Elephant camp.

Each elephant has a set diet.  So cute.

The next morning, we went out to look for some elephants in the wild.   I never realized how easy and yet how difficult that would be.  How many elephants can there be just lumbering freely around a country of over 1 billion people?  Well, I guess over a thousand in this particular reserve.  At the same time, it was miraculous how something so big could slip away into the forest so quietly.  All in all, I probably saw about 25 elephants, some bison, monkeys, and parakeets. 

We had a local, helping us track.  I never expected to see stocking caps in southern India, but here you have it.   They were all over the place in this part of the country.  You can’t tell from this photo, but this dude’s cap is pink, his shirt yellow, and his skirt turquoise.   They really aren’t afraid of color here!  Jungle fashion week?

The evidence.  It was so interesting, the coolie would slide his flip-flop off to determine the warmth and thereby age of the dung.  These guys really did know how to find them.

Below, you can see an overview of where i’ll be stopping (you can click on the maps to enlarge them):

The itinerary, piece by piece: 

State of Tamil Nadu 

Mudulai National Park (jungle retreat)

Ooty Hill Station (in the Nilgiri Hills)

State of Kerala 

Cochin (V. will drop me there and then head home)

Backwaters (overnight boat trip? tbd)

Periyar Nature Reserve (maybe I’ll be lucky enough to catch a tiger by the tail?)

Verkala (chillout beach time)

Then a flight on up to Mumbai (Bombay) for 4 nights.  Bright lights, Big Bollywood city.

And on to meet R. in Delhi (and boy, will I be happy to see him!) for the “Golden Triangle” of Delhi –> Agra (Taj Mahal) –> Jaipur (to celebrate the Hindu holiday of Diwali).

Then back to NYC the last week of October.

The Hindu newspaper published an editorial this week about the closing of a number of schools because they were ditching the local languages in favor of English instruction.  I think this is a specific example of the greater paradox that is modernising India:

It’s a paradox, but the most regressive policies are pushed through in precisely those places that are supposed to be the hot spots of India’s emergent economy.  In Delhi, schools may be selaed as they represent a commercial activity.  In Mumbai, bar girls are prevented from practising their profession, presenting them with a stark choice:  prostitution or destitution.  And in Karnataka, the state that embodies India’s IT hopes, the government has banned 2,100 educational institutions because they use English as a medium of teaching.  In each of these cases, the empire is striking back…Karnataka seems determined to revisit the old parable about climbing a tree and sawing off the branch one is sitting on.

Indian democracy in action.  I hope to write a little blurb about my impressions of India vs. China, the two countries everyone is watching and expecting to chart the course of this century.  The differences are stark.    

I’m ready to go.  So farewell, you aspiring, frustrating, exhilirating and exasperating city.  Some parting shots:

The state capital of Karnatka, where Bangalore is based.   Here, the craziness of the byzantine Indian political system in action.

My favorite coffee shop.  Run by the Indian Coffee Cooperative.   Now that is what you call “old school”.

And speaking of old school.   This is still fairly common in the streets of a city that claims/aims to be the center of technology of the 21st century?   Which century is this again?  Walking around here, you are never quite sure.

Religion is intricately woven into daily life.  Every kind of religion and worship in a great big jumble that is India.

And lots of small scale enterprise.  Is this the Indian Starbucks?  Precious, but I’m avoiding the food and drink at these places like Typhoid.  Unfortunately, ’cause I love dumps like this!

The child laborers are cute too.  But shouldn’t he be in a Nike or Katie Lee factory somewhere?  He could be doing more of his part in the global economy.

Men are very affectionate with one another here.  Holding hands, walking arm and arm.  It’s very common in this whole part of the world.  But the interactions between men and women seem to be very regulated.  A lot of separation between men and women in the public sphere. 

Infrastructure, anyone?  This is very common.   Walking on the makeshift sidewalks, a.k.a. obstacle courses.  Definitely not for multi-taskers; got to watch every step.  And leave the Manolos at home.

