Bodh Gaya is a little village surviving entirely on tourist trade.
Delhi is a giant city currently under terrorist alert from the American government.
Despite their differences, they can share a post.
The river alongside Bodh Gaya is a beautiful sandy river. I expect an adventure travel group to offer return trips back to the Gaya railway station based on canoeing/kayaking/floating down river.
Delhi is dirty, and when it rains, Delhi is muddy. In Delhi the streets are paved, but several of the bazaars and neighborhoods cover the roads with a nice thick layer of dirt.
Bodh Gaya has a UNESCO World Heritage site a giant buddhist temple, many stupas, and a descendent of the original bodhi tree, under which Buddha gained enlightenment. The only search at the gate is where they ask you to remove your shoes and pay camera fees.
Delhi has a fresh clean metro railway where you are scanned, frisked, and your bags are thoroughly searched. This is even standard when there isn't a terrorist alert.
There are probably 8 or 10 Buddhist temples in Bodh Gaya, each with a different flavor of decoration. The Japanese Temple was as Spartan as their traditional homes and had little more than a statue of a Buddha. The Red China and White China temples both followed the same tradition: overwhelm in numbers. The Red China temple had dragon after dragon along with 3 buddhas and beautiful murals. The White China temple had 100's of 4-inch high buddhas lining the walls (add one for just 100Rs!) along with the 3 buddhas. Incidentally, the Japanese also donated an 80ft tall statue, which appears to be falling on the viewer.
I have yet to find a way to contrast Delhi. Suggestions are welcome.
Delhi did have an amazing number of kites for sale. As I walked through Chondni Chowk there must have been 100 stalls selling various kites. With all the power lines, one would have to be at a park or in a river to fly them.
I head to Agra, in observance of possible terror.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Friday, August 11, 2006
Calcutta, West Bengal - India 21
I am proud of myself today. I feel really good at my canny traveler abilities and my fraternity boy abilities. I spent the afternoon saving $36 dollars on shipping, and the evening getting a 16 year old Christian boy drunk- Quite entertaining. Not only that, following a large meal, I pulled my rickshaw-wallah to the train station.
Shipping fiasco: in a foreign country, always start with the largest post office in the city. I happened to be walking and arrived at a large post office. This may have neen a regional post office for the city, and it was used by businessmen. Notably, the PO was not the central post office in the international business district.
English was a problem. Two people in the office spoke English: the central overseer and one young guy, not involved with shipping. They didn't get the concept of book post, which India has, but they were willing to help me ship the books rather than send them air-mail. Even with filling out customs forms in triplicate, this seemed good enough for me.
I got the books wrapped in white cloth by a tailor across the street, and came back to post the item. Unfortunately, they also weren't able to help me ship something as a traveler, lacking an address in India. At this point, I realized I was talking to the wrong people.
One trip to the central post office later, I found that my 10kg of books had to be split into two 5kg packages, which then qualified for "Foreign Registered Book Post". For the address on my books, they suggested to use the post office's information and then list my hotel. There were no forms, and there was no hassle.
----
While I was waiting for the books to be repackaged, this boy, Tom, came calling. We talked about what there was to see in the city, and he suggested a few places. I asked him if he were free to show me around, and he created an elaborate itinerary. Unfortunately, we only had time for 2 places:
A conglomerate park he had never been in was the first place. For 10Rs, I bought us both admission and he got to marvel at the kids of dates, and the families maybe even kissing! We also went on bumper cars, which he had never seen or tried before. The three connected parks had a good view of the riverfront, and Tom's reaction, fix my appearance so that we could pickup women, amused me, especially because the 16year-old wasn't interested in girls. As we left the park he suggested a whorehouse for our itinerary.
The second place was a bar, which Tom said was cheap and didn't charge the government required taxes. Tom had been there once before for a friend's birthday. The bar served boiled chickpeas and julienned ginger to go with the malt liquor (no beer available). I shared a 600ml bottle with Tom, and ordered a second on his intimation. After the 2nd bottle came, he said he wouldn't have any more and shortly thereafter he started to act drunk. When I was halfway finished with the second bottle and was ready to leave, he finished the bottle, just to make sure we weren't wasting good "beer".
As soon as we left the bar, he started going on about how his father would beat him and how he needed to start smoking. Score - Western Capitalist Corruption:1 Indian Puritanism:0
----
I ate dinner at a recommended restaurant, in which 26/30 patrons were Westerners. Nonetheless, the food was good, seemingly clean (they offered salad!), and not too expensive. After a college dining-hall buffet sized dinner, I grabbed my bags and left for the rail station.
Within seconds a rickshaw driver accosted me and told me to name my price. I told him 40Rs, nearly twice what the price should be, but then added the proviso: I pull. He laughed and said no. Half a block later, I was pulling the rickshaw, my luggage and Modul, the rickshaw-wallah. For the first 200m, at every obstacle he suggested that he pull.
