capture rainwater.

This picture was taken looking up at the central dome.

Many of the carvings were made to instruct the congregation who could not read. Some were straight out of the Kama Sutra.

We then headed away from the towns and into the back country to look for wildlife. We spotted several Black Bucks with magnificent coiled horns like corkscrews.
They are foraging in the cultivated land where the farmer is waiting for the season to change to plough it. There is competition for fodder from the cattle and camels that graze the area and I was surprised that we saw so much wildlife. The local Bushnoi community is famous for their conservation work and look after the wildlife. We also saw several of the Indian National bird; the peacock.

The locals also conduct frequent opium ceremonies. I am not sure about the legality of this but it seemed to be sanctioned by the authorities and the leader of the community certainly didn’t mind repeated performances. He and his compadres were very mellow.
We were welcomed into his home which consisted of a walled courtyard with a covered area around the edge and a few closed in rooms. Before we started we had to wait for the cattle to pass through.

They assured us that this was not the bad kind of opium. (?) and we ere offered little quarter inch crystals to eat. It was bitter. Then the tribal chief poured some water of dubious clarity into a couple of strainers and we watched the liquid drip into a bowl.
Additional cattle wondered through the enclosure and our hosts smoked home rolled cigarettes and smiled and nodded at us.

Then there was the most interesting part. Some of the liquid was poured into the chief’s hand and he drank. Then more was poured into his palm which was slurped up by each member of his party and then our guide in turn. He did pour some “clean” water over his drinking hand and rub the fingers together but I was just wondering how clean his hand was when it was offered to me so I graciously sucked up the clear bitter liquid. The procedure was repeated. If it had any effect on me it was minimal. I was happy enough to start with.
We continued on our way to Bishnoi ki Dhani, a cluster of six circular mud homes with neat thatched roves that was considered a village.

This is a dry desert in which to eek out a livelihood, however, like everyone else we met they were smiling and very friendly.

Before we left we sat on outside with the head of the family. As a way of thanks I offered him a packet of watermelon seeds. He beamed with delight nodded his thanks and smiled some more. We left there feeling fine. Perhaps it was the after-glow of the opium. 20080224_06013 We slept in tents that night. But these were no ordinary tents. These were tents that were good enough for Madonna.

Udaipur, India

2008-03-27T03:47:00.000-07:00

2007 was the Year of the Pig and a very auspicious year for the Chinese to get married. 2008 in the Hindu Calendar has very few days that portend well for a wedding. We arrived in Udaipur on one of the recommended wedding days. The daughter of one of the Government Ministers was to be married and all the hotels in town were booked. It was even prohibited for anyone who was not a resident to eat at a restaurant in town. An Indian wedding takes many days with a variety of joyful ceremonies and visits to the houses of the in-laws and dining at feasts whenever possible.

The inconvenience to us was that we could not take a boat ride around the lake to see the Jagniwas Lake Palace close up. It has been converted into a hotel and we had previously declined staying there at $450 a night but a boat trip would have been pleasant. The location is spectacular; even James Bond visited to make the movie Octopussy. It was built to take advantage of the cooling water and used as a summer palace. The main City Palace that overlooks it is only a couple of miles away.

The hotel as seen from the City Palace.

Wherever we went we came across groups of ladies in their finest wedding regalia going to a relatives house to show off gifts they had for the mother-in-law or some one similar, as is the custom.

An important part of the wedding tradition is that the groom ride to the ceremony on a horse or an elephant. We didn't see any going by elephant but we saw at least a dozen on horseback. This sturdy breed is local. Note the ears that curl to touch each other. There is a powerful story of a white horse carrying a Raj into battle and although fatally wounded by an enemy elephant, managed to swim a river and save it's master before dying. There is a statue honoring this white stallion.

A local horse in wedding finery to take a groom to the wedding. He might go to several weddings in a day.

We stayed the pleasant Rajputana Resort hotel just our of town and had an hour by the pool to unwind. The previous week had been very cold and without a heater the water was too chill for my liking. In the evening there was a dance show by the pool which we watched from our window.
The room with two large bay windows was excessively decorated in the Indian fashion with drapes and tassels everywhere and an elaborate three dimensional mosaic picture of a peacock with dozens of pieces of cut glass making up each feather. In the middle of all these sparkles and greens and browns hanging in the center if the room was the most elaborate blue glass chandelier I have ever seen.