Crowds.  Sometimes I feel that the Indian population is actually under-counted.  A scene of thousands at the train station.

Trying to get a glimpse of a national Cricket match.   I’ve never been surrounded by such a love of Cricket.   I tried to watch some, but have no damn idea what it is about.  I do like the outfits and the setting, though.   Very colonial.

Bangalore is referred to as “The Garden City”, but there are only few examples why.  Most of the parks are very scruffy and a little sad.  But an escape from the traffic, nonetheless.

So long, Bangalore!

Apparently, it was from the head of Infosys that Tom Friedman first heard “The World is Flat”.  I was there to learn more about their services, which include some e-commerce and web design offerings.  And really just to get an impression of and make contacts with the “new” Indian economy.  Although the traffic out to the campus was horrendous – the drive took over an hour – when you finally arrive after passing the usual Indian street scenes of markets, cows and chaos, you are transported to a new planet.

It really was like some space-age university campus.   15,000 employees, with the average age of 26.  They accept less than 2% of their applicants to fill jobs with a starting salary of $4,500 a year.  

Yes, they have an amazing swimming pool, a number of gyms and cafeterias, a beauty salon, banks, day care, etc.  They were shocked to learn that my latest empoyer offered none of those things. 

(You see the ironing-wala stations around the neighborhood.   There are actually hot coals or something in the irons.)

In any case, my day begins with some form of dawn chorus, with crazy ass birds that are somehow very tiny (I can never see them in the palm trees) and yet extremely loud.  Seriously, it’s like the most obnoxious car alarm you have ever heard.  And they certainly never sleep in.  Then the stray dogs start barking, scooters scooting, a cacophony of horns, and people down on the street yelling as they walk by, peddling their wares.  Then the newspapers hit the side of the house.  It’s very interesting to read the news from a local perspective.  According to The Hindu, almost all bad in the world comes from Pakistan, America, and the Indian political class.

Then the milk arrives via sari-clad woman.  It requires boiling.  I love the container it arrives in.  Stainless steel cutlery and dishware is in vogue down here.

 Muniappa comes in the morning, makes breakfast (some combination of greasy toast, fruit, and south indian idly) and putters around for a few hours.  Once in a while he tries to talk to me about things (read: money), but he doesn’t speak English and my Hindi is pretty rusty, so it isn’t a very fulfilling conversation for either of us.  A lot of nodding and smiling.  

His wife, Indra, comes in the afternoon, takes a nap, has a friend over perhaps, and sits and watches me.   For instance, she is sitting across the room, staring at me as I type this.  A lot of “attending” going on, but not much “doing”.  If I ask her to, she will also make dinner.  She too is here for at least a few hours.

Once in a while, the kids come over.   I spent a whole evening searching for games on the internet for their daughter, Durga, who seems to think I am some long lost, wealthy, uncle.  There is at least one son, maybe two.  Not sure about that.

Although I found the lack of privacy unnerving, it was all fine and good until I came home one evening and found the whole family camped out in the living room, enjoying tea.  I was in a rush to shower and meet people, so I had to shoo them out and be a bit less accommodating from then on.  That seems to have done the trick.

It has been interesting to be around people from that class, however.   And really, I must use the word “class”, despite the fact that it is somehow difficult for me, as an American (or a Liberal?) to use it.  It just sounds so, well, classist.  But class/caste is alive and well here.  The personal adds are listed by caste.  And there is something in the paper everyday about caste quotas for school or this and that.  I’ve also noticed how Indians will be very harsh to people in service positions, which I interpret also as a class thing; no problem whatsoever being rude to the guy behind the desk, snapping fingers at the waiter, yelling at beggars, or scolding your driver.  The whole master/servant thing is hard to digest.   