I insisted that I pull and ran weaving through the market pulling the rickshaw driver. People pointed, laughed, shouted encouragement, and most importantly got out of my way. Stationary carts didn't do as well and I got stuck and had to back up 3times. Nonetheless, winding my way through the city, running and pulling a cart wasn't too hard work, but I think a bike-rickshaw would have been easier.
After I covered 2/3rds of the distance, I had dinner again, at which point I allowed the driver to pull me. This was good because we entered into some rather jammed truck/bus/animal traffic I don't think I would have navigated without jamming the wheels against something. At the station I gave my driver 100Rs (obviously making his day), got his name and told him he made my day. If I go back to Calcutta, I will have to take up rickshaw-wallah pulling for exercise.
Shipping fiasco: in a foreign country, always start with the largest post office in the city. I happened to be walking and arrived at a large post office. This may have neen a regional post office for the city, and it was used by businessmen. Notably, the PO was not the central post office in the international business district.
English was a problem. Two people in the office spoke English: the central overseer and one young guy, not involved with shipping. They didn't get the concept of book post, which India has, but they were willing to help me ship the books rather than send them air-mail. Even with filling out customs forms in triplicate, this seemed good enough for me.
I got the books wrapped in white cloth by a tailor across the street, and came back to post the item. Unfortunately, they also weren't able to help me ship something as a traveler, lacking an address in India. At this point, I realized I was talking to the wrong people.
One trip to the central post office later, I found that my 10kg of books had to be split into two 5kg packages, which then qualified for "Foreign Registered Book Post". For the address on my books, they suggested to use the post office's information and then list my hotel. There were no forms, and there was no hassle.
----
While I was waiting for the books to be repackaged, this boy, Tom, came calling. We talked about what there was to see in the city, and he suggested a few places. I asked him if he were free to show me around, and he created an elaborate itinerary. Unfortunately, we only had time for 2 places:
A conglomerate park he had never been in was the first place. For 10Rs, I bought us both admission and he got to marvel at the kids of dates, and the families maybe even kissing! We also went on bumper cars, which he had never seen or tried before. The three connected parks had a good view of the riverfront, and Tom's reaction, fix my appearance so that we could pickup women, amused me, especially because the 16year-old wasn't interested in girls. As we left the park he suggested a whorehouse for our itinerary.
The second place was a bar, which Tom said was cheap and didn't charge the government required taxes. Tom had been there once before for a friend's birthday. The bar served boiled chickpeas and julienned ginger to go with the malt liquor (no beer available). I shared a 600ml bottle with Tom, and ordered a second on his intimation. After the 2nd bottle came, he said he wouldn't have any more and shortly thereafter he started to act drunk. When I was halfway finished with the second bottle and was ready to leave, he finished the bottle, just to make sure we weren't wasting good "beer".
As soon as we left the bar, he started going on about how his father would beat him and how he needed to start smoking. Score - Western Capitalist Corruption:1 Indian Puritanism:0
----
I ate dinner at a recommended restaurant, in which 26/30 patrons were Westerners. Nonetheless, the food was good, seemingly clean (they offered salad!), and not too expensive. After a college dining-hall buffet sized dinner, I grabbed my bags and left for the rail station.
Within seconds a rickshaw driver accosted me and told me to name my price. I told him 40Rs, nearly twice what the price should be, but then added the proviso: I pull. He laughed and said no. Half a block later, I was pulling the rickshaw, my luggage and Modul, the rickshaw-wallah. For the first 200m, at every obstacle he suggested that he pull.
I insisted that I pull and ran weaving through the market pulling the rickshaw driver. People pointed, laughed, shouted encouragement, and most importantly got out of my way. Stationary carts didn't do as well and I got stuck and had to back up 3times. Nonetheless, winding my way through the city, running and pulling a cart wasn't too hard work, but I think a bike-rickshaw would have been easier.
After I covered 2/3rds of the distance, I had dinner again, at which point I allowed the driver to pull me. This was good because we entered into some rather jammed truck/bus/animal traffic I don't think I would have navigated without jamming the wheels against something. At the station I gave my driver 100Rs (obviously making his day), got his name and told him he made my day. If I go back to Calcutta, I will have to take up rickshaw-wallah pulling for exercise.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Farewell Parties - India 20
Two of my good friends have left this weekend. In their honor, we setup a rather elaborate party. This was rather funny, because the price of having a party catered would be relatively inexpensive, but we wanted to hold this in a the privacy of the dorm common areas.
For Phillip the German, we attempted a complex menu for a large turn out. Cooking together is one of my favorite things to do. In the dorms, the challenge was finding enough pots and plates. Our dinner came together with: Sausages, cooked carrot cabbage bell pepper salad, pasta, potatoes, beer, Caipiroshka's (vodka Caipirinha), and juice.