The City Palace and Museum is still home to the current Raj. Although these kings, for want of a better title, lost all their power when the British unified the country, they are still held in great respect and much loved by the locals. He has made part of the palace into a museum but as it is still his property he can use it as he wishes. This day the courtyard was going to be used as a venue for one of the wedding parties so our trip was a little curtailed.

The palace with the setup for the evenings wedding party, and I couldn't imagine a more beautiful setting.

The Elephant God Ganesha is one of my favorite Hindu gods and the only one without a human head. Every home has a Ganesha near the door and he is the first one that is prayed to because he brings good luck and keeps problems at bay. He is a little chubby as he likes to eat sweet morsels but humble enough to ride around on a rat. It was therefore no surprise that the first thing inside the palace door was a representation of Ganesha.

Looking down over the palace roves to Udaipur beyond.

This is one of the numerous courtyards in the women's area. Needless to say, the men who are invited these days don't have to be eunuchs.

The open air rooms and courtyards are decorated with the very best available from Europe at the beginning of the last century. Tiles from Holland and England and glass from Belgium decorated every surface. It was clear that there was a divide between where the Raj lived and were his wives and concubines were kept.

This is one of the balconies overlooking a courtyard in the women's part of the palace.

Murals can be seen on buildings all over the country. Here in the palace they were particularly fine.

We then left downtown and drove to see the elaborate temples of Eklingji. Unfortunately no photography was permitted. We removed our shoes as usual and I purchased a garland of flowers to offer inside. The flowers cost about 2 ½ cents but the woman didn’t have change. She said she would give it to us as we left.
Eklingji is an irregular complex of 108 temples nestled closely together inside a high wall. Some of them are too small to enter and you can see Buddhas sitting inside. Others large enough for the faithful to gather. The tall grey stone temples were reminiscent of the sandstone monoliths of Bryce Canyon in the U.S. but all these were lovingly carved with figures and knobs. They ranged in height from ten to thirty feet. It was like walking through little canyons. The stone beneath my feet was hot where the sun warmed it and cooler in the shade, changing as I progressed around the sandstone and marble temples.
Eklingji was all the more amazing that this was built almost a thousand years ago in 734 AD.
There were statues of three cows lined up facing the alter of the largest temple. A brass one was outside under a shelter, a slightly smaller one made of a solid piece of black marble was in front of the brass one, and a silver one was inside the temple door. A drum was pounding and bells were ringing and the priests chanting and walking with dishes of flickering flames. It felt not only holy but also stirring; the friendly people, the sounds of bells and drums and the children playing on the perimeter, the incense wafting and flowers draped on various statues adding touches of yellow and white, all drawing me in. It was a very special place and my only disappointment was that I could not take pictures to share.

As we were leaving the lady who had sold us the garlands called to me and had the five rupee change ready. A great smile crossed her face as I insisted she keep it.

Mombai, India. Formerly Bombay

2008-03-09T20:58:00.000-07:00

Mumbai

What a contrast it is from Chennai on the East coast of India to Mumbai on the West.
Mumbai has the feel of a modern city with comfortably moving traffic. In fact the ubiquitous little put-puts are not permitted in the city center. The city looks out onto the Arabian Sea over a long sweep of beach that is hardly used. We were told the locals don’t like the sun but I it also looked polluted.

We were only in Mumbai overnight. We had to change planes there and I thought we might as well get a better glimpse of the city so we stayed one night. At first it seemed as though time had stood still in Mumbai because so many of the cars were 1950s models. After the British left the factories simply did not re-tool and kept rolling out the same remodel. The Ambassador is favored by the elite because it is large and comfortable and all the taxis are that model. There are 65,000 taxis rumbling around Mumbai.

We paid a short visit to the Crawforn Market. India produces over three million tons of spices a year and I was in the right place for some. I bought whole nutmegs so we can grate the fresh spice into our eggnog next Christmas. It never had occurred to me that there were so many varieties of anees seeds.