Making the distance between the classes even more pronounced, folks like Indra and Muniappa are basically illiterate, so sometimes I need to write things down for them and have their 10 year old daughter translate it for them later.  I’m not clear what the literacy rate is in southern India, but I have noticed that most rickshaw drivers seem completely perplexed by a map and that showing them the name of a street does absolutely nothing for them.  Telling them an exact address or an intersection will not help you.   They want the name of a landmark; last night I had to say “by KFC” before he got it.  the intersection of two main roads was not enough.  Ditto goes for taxis that I call to come pick me up – they need points of reference around the neighborhood.  In fact, in a conversation I had yesterday, I learned that in many places in India you can simply list a family last name and a nearby store or landmark and the mail will find its way to them.  Everything is so incredibly localized.  In this sort of environment, it is easy to see how some education, language skills, and mobility can catapult someone to a completely different level of indian society. 

Navigating the Indian Railway system was a little disconcerting at first – literally over a thousand men in line for tickets, impenetrable schedules, a nonfunctioning website, no one to help – but once I got on board I really enjoyed it.  Even got a little lunch and some words of wisdom from the Mathatma himself.

Nandi (Shiva’s holy bull).

Devaraja Market.  So colorful and fun to walk around.  Everyone trying to talk with you or sell you something you don’t need gets a bit tedious, but my driver ran interference for me.

My hotel.  The Lalitha Majal Palace.  Former residence of the Maharaja.  Great buidling, but the service and decor could use an update.  It was practically empty, so it felt a bit like a haunted castle.  In that vein, the largest spider I have seen outside of a zoo took up residence in my shower.  Inappropriately, given that this is a Hindu country, I asked for someone to come up and kill it.   Not very Gandhian of me.   They somehow spirited it to safety outside while I stood there in a towel.

Sri Chamundeswari Tample on Chamundi Hill.

Mysore Palace.  Really incredible.

This was me some of the time.  So many people wanting to talk, beg, sell, etc.

I took the very long, but really not-so-horrible, flight from JFK to Heathrow (with just enough time in the airport to be shocked again by how expensive London is) and then on to Bangalore.

I arrived safe and sound, but my terrific luggage did not.  One of the wheels on my suitcase was ripped clean off; a real feat considering it is metal.  So sad.  Not to mention the fact that it was 4:30am local time, and there was already a crowd inside the airport and bedlum lying in wait outside the glass doors.  Imagine a white shoebox that has been left out in a gutter during the rain and run over by a few bicycles and SUVs.   That is what the airport looked like.

Thankfully I had been informed how to buy the prepaid taxi fare instead of having to navigate the sea of touts offering transport outside.  I hobbled along with my injured suitcase and jumped in a taxi.  Along the way to the apartment we past loads of stray dogs, people carrying things on their heads, a few cows, etc.  Hello, third world!  Torn up sidewalks, dirt everywhere, squatty cement architecture with a riot of sad looking signs hanging every which way.  And believe me, I saw plenty because my driver didn’t know how to find the address (a leit motif of my adventure, I was soon to learn).  But make it I did.   Dr. B., an Indian fellow who is a friend of the woman I am subletting from, was there to greet me (although I did have to ring the bell a number of times and started to panic.  it was before 6am afterall). 

I must say that I thought the apartment was a bit of a dump, and was really beginning to question my sight unseen, “you have to trust people” renting of this place.  I was exhausted, the bed was about 1 cm thin, and I had just shown up at god knows where with 6 weeks stretching ahead of me.   I gave E. a call, and he talked me off the edge of the terrace.   Thanks! Oh, and also thanks to the makers of Klonopin®!

The next morning, with the sunshine, the balmy breeze and my first prepared breakfast, things started looking better.

And here is my apartment.  A shot from the front and some of the interior.  The American lady who owns it definitely needs some decorating advice, but it’s fine.  I have the top floor. 

The terrace is perhaps the nicest feature.   Too bad there is nowhere to sit!