We had music, the wicker furniture of 3 veranda areas, more music, and partying until 3am. The curious thing was that the party followed conservative cultural lines, almost complete separation of the sexes. I felt like I was at a middle school dance.
Two days later, Amu had a smaller get-together. After the sumptuous endeavor of the previous party, we had leftovers in a single pot: carrots, potatoes, and onions with a bit of cheese and juice. A tidy meal for someone leaving with so much; Amu shipped a bed-sized box home.
For Phillip the German, we attempted a complex menu for a large turn out. Cooking together is one of my favorite things to do. In the dorms, the challenge was finding enough pots and plates. Our dinner came together with: Sausages, cooked carrot cabbage bell pepper salad, pasta, potatoes, beer, Caipiroshka's (vodka Caipirinha), and juice.
We had music, the wicker furniture of 3 veranda areas, more music, and partying until 3am. The curious thing was that the party followed conservative cultural lines, almost complete separation of the sexes. I felt like I was at a middle school dance.
Two days later, Amu had a smaller get-together. After the sumptuous endeavor of the previous party, we had leftovers in a single pot: carrots, potatoes, and onions with a bit of cheese and juice. A tidy meal for someone leaving with so much; Amu shipped a bed-sized box home.
Teaching English Abroad - India 19
It seems like a good way to travel, meet the locals, and throw something on the resume would be teach English in a foreign country. In addition, if one were teaching in a city, one could make and create contacts with influential economic types. My brother did something like this in Vietnam.
I met 4 teachers in the KFC the other day. I may have already mentioned that this is where everyone goes to meet Westerners. All of the 4 teachers were girls from the British Isles and were on their tail end of teaching in southern Andhra. They had gotten quite used to the subcontinent and looked more native than JP, our Frenchman-gone-local at ICRISAT.
When I was in Kerala I encountered 3 more teachers newly from England enjoying a day at the beach. I had heard rumors of British girls showing too much skin, and while I understand that they were on the way to the beach, sphaghetti straps and short shorts were out of the question in that part of India. It is nice to be comfortable ignoring the local cultural standards in order to follow ones own. I don't think this helps one teach though.
One of my friends recently came back from teaching in Japan. Another friend, JP, went to visit an acquaintance working in Japan. If nothing else, this seems to be one of the harder places to teach English. While Japanese give wide respect, the pay is low and the cultural differences are great. I would love to spend an extended time there, but I think teaching English may be the wrong track. Perhaps teaching in a more urban environment would work best.
I hear the situation for teachers is similar in much of Africa.
I met 4 teachers in the KFC the other day. I may have already mentioned that this is where everyone goes to meet Westerners. All of the 4 teachers were girls from the British Isles and were on their tail end of teaching in southern Andhra. They had gotten quite used to the subcontinent and looked more native than JP, our Frenchman-gone-local at ICRISAT.
When I was in Kerala I encountered 3 more teachers newly from England enjoying a day at the beach. I had heard rumors of British girls showing too much skin, and while I understand that they were on the way to the beach, sphaghetti straps and short shorts were out of the question in that part of India. It is nice to be comfortable ignoring the local cultural standards in order to follow ones own. I don't think this helps one teach though.
One of my friends recently came back from teaching in Japan. Another friend, JP, went to visit an acquaintance working in Japan. If nothing else, this seems to be one of the harder places to teach English. While Japanese give wide respect, the pay is low and the cultural differences are great. I would love to spend an extended time there, but I think teaching English may be the wrong track. Perhaps teaching in a more urban environment would work best.
I hear the situation for teachers is similar in much of Africa.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Kerala - India 18
Calicut was my first stop in Kerala. The city was much like any city, except it had a beach area for people in the evening. I ate some fish, parboiled rice, and a red banana almost as big as my head and took a stroll around town.
On a hill near an observatory I found an allyway with a drainage ditch running down it. It was picturesque and lightly dusted with brilliant green most. On the wall of this alleyway was one of the smallest advertisements I had seen: a bumper sticker size metal placard reading "Sign World ->". This seems like a well thought-out method of advertising for their business.
Around the corner from the hole-in-the-wall sign shop I found a canal running between light industry and poor housing. I followed the canal past 3 football (soccer) games, at each I was invited to play, several thatch huts, each for a family although about the size of a bedroom, and a series of lumber mills, each with a small logjam of waiting material slowly collescing in the canal.
Kerala, a former Portuguese colony, is a soccer state. While cricket is still popular, the main sport is football. Even little kids stay up late with their parents to watch the World Cup. Like most of India, parts are also very poor: maybe one of three footballs was an adidas style black and white hexagon ball. The others were a white volleyball styled Gaelic football and a brown ball harkening back from before 1970.
