Munnar/Thekkady

More random observations from the road: I took a 2 day trip with people who are tangentially related to me. From The Village, we headed to Munnar to experience the fresh air, drive the winding roads through the tea estates and check out Rajmalai Park.

I once visited Minnesota in June and people, to my shock, had shorts on. For me, while it was not actively cold, it certainly wasn't warm - and it was nowhere near hot enough for shorts. Indians strike me the same way - they seemto find it much colder here than I do. People have donned "monkey caps" and sweaters. For all the care that people take while dressing, cold weather measures are apparently exempt. I have seen some truly horrifying sweater and sari combos! Wearing a cardigan on top of a sari gives aunties sliken, pleated tails.

Indians don't seem to have the notion of a walk just to see the scenery, or or simply ('zimbly') the walk's sake. Like seeing some Nilgiri ibex up close wasn't enough, a man asked us if there was anythign to see up ahead. One of the uncles amusingly said "a few gods." The questioner went on to ask about number and type to see whether the gods would be sufficient motivation for his family to continue on.

So far, Munnar has been my favorite spot o the trip. The rolling sea of tea, bushes set in strips. Oddly, it reminded me of wine country (but maybe everything reminds you of home when you are away.) The views were beautiful - totally different from the Keralan coast. It was obvious where the tea money ran out - the road suddenly because dramatically worse a few miles beyond the last tea estate.

Periyar sanctuary was also beautiful. We didn't see very many animals, but the boat trip on the lake was so peaceful and serene in comparison to being on the road. While on the boat, I realized that taking photos has become like game hunting - less about the experience itself and mroe about baggin the "trophy." (Obviously, photo safaris are much better for animals!) All the people who scramble to take pictures of the animal's retreating rump - I wonder how often (if at all) they will look at their snaps.

The Village

I took the train from Thiruvananthapuram to The Village - one of my goals while in India. (And finished another goal - reading Rushdie. I read "Shalimar the Clown" - RECOMMEND!) I've started jotting down notes in my journal - no matter how shakey the handwriting - so that I have something to jog my memory. A few notes:

• Apparently, that oft-repeated saying that there are more accidents on American roads than Indian ones is pure bunk. The Indian tourists I met while on my tour of Thiruvananthapuram laid that one to rest - as it turns out, many (if not most) accidents are not reported and thus do not figure into the statistics.
• The walls of Indian homes have banks of light switches and dials, controlling lights, ceiling fans and mysteries.
• There are lots and lots of roadside signs related to driving safety and civic-mindedness. For example, 'Keep your side, save your hide" Still, being driven in India is nerve-jangling. It requires something like a zen-like detachment and a focus on the driver's head. Driving school here must be a trip, I saw 2 different students on the road. Each had a death grip on the steering wheel and ramrod-straight posture.
• Watching cricket is like watching curling - the announcer assumes you already know the ins and outs of the game and doesn't take time to explain. Sadly, my working knowledge of cricket comes from watching "Lagaan." I'm not kidding. I've watched cricket on nearly every trip to India, but never had anything explained to me. It reminds me of when I was five and asked my father how the scoring in tennis works. He told me to watch the game and figure it out. Parents and would-be parents: that is really CRAPPY advice! I mean ... love, 15, 30, 40, deuce, advantage, tiebreak, etc. - some things require an explanation.
• Ah, Kerala - where the men have more ear and facial hair than actual hair.

Here in Kerala, I'm like the Italian cousin - somehow related, but .... different and a little laughable in my cluelessness and lack of language skills. I've decided that all of the staring makes me some kind of a celebrity. Maybe I'll start wearing huge sunglasses a la Nicole Ritchie (or dressing in baglady-chi a la Marykate and Ashley.)

Thiruvananthapuram

I awoke thinking that I had injured my tongue. In my sleep-fog, I examined it in the miror. Satisfied that it was whole, I returned to bed. Now, I think that my tongue was changing configuration - hinging in the middle to pronoune the polysyllabic, metered words here. Exchanging one for the other - Thiruvananthapuram for Trivanduram, Kunyakumari for Cape Cormorin.