The mattress is like a piece of paper and I could live without the Hindu poster art.

Oh sh!t…..

Street scenes in my neighborhood.  Yes, there really are cows ambling all over the place.  They are everywhere except for where they should be: on a plate.  There are also stray dogs everywhere.  Apparently some of them are rabid and a pack of them recently devoured a local child (no joke).  So I’m not petting anything around here:

Napping, waiting, for the bus.

If any of these guys start coughing, i’m so outta here.

There is always a coconut nearby for a snack.

I will try to add some more pics and text here later.   Our guide “Nutter” and her mysterious ghost-cousin drove us bonkers, it felt like we were standing on the surface of the sun, the food was very suspicious, but we did have a divine hotel to retreat to each evening.  All in all it was just as incredible as we imagined.

I will upload some pics here shortly, and will also take a shortcut by posting an email I sent at the time, instead of recreating my thoughts:

“hello pals!
 
here i am, schvitzing it up in Hoi Ahn, Vietnam, in the middle of my “Miss Saigon” phase.   i’m enjoying vietnam a lot, but boy is it hot.  hot hot.  too hot.  global warming is going to turn this into a stick of satay.
 
hanoi was charming and i could get good pastries (thanks colonialism!), and halong bay was incredible (although my boat – i spent the night on it – was crawling with the most declasse french tour group.  they smelled french, but looked distinctly eastern european).  next was hue, in the middle of the country (vietnam airlines isn’t so bad, really).  great old citadel, and tons of temples, pagodas, etc. up and down the perfume river.  also stayed in a nifty deco hotel there – very dreamy and very air conditioned.  amazing pool.  today i had a three hour drive down the coast to hoi ahn.  it’s a cute little place, but firmly on the tourist map.  one of those lovely little places that has utterly been given over to tourism, in fact.  oh well.  just hope the backpackers don’t get too rowdy down at the bars.  i’ve been reading “the quiet american” on my journey, finished it last night.  loved it.  and now i’m supposedly staying in the room that michael caine used as his dressing room during filming.   not so sure about that – but it does have “charm” (large quotation marks there).  the next couple of days will be spent here and then off on another flight down to Uncle Ho Town.  I’ve reached out to some locals – via internet only – and have a list of places to try out.  then on to Phnom Penh and Angkor Wat, where i’ll meet up with r for the weekend before returning to singapore.
 
i can report that i am the fattest person around.  these people are tiny tiny.  the men all have like 26 inch waists (after dinner) and are all smiley and giggle coyly when they see me. even p would be considered a big person here. i mean, their belts wrap around their midsections at least one and a half times, if not twice.  what is up with that? 
 
also, what is it with the long fingernails?   i don’t know why in the west men have short nails and women long, so i guess what is the difference, but i’d love to know what is up with the one or two long nails on these dudes.  
 
and all the “you are so handsome” - amazing how you can tired of hearing that from men and women.  jeesh, when they start with that line you know it’s time to grab your dong and run.  and they go right in for the “are you married?”  ” you want girlfriend”, etc. right off the bat.  no concept of privacy here at all.  when i dropped off some cards to be delivered at the front desk, they turned them around and read them while i stood there.  oh well!  when in rome, i guess.  
 
all in all, a really fun time.  although i must admit that travelling alone has been much more difficult than i anticipated.  and the gradiose ideas i had for business, study, philanthropy, and what-have-you have all been ignored.  oh well – india maybe?  
 
i’ll be home before you know it, and i look forward to seeing you all then!
 
miss you.  xo v

 I’m sorry this is a montage of smallness, but for some reason i can’t seem to save these any bigger.  oh well, you get the idea. 

Our other trip was an exotic weekend on the island Pulau Tioman.  Excessible by old school propellor plane and then boat, the island was just the kind of paradise you would imagine.   Steady electricity was a challenge for them, but they certainly had enough energy to run that credit card through the machine with gusto.