I continued leisurely down the canal, intending to reach the ocean, until I came across a group of puppies lying on the bank. As I came near, they all went trotting off. A few steps past their resting place, the path was fringed with tall grass. Just as I came to the fringe a copper colored snake as thick as my fist slithered off. At this point I decided to backtrack and take a log and plank footbridge (one log wide) across the canal to the road.
Cochin is a tourist town. While the traditional island still has fishing industry, the main focus of the area seems to be the tourist trade. Consequently, fruit and everything else one can negotiate for are quite expensive. I stopped by the Jewish cemetary, the old, still in use, Synagogue, and a nice cathedral. Outside each, particularly in Jewtown, were shops with all sorts of products from other parts of India for sale. One shop sold Jewish religious items, and had the temerity to price them higher than in the U.S. Even if I had bargained, the quality wasn't worth the price.
In Cochin and its sister city, Ernakulum, there are a fair number of luxury/middle class hotels for $20-80. I stopped in a couple to see if they could recommend an ayurvedic massage. Again, I ran into the problem of being in a tourist town. The sticker shock of American prices, even from possible medical specialists was just too much. I relaxed with a Bollywood movie instead.
I relaxed into a 9pm showing, which, surprisingly, was full of kids. Apparently the 6pm showing runs against the normal eating time of families and is filled with teenagers. By 9pm parents can have everyone fed and bring the little ones to the theater. I had a lovely talk explaining my day to a young one who knew just enough English.
When I came back to my Rs70/night hotel I was locked out and the proprietor was asleep in a bednet on the couch. I had to bang on the wall for 10min to wake him up and let me in. I love übercheap hotels (In this one, my room was not entirely enclosed with walls but had wire mesh for the upper portion).
On the way to the trainstation I stopped at a cool bar. About every 4th or 5th shop here had fruit, an ice chest, and a juice machine. For Rs12-15 I could get a glass of fresh orange, pineapple, grape or other juice. These shops also sold snacks and candies. The rent must be cheap, because the competition was extremely numerous.
On a hill near an observatory I found an allyway with a drainage ditch running down it. It was picturesque and lightly dusted with brilliant green most. On the wall of this alleyway was one of the smallest advertisements I had seen: a bumper sticker size metal placard reading "Sign World ->". This seems like a well thought-out method of advertising for their business.
Around the corner from the hole-in-the-wall sign shop I found a canal running between light industry and poor housing. I followed the canal past 3 football (soccer) games, at each I was invited to play, several thatch huts, each for a family although about the size of a bedroom, and a series of lumber mills, each with a small logjam of waiting material slowly collescing in the canal.
Kerala, a former Portuguese colony, is a soccer state. While cricket is still popular, the main sport is football. Even little kids stay up late with their parents to watch the World Cup. Like most of India, parts are also very poor: maybe one of three footballs was an adidas style black and white hexagon ball. The others were a white volleyball styled Gaelic football and a brown ball harkening back from before 1970.
I continued leisurely down the canal, intending to reach the ocean, until I came across a group of puppies lying on the bank. As I came near, they all went trotting off. A few steps past their resting place, the path was fringed with tall grass. Just as I came to the fringe a copper colored snake as thick as my fist slithered off. At this point I decided to backtrack and take a log and plank footbridge (one log wide) across the canal to the road.
Cochin is a tourist town. While the traditional island still has fishing industry, the main focus of the area seems to be the tourist trade. Consequently, fruit and everything else one can negotiate for are quite expensive. I stopped by the Jewish cemetary, the old, still in use, Synagogue, and a nice cathedral. Outside each, particularly in Jewtown, were shops with all sorts of products from other parts of India for sale. One shop sold Jewish religious items, and had the temerity to price them higher than in the U.S. Even if I had bargained, the quality wasn't worth the price.
In Cochin and its sister city, Ernakulum, there are a fair number of luxury/middle class hotels for $20-80. I stopped in a couple to see if they could recommend an ayurvedic massage. Again, I ran into the problem of being in a tourist town. The sticker shock of American prices, even from possible medical specialists was just too much. I relaxed with a Bollywood movie instead.
I relaxed into a 9pm showing, which, surprisingly, was full of kids. Apparently the 6pm showing runs against the normal eating time of families and is filled with teenagers. By 9pm parents can have everyone fed and bring the little ones to the theater. I had a lovely talk explaining my day to a young one who knew just enough English.
When I came back to my Rs70/night hotel I was locked out and the proprietor was asleep in a bednet on the couch. I had to bang on the wall for 10min to wake him up and let me in. I love übercheap hotels (In this one, my room was not entirely enclosed with walls but had wire mesh for the upper portion).
On the way to the trainstation I stopped at a cool bar. About every 4th or 5th shop here had fruit, an ice chest, and a juice machine. For Rs12-15 I could get a glass of fresh orange, pineapple, grape or other juice. These shops also sold snacks and candies. The rent must be cheap, because the competition was extremely numerous.