I don't know what people want me to be here, and the question of identity seems to be at the forfront. Like so many things, there is no proper answer. If I say that I am American, people insist that I am Indian "but settled in the U.S." If I give them that answer, they tell me that I am American. I think what people really want - what is important to them - is to place me in a category themselves, to affix the label like a "Hello, My Name is" sticker at a convention.

I went to the sea. I expected to to speak to me, but all I heard was my own voice telling it that it is not my ocean. Beofre I could really miss the Pacific, I began to feel connected to the sea, vibrations along a long, long, invisible thread.

Contradictions and ironies are everywhere. People here are modest, theoretically, yet the men show more leg than any of the styles in H&M last summer. It's all about the mini-lunghi apparently. So, the men are walking around in mini-skirts and I get looked at askance if I don't wear a duputta with my loose-ass salwar. (Duputta and backpack do NOT work well together.) It shouldn't surprise me, modesty has always been applied nearly exclusively to women.

I am over being cranky-pants (cranky-churidar?) about this trip - it's starting to find its own rhythym now. So far, this has been my best trip to India - but that is thanks to the low expectations standard.

Station Identification

I wrote pages and pages and pages in my journal on the train from Trivanduram to Ernakulam. Lots of observations about travel in India and life in general. At some point, some subset of these pages and pages will make it here as a blogpost. But not now. Blogging will recommence once I am out of The Village. (Hopefully, Jan. 7 or 8.) Ah, sweet Internets at non-dialup speed - how I miss you!

All by myself!

The fabulous Ms. Hee-ther (as everyone pronounces it here) is off to Ooty and I am on my own.

So. weird.

I will have tonnes of time to write tomorrow - hopefully, I'll have internet access!

Mysore

We hired a car and are now in Mysore. Or, as my father called it in his IM yesterday, "Mysore, city of kings."

There's so much going on, and so many funny moments. The camera is simply not fast enough to record all of the great signs, and juxtapositions (like the signs on Chamundi Hill declaring it a plastic free zone ... followed by at least 100 plastic bags lining the side of the road.) Next time, I think that I'll bring a voice recorder.

Things here just take longer. I'm learning to keep a book with me so that I have something to do. I remember this feeling from my time in Costa Rica - things take as long as they take, and feeling anxious about it (or like they should have been wrapped up by now) doesn't really change anything. People here are also more .... assertive in restaurants. At first, I thought that we were being ignored whenever we ate out, but I'm starting to think that it is just that we are not as vocal about being ready to order, wanting more water, the bill, etc.

Visiting the Tipu Summer Palace yesterday, the ticket agent spent a good, long moment looking at me before asking "You are a .... foreigner?" (there's a difference in ticket prices.) That made me smile. The travel agent, after writing my name down, asked me if I knew what my first name meant. I was not so amused.

Today, we saw Mysore Palace. Unfortunately, no photography is allowed inside. The style is, apparently, Indo-Saracenic, but at least from the outside it looks like typically Muslim architecture. Also interesting: you remove your shoes before you enter. I'm used to doing that when going to temples, so this was a little odd.

Tonight we are heading to Brindavan Gardens (and are hoping to catch the kitschy water/light show.) I'm heading back to Bangalore tomorrow and out to in Thiruvananthapuram (Trivanduram - someone needs to tell the Keralites that nothing will happen if you don't use ALL the letters in one go.)

I wish that I could write more reflective posts right now, but I feel like not all of my cylinders are firing. I'm not sleeping very well, and a lot of time each day seems to be spent in making sure that the logistics are worked out for that day and the next. I feel like I am taking in a lot right now and will process and evaluate it later.

I am missing home. Like most of my trips - after about a week, I wish that I could magically transport myself home for 2 days (water with ice! movies! driving!) and then transport myself back to my travel location.

Bangalore

Humor: The name of British Airways in-flight magazine is High Times . Really - no one saw a problem with that?

I have arrived in Bangalore. Things were so crazy, super-hectic before I left that I didn't get a chance to post. The night before I flew out I was at work until 9:30ish. Mmmyeah - and I hadn't packed. I was up most of the night - partially because I was getting things done, partially because I knew I was too excited to sleep. Sleep deprivation served me well: I slept a good part of the flight to London, and also a large chunk of the flight to Bangalore.

When we entered the airport in Bangalore, I was immediately happy. The air has a certain smell here (and for once when talking about smells in India I do not mean something noxious.) It just smelled so familiar. Another "we're not in Kansas anymore" moment: the guy in front of me at the immigration counter was totally thrown by the Indian head nod. For those unfamiliar, it's sort of a horizontal figure eight-type nod, roughly translating as "yes", "okay", or "whatever."

There's nothing like being greeted at the airport by friendly faces, even better when it's 6 am!

Adventures/misadventures in Bangalore:
- shopping on Commercial Street. At one point, I felt like a "john" - we were walking through a sort of alley/hallway of shops, being called to from both sides by vendors. The vendors were flinging open their wares so that we could see the colors, embellishments, etc. It was awesome, overwhelming and somehow tawdry.
- getting lost in an autorickshaw, made even better by the fact that (1) we had half-dry mehndi on our hands (Indian cliche alert!), and (2) I was forced to actually try out my Malayalam and hope it was close enough to Kannada to get the job done. Horrifying, but amusing.
- being absolutely, and utterly treated like family
- feeling like the biggest tourist ever for taking pictures of the food (I haven't eaten on a banana leaf in soooo long!)

Basho

I have mad love for the haiku. I love the delicate balance of it all: the dance of syllables, the threads of meaning in the pauses. I have come to think that this is something I get from my mother. Behold - the incisive guilt-induction by ma mere:

I will be anxious until you come back. Hope you will be able to contact us
now and then.

Wow. Check the precision on that - not an ounce wasted! My moms got skillz, yo.

It's gotta be the shoes

I'm not sure the exact moment that it happened. It was either while leveling with a coworker that I was feeling really pressed trying to get all of my work done before Friday, and that I felt that I was going to have to pass work back to her (and her volunteering to take it back on!) or it was when I saw the giant Zappos.com box on the mail cart and knew that it was destined for my office. In my quest to find travel sandals, I turned to my old friend - the Internets, and it delivered. I purchased seven (7!) pairs of potential sandals and settled on the ones to the right. They are more than a little orthopedic-looking, but man are they every comfortable. Cushy sole, super adjustable straps - these bad boys are going to India with me!

And that's the moment I'm talking about - when my trip to India became real and immediate. Today, all of a sudden, I can feel the thrill. I've had to walk around the office to burn off a little energy (and to try out the new travel sandals, naturally.) I can still feel it - an extra thrumming in my fingers, slightly sweaty palms.

Perhaps coincidentally, my father has chosen this week to start planning my trip. Yeah, I'm not sure what's up with that either. I expected this, just much earlier. I am trying to minimize the amount of time I spend with "relatives" (i.e. the further out peeps that I have never met), and I am truly loathe to impose on people. (I am my mother's daughter, sometimes.) For example, I am not going to Uncle Sanju's brother Ram's beach house with his family even if they "really won't mind at all." I am more interested in visiting my dad's cousin in The Village (as my dad calls it.) Dad has promised that his cousin speaks "good English" but that his wife will only respond in Malayalam (thus improving my Malayalam - which is so moribund at this point as to possibly be beyond resuscitation.)

In a few short days (and after an inordinately long flight, etc.), I'll be in India. For the first time in eight years. Whoah.

55 Fiction Friday: Season's Greetings edition

Friday makes a list and checks it twice.

She skimmed over the accomplishments : the promotion at work, the new car, redoing the kitchen, etc. She brushed off a little over-enthusiastic glitter and thought about her year. Would she have the chutzpah to put it in a letter – the petty disappointments, the malaise – and finish it all off with a cheery signature ?