There are some fine buildings built by the British at the turn of the last century from university buildings to the police headquarters.

I failed to get a good picture of Victoria Station. It is one of British’s finest structures in Mumbai, complete with gargoyles that spout water in when it rains. It is a beautiful and practical structure that exceeds any of the counterparts I have seen in the UK. This was the heart of British India and the rail system they built across the country linking the various kingdoms. It is a building to be proud of and it is from there that the first train ran in India. Unfortunately the train service is no longer very good and about ten people loose their lives each day either falling off the roves, falling out of over-crowded carriages where they have been hanging on bulging out, or walking along the tracks. But India does run a lot of trains and are the largest employer in the world.

Mumbai is the known as Bollywood, and adaption of the old name Bombai and Holywood. They make over a thousand movies a year here but as I was not invited to be part of one we decided to visit one of the beautiful Jain temples. The Jain are an offshoot from the Hindu religion.

Our visit coincided with a ceremony that involved two bells being rung in unison and a dish of flames being moved in circles around one of the prophets. In most Jain temples they don’t mind if you take photographs but don’t like it if you turn your back on the prophets.

Instead of numerous Hindu gods they have twenty-four prophets. Another distinction from a Hindu temple is that the Hindu decorate the outside of their buildings profusely whereas the Jain embellish the interior. We were to see magnificent examples of Jain temples all over Rajasthan. The Jain are strict vegetarians and go to the extreme of covering their mouths when close to an alter so an not to destroy any living organisms by inhaling them. The strict adherents do not eat root vegetables as that would destroy the plant. It is important that they wear new cloths when they go to worship, ones that have not be soiled by such events as a trip to the bathroom and menstruating women are not allowed in the temples.

Dhobi Ghat was an interesting contrast to the pristine temple.

This is where people and the smaller hotels have their clothes washed. It is a commercial laundry location and the dirt is simply pounded out.

The work is all done by men and each has a couple of troughs of water and can be seen using plenty of muscle to beat the dirt out. It is all done by hand.

And I thought my washing machine was rough on my clothes.

From Mumbai we flew to the Royal State of Rajasthan

Chennai Beach. India

2008-03-08T00:55:00.000-08:00

Chennai (Madras) India
On the south east coast of the subcontinent facing the Bay of Bengal

We flew into Chennai because John had a conference there. I knew that Madras was famous for its food and especially the curry but I knew nothing about the area. Apart from the charm of the people and the fact that this is India, there is little of outstanding interest.
Of course there are some exceptions.

They boast the second longest beach in the world but at 12 miles that doesn't make sense. They are referring to the width or length to the water's edge. The best aspect is that it is well used both day and night. On the North end there are so many stalls it is like a bazaar and as you meander south you pass hundreds of people enjoying the cool breeze off the Bay of Bengal, playing in the water, playing cricket and enjoying each other long into the night when the kites are replaced by glowing disks that fly high into the sky. Fishermen also use the beach to launch their boats and mend the nets.

No one I saw had a swim suit but all sorts of people were in the water: boys in briefs and shorts and I watched three elegant women holding hands and skipping over the frothing waves like children. When they turned around I saw that they were all quite elderly. Other women were in up to their waists with colorful swaths of sari floating around them.

This lady asked me to photograph her daughter and I said I would if she would be in the picture as well.
Judging by the rope and the others like it, this fishing boat is still in use. The fishermen stand in them and cast their nets. New boats provided by the NGOs after the tsunami are not so popular and there are so many boats now that the boys are going fishing instead of finishing their education.

There are few signs left of the disaster wrought by the monster wave. The street lamps are replaced and most of the homes have been rebuilt. About 800 people were lost in Chennai. It was worse up the coast to the north.
Now this beach is a playground and thoroughly enjoyed by all who go there.

Way down at the southern end of the beach John and I stopped for dinner at a kind of beach restaurant that in the West would serve hamburgers or hot dogs. We got a plate of tortilla-type pancakes cooked with onions in them (Latinos take note). They were delicious and cost $3.00 for both and mine was piled with tomatoes as well.