Goa 2 - India 17
In South Anjuna I lunched at the first restaurant on the south end of the beach, an open thatch covered 50 person beach shack named Curly's. Curly's piped in Goan trance music, cooked a wide variety of food and drinks, and generally catered to the European crowd at a dazzling 30 ft from surf.
During the season, this part of the beach is covered with European tourists, gange smoking hippies, and ill-mannered drugged up Israelis, decompressing from their military service. Consequently, the Israelis are not know for their polite manners.
A quick joke: An American, Russian, Chinese and Israeli are all talking. An Indian approaches and asks them "Excuse me, can you explain to me about democracy, communism and free markets?" The American says, "What's 'communism'?" The Russian says, "What's a 'free market'?" The Chinese says, "What's 'democracy'?" The Israeli says, "What's 'excuse me'?"
As I sat there, I watched 4 smaller dogs playing on the beach and two toddlers running around. One of them was watched over by a tie-dyed, bearded, Italian looking fellow, who turned out to be a Californian Jewish writer named Greg. Greg had married a West Bengalese lady 5 years ago and their daughter Dunya had grown up surrounded by party-going hippies.
After lunch, Greg invited me over to his house and we sat on his porch talking about India, America, and his Henry Miller (Re:Tropic of Cancer) inspired book. Greg, although regretfully lacking toiled paper, was quite content with his spacious yard and house. Interestingly, while the family had two scootters, there was no car access to his house, the front entry was pinched between the stone retaining walls of two other houses. In addition, Greg had 9,000L of tanks and a pump hooked into the water line to capture supply during the few hours of service on alternating days.
Greg had internet access through two different networks, each over a cell phone connected to his computer. Because of network outages, he and his wife have different service plans, so one of them can always get through.
That evening I dined in Calangute at that Mecca of convenience, the 24 hour restaurant. While burgers and fries were offered, more importantly this place also served the full variety, and then some, of Indian food. I had a Mexican Dosa, an Indian, thin, egg pancake with Mexican topping, cheese and onions. In addition, the 24-hour joint was also a bar, had an Indian playing electric guitar with a beat-box for entertainment (I was dedicated California Dreamin'), and was waited on by Indians from the opposite side of the country.
A bit south of there off the beach lies a rotting hulk of a ship, the River Princess. While significantly larger than the African Queen, this ship is mired even more heavily, as it ran aground on a sand bar just where the waves start to break toward the beach. What so big a ship was doing so close to a beach, I will never know. However, now this death trap creates strange undertows and swirling eddies, which have killed several swimmers. The reason the ship hasn't moved is the shipping company and the government are fighting over who is to blame and should move the ship. Considering the hazardous nature of the boat, I am amazed the government hasn't moved it and liquidated the assets of all those involved with the company in order to pay.
Incidentally, the off season in this beach paradise meant that I was exposed to about 20 min of rain during the day. While Greg had told me they had earlier had 3 days of continuous rain, 20 minutes is a small price to pay for a lovely beach all to oneself. Between the cost of living and the beauty of the place, I am not surprised that Greg raises his daughter and works as a writer in Goa.
During the season, this part of the beach is covered with European tourists, gange smoking hippies, and ill-mannered drugged up Israelis, decompressing from their military service. Consequently, the Israelis are not know for their polite manners.
A quick joke: An American, Russian, Chinese and Israeli are all talking. An Indian approaches and asks them "Excuse me, can you explain to me about democracy, communism and free markets?" The American says, "What's 'communism'?" The Russian says, "What's a 'free market'?" The Chinese says, "What's 'democracy'?" The Israeli says, "What's 'excuse me'?"
As I sat there, I watched 4 smaller dogs playing on the beach and two toddlers running around. One of them was watched over by a tie-dyed, bearded, Italian looking fellow, who turned out to be a Californian Jewish writer named Greg. Greg had married a West Bengalese lady 5 years ago and their daughter Dunya had grown up surrounded by party-going hippies.
After lunch, Greg invited me over to his house and we sat on his porch talking about India, America, and his Henry Miller (Re:Tropic of Cancer) inspired book. Greg, although regretfully lacking toiled paper, was quite content with his spacious yard and house. Interestingly, while the family had two scootters, there was no car access to his house, the front entry was pinched between the stone retaining walls of two other houses. In addition, Greg had 9,000L of tanks and a pump hooked into the water line to capture supply during the few hours of service on alternating days.
Greg had internet access through two different networks, each over a cell phone connected to his computer. Because of network outages, he and his wife have different service plans, so one of them can always get through.
That evening I dined in Calangute at that Mecca of convenience, the 24 hour restaurant. While burgers and fries were offered, more importantly this place also served the full variety, and then some, of Indian food. I had a Mexican Dosa, an Indian, thin, egg pancake with Mexican topping, cheese and onions. In addition, the 24-hour joint was also a bar, had an Indian playing electric guitar with a beat-box for entertainment (I was dedicated California Dreamin'), and was waited on by Indians from the opposite side of the country.
A bit south of there off the beach lies a rotting hulk of a ship, the River Princess. While significantly larger than the African Queen, this ship is mired even more heavily, as it ran aground on a sand bar just where the waves start to break toward the beach. What so big a ship was doing so close to a beach, I will never know. However, now this death trap creates strange undertows and swirling eddies, which have killed several swimmers. The reason the ship hasn't moved is the shipping company and the government are fighting over who is to blame and should move the ship. Considering the hazardous nature of the boat, I am amazed the government hasn't moved it and liquidated the assets of all those involved with the company in order to pay.
Incidentally, the off season in this beach paradise meant that I was exposed to about 20 min of rain during the day. While Greg had told me they had earlier had 3 days of continuous rain, 20 minutes is a small price to pay for a lovely beach all to oneself. Between the cost of living and the beauty of the place, I am not surprised that Greg raises his daughter and works as a writer in Goa.
Goa - India 16
I rather enjoyed my late July vacation to Goa and Kerala. The itinerary was rather vague: Fly into Goa airport Tuesday and catch a return train on Monday, from 1000km south in Cochin, Kerala. This itinerary was acceptable, but would have benefited from a bit more intermediate organization.
The Goan airport, a two baggage train operation, would have been comfortable in rural Virginia. The minor exceptions were armed military standing on the side of the runway, the oversized military airplane hangers, and what appeared to be fighter jets and C-130s with their noses covered in cotton cloth. Might this be the Indian equivalent to car solar shades, keeping the cockpit shaded and cool?
A prepayed taxi, costing $11 for 15 miles brought me to the old city of Panjim. This tourist stop brought me in contact with non-researcher Westerners for the first time in days. I had gotten into the habit in Hyderabad of waving to Westerners, as I so rarely saw any. Now, every 20th person being a tourist made me rethink my modus operandi.
Fontainhas is tiny. About three or four city blocks cover the whole area. Here every 4th shop sells knickknacks. Presiding over the town at the top of a hill is a whitewashed church. All the trimming is in blue. The outdoor stairs approaching are nice and even included a single chillum/marijuana vender/beggar.
After wandering a bit about town, I found a tiffins (snacks) restaurant that had reasonable prices. While enjoying my freshly juiced pomegranates another traveler came in. I motioned for this Asian girl to join my table, and was surprised to find the Korean girl could barely speak English. In fact, her travelers English was about equivalent to my Spanish- able to ask for the toilet, a room, and a meal but explaining complex ideas was quite difficult.
After 30 minutes of talking over a jelly sandwich, we determined she came on a aid mission similar to Habitat for Humanity and was now taking 2 weeks to see a bit of India. I thought it rather bully of her to both help and travel in a nation where she could barely communicate. I was also thankful for her perspective, because my lack of Hindi didn't place me that far off from her.
---quick interlude---
Unfortunately, work continued to rear its ugly head with every time I checked my email. Nonetheless, when your boss is on vacation, you are on vacation, and a third person at another location is helping you organize a conference, work will rear its head. At this point we have about 10 people coming to join us in Hyderabad to talk about the local water situation. Everyone is from within our institute.
---end interlude---
Goa had two new options for getting around; in addition to the normal taxis, autos and buses were motorcycle taxis and scooter rental. Since I didn't know where I was going, I opted mainly for the buses, which were quite relaxing.
The buses are smaller than in Hyderabad or Delhi and have just 12 rows and usually one entrance/exit. As normal, the drivers of the bus were listening to local pop radio. Only in Goa, pop radio is a cross between dance club style house music, Goan style heavy trance techno, and then Bollywood style Indian (Konkani) lyrics.
I took a bus to the end of one beach area. As we passed through the 1km of town, I noticed that most of the stores were closed. I was hoping that my hotel, at the secluded end, would still be open. As I got off the bus and walked along a creek, looking for a bridge to this other area, I encountered an American and a German who were there for months. They shepherded me to a 4 room hotel that had better off season rates and was guarded by two large friendly dogs. Both of these oversized Cujo's escorted me to my room and wanted to come inside to play.
I took a short walk across a beautiful fisherman's rocky bluffs of ocean front to a secluded palm filled beach. After a relaxing stop I continued on to South Anjuna Beach.
The Goan airport, a two baggage train operation, would have been comfortable in rural Virginia. The minor exceptions were armed military standing on the side of the runway, the oversized military airplane hangers, and what appeared to be fighter jets and C-130s with their noses covered in cotton cloth. Might this be the Indian equivalent to car solar shades, keeping the cockpit shaded and cool?
A prepayed taxi, costing $11 for 15 miles brought me to the old city of Panjim. This tourist stop brought me in contact with non-researcher Westerners for the first time in days. I had gotten into the habit in Hyderabad of waving to Westerners, as I so rarely saw any. Now, every 20th person being a tourist made me rethink my modus operandi.
Fontainhas is tiny. About three or four city blocks cover the whole area. Here every 4th shop sells knickknacks. Presiding over the town at the top of a hill is a whitewashed church. All the trimming is in blue. The outdoor stairs approaching are nice and even included a single chillum/marijuana vender/beggar.
After wandering a bit about town, I found a tiffins (snacks) restaurant that had reasonable prices. While enjoying my freshly juiced pomegranates another traveler came in. I motioned for this Asian girl to join my table, and was surprised to find the Korean girl could barely speak English. In fact, her travelers English was about equivalent to my Spanish- able to ask for the toilet, a room, and a meal but explaining complex ideas was quite difficult.
After 30 minutes of talking over a jelly sandwich, we determined she came on a aid mission similar to Habitat for Humanity and was now taking 2 weeks to see a bit of India. I thought it rather bully of her to both help and travel in a nation where she could barely communicate. I was also thankful for her perspective, because my lack of Hindi didn't place me that far off from her.
---quick interlude---
Unfortunately, work continued to rear its ugly head with every time I checked my email. Nonetheless, when your boss is on vacation, you are on vacation, and a third person at another location is helping you organize a conference, work will rear its head. At this point we have about 10 people coming to join us in Hyderabad to talk about the local water situation. Everyone is from within our institute.
---end interlude---
Goa had two new options for getting around; in addition to the normal taxis, autos and buses were motorcycle taxis and scooter rental. Since I didn't know where I was going, I opted mainly for the buses, which were quite relaxing.
The buses are smaller than in Hyderabad or Delhi and have just 12 rows and usually one entrance/exit. As normal, the drivers of the bus were listening to local pop radio. Only in Goa, pop radio is a cross between dance club style house music, Goan style heavy trance techno, and then Bollywood style Indian (Konkani) lyrics.
I took a bus to the end of one beach area. As we passed through the 1km of town, I noticed that most of the stores were closed. I was hoping that my hotel, at the secluded end, would still be open. As I got off the bus and walked along a creek, looking for a bridge to this other area, I encountered an American and a German who were there for months. They shepherded me to a 4 room hotel that had better off season rates and was guarded by two large friendly dogs. Both of these oversized Cujo's escorted me to my room and wanted to come inside to play.
I took a short walk across a beautiful fisherman's rocky bluffs of ocean front to a secluded palm filled beach. After a relaxing stop I continued on to South Anjuna Beach.
Medical Fun - India 15
Medical care in India is rather nice. I believe I mentioned in another post about a friend whose sole purpose in India was cheaper treatment. The standards here are also rather high with the costs about 1/3-1/20 of Western countries, due to the abundance of doctors and cheaper standard of living.
Because of this, I decided to look into eye surgery. Most of you remember I wear glasses, and many of you have seen me with contacts, but as a general rule, I become allergic to my contact fluid over time, and I understand that poor optical hygiene has begun showing up in national health statistics. Consequently, I decided I was a good candidate for eye surgery.
I talked with several people. A man on a bus worked at a national chain of hospitals, which had state of the art equipment for eye surgery. I talked with the campus doctor who recommended the practice of an accomplished surgeon who had years of experience with eye surgery. I consulted a nursing student in Kentuckiana (thanks Angie), and of course I looked at the internet.
I found this out in order. $40 of testing will perform every measurement possible on your eye, give you a blood test for HIV and a few other diseases (I'm negative) and will prepare you for the newest eye-surgery available from Bausch and Lomb. $40 will not provide this surgery ($1,200 for both eyes -$1k-3k cheaper than US), nor will it indicate that 2004's surgeries show a ~5% rate of people requiring follow-up surgery over the next year for one eye. Nor will it tell you that skipping these 3 month and 1 year checkups would be bad idea for that decision.
Only slightly surprising to me in that these Indian doctors didn't fully brief all the risks. Of course, the cost of surgery 50k Rs., is about the amount of money I would need in order to live here for a year.
In other news, I do enjoy self-medicating, even with schedule H drugs, which supposedly "require a prescription." Even if I decided to abuse them, the sheer number of pharmacies (like doctors) ensures I can get my fix. It would certainly be nice to have a license in the US, which allows and taxes recreational drug use but prohibits driving. In my Indian case, I have been medicating only for intestinal and ear trouble according to FDA specifications.
I pose the question, what motivates someone to become a pharmacist? It seems to me to have less glamour than either accountant or lawyer, which are usually not very glamorous jobs.
Because of this, I decided to look into eye surgery. Most of you remember I wear glasses, and many of you have seen me with contacts, but as a general rule, I become allergic to my contact fluid over time, and I understand that poor optical hygiene has begun showing up in national health statistics. Consequently, I decided I was a good candidate for eye surgery.
I talked with several people. A man on a bus worked at a national chain of hospitals, which had state of the art equipment for eye surgery. I talked with the campus doctor who recommended the practice of an accomplished surgeon who had years of experience with eye surgery. I consulted a nursing student in Kentuckiana (thanks Angie), and of course I looked at the internet.
I found this out in order. $40 of testing will perform every measurement possible on your eye, give you a blood test for HIV and a few other diseases (I'm negative) and will prepare you for the newest eye-surgery available from Bausch and Lomb. $40 will not provide this surgery ($1,200 for both eyes -$1k-3k cheaper than US), nor will it indicate that 2004's surgeries show a ~5% rate of people requiring follow-up surgery over the next year for one eye. Nor will it tell you that skipping these 3 month and 1 year checkups would be bad idea for that decision.
Only slightly surprising to me in that these Indian doctors didn't fully brief all the risks. Of course, the cost of surgery 50k Rs., is about the amount of money I would need in order to live here for a year.
In other news, I do enjoy self-medicating, even with schedule H drugs, which supposedly "require a prescription." Even if I decided to abuse them, the sheer number of pharmacies (like doctors) ensures I can get my fix. It would certainly be nice to have a license in the US, which allows and taxes recreational drug use but prohibits driving. In my Indian case, I have been medicating only for intestinal and ear trouble according to FDA specifications.
I pose the question, what motivates someone to become a pharmacist? It seems to me to have less glamour than either accountant or lawyer, which are usually not very glamorous jobs.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Milk and More - India 14
I have complained several times about the US being more advanced than India; however, I admit that Indians do a good job with their milk. Cows, while sacred and not officially eaten in any state are nonetheless raised for milk or even used like oxen as beasts of burden. I have tried a variety of milk from the supermarket and at frash stands. Typically in the city I can get a refreshing draught of coconut or almond milk, and a few juice stands sell cow's milk. I have yet to see goat's milk. However, here in my room I have three kinds of homogenized milk: skim milk, only sold here by Nestlé, low fat, at 1.5% fat, and normal milk, at a whopping 4.5% fat. Thats a full 1.25% extra fat above the states' good ole' Vitamin D Milk.
I started reading my travel guide for information on Goa and Kerala and found myself laughing. Several the articles and tips were almost pulled direct from Molvanîa or Phaic Tan. Kind of makes it hard to take seriously when the writing is so easily parodied that one could write the commentary without even experiencing the culture. Especially when the by-line for the publisher is "For the Undiscerning Traveler".
I started reading my travel guide for information on Goa and Kerala and found myself laughing. Several the articles and tips were almost pulled direct from Molvanîa or Phaic Tan. Kind of makes it hard to take seriously when the writing is so easily parodied that one could write the commentary without even experiencing the culture. Especially when the by-line for the publisher is "For the Undiscerning Traveler".
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Not In Bombay, Hyderabad on Alert
Let me start off with this. I was not in Bombay (Mumbai) during the attacks and spent all day on campus yesterday. Today I will be staying on campus, because I expect the government buildings will be more challenging than normal to get in. Traffic will also be slow. I will wait an extra day to avoid security issues.
I am sure it is quite awful for those still in Bombay. Even if the commuter trains just crashed there would be a huge delay. The mumbai transportation system is a mess, and the public transit is one of the main lifelines for the area. Unlike Hong Kong, there aren't enough water taxis to relieve transit pressure.
I am sure it is quite awful for those still in Bombay. Even if the commuter trains just crashed there would be a huge delay. The mumbai transportation system is a mess, and the public transit is one of the main lifelines for the area. Unlike Hong Kong, there aren't enough water taxis to relieve transit pressure.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
More Tourist Stuff - India 13
Another greeting commonly used in India is "Where are you from?", "Of what country?" or my personal favorite "Of Where?". These were all heard one Saturday in late June, when Amu, my South African friend, and I decided to wander around Patancheru, the nearest town to ICRISAT.
As many of us know, this often involves seeing parts of a country we wouldn't otherwise notice. In this case we ran across both the standard greetings and the unusual offer of a free pomeranian dog. Apparently the Indian was not particularly happy with his pet. In addition, the slum area we walked through had several rubble or rubbish piles, which made fine homes for puppies and piglets.
As we left the slum for some fields we passed a dining table sized enclosed Hindu shrine, pack of school children (on Saturday!), several of which were dwarfed by the messenger bag backpacks they carried. These totes are typical school bags for tiny tots to teenagers. We also wandered behind some welding and paint industries, which had turned a pond behind them blue.
One of the workers came out and asked me (ignoring the dark skinned Amu) where I was from. He also indicated that 7 km south was a nice place to