For information on our other travels go to 99 Days to Panama.

Mamallapuram and Chennai, India

2008-03-07T18:57:00.000-08:00

John was in Chennai, on the east coast of India, attending a conference so I went to some of the attractions without him. Mamallapuram is a magnificent collection of sculptured bas reliefs south of town, that were carved into and out of the giant boulders that naturally covered the hill.

The one below is made into a room from solid rock but like the others it had never been consecrated so is treated more like a playground than a temple.

Besides the children climbing over the rocks there were monkeys and goats all over the place.

The colorful clothes the locals wore and the grey rocks created a stark contrast.

Frequently when I got my camera out locals would want me to take their picture, and then thank me. So unlike what I had become used to in other parts of the world where people are camera shy, here they would strike a pose and then ask if I would join the family in their picture and we would all stand together laughing and smiling.

Wherever I went there seemed to be groups of school children who would squeal and wave and get very excited at having their picture take and then squeal again and giggle when I showed them the results.

The traffic in Chennai was horrendous. There were four rows of traffic in a road marked with two lanes, but most often there were no markings on the road and it was a complete free for all. Every vehicle blows its horn in continuous beeps creating a din that is hard to comprehend and difficult to experience. This picture is taken from inside one of the three wheeled putt-putts, also called autos, yellow and black taxis like the one you can see in front. They are all over the city like wasps and about as dangerous.

I turned left out of the hotel and walked about a kilometer and found myself in the Nagar Bazaar. It is really little more than a shopping street with dozens of stalls and eager sales people. No one really hassled me and I only saw a couple of beggars who were pleading to the locals as much as they were to me.

Shopping was good! Some folks might need a little courage to tackle the street bazaars but I am right at home.

The other point of interest for me was that St. Thomas had lived, worked and died here; the Apostle "Doubting Thomas" that is. I was able to visit the cave where he lived, the spring that he created when those around him became thirsty, and the place where he was martyred. Well, the local story is that he was shot by an arrow in a hunting accident but don’t tell the Pope that because he was there and blessed the masses from the mount.

First I had to make my way past the children from the church school going for their morning prayers in the circular church.

Then I took what was a typical picture of women working; moving rocks.

This is the entrance to St. Thomas’ cave, where the Apostle lived, over which the church is now built. The cross carved in the stone is said to have been by his own hand. Inside it was actually a rather comfortable area with light from a window on the other side permitting the air to flow through. An alter is inside now and a rock said to have been worn into smooth grooves by his forearms as he lent over it in prayer. And then we went behind the church to the spring where the caretaker drew a tin cup up and presented it to me for a drink. OK, so if it is Holy Water I won’t catch a bug, right?

I then climbed 135 steps up St. Thomas Mount where he died, also known as the Holy Hillock. Within the little marble chapel that is void of pews, is a Holy Relic, a minute chip of his bone. There is also the cross that he is said to have carved and been preying before when he was martyred. It was rediscovered in the 16^th century and from 1551 through 1704 sweated blood on the anniversary of his death. It has a black stain but I doubt it has been DNA tested. There are some fourteen century paintings as well as one that is credited to the hand of St. Luke.

This is a view of Chennai from where Pope John Paul blessed the masses that covered the hillside below.

To conclude my little pilgrimage I went to the Basilica of St. Thome where his body resides along with additional Relics.

Give a click for my stories about Central America.

Cows in India

2008-03-05T23:25:00.000-08:00

Generally in India the cows are not considered holy, as I had been led to believe. Yes, they do wander the streets all over the place, in narrow lanes and on the freeways, but these belong to someone and are just foraging before returning home for the night. You might have to avoid one lying near the median on a freeway or in the shade of a tree blocking one lane of a country road. Trucks pass within inches of them, making the long ears of a Brahma flap in their wake, but the animals just trust that no one is going to hit them and drift off to sleep or meander to the next trash heap in searching for fodder.

One cow was lined up with the motorbikes. I thought it was dozing in the shade.

Not so. As I watched it made a beeline across the street and despite the protestations from the stall owner, it stole a cucumber.

As it walked towards me I thought I could see it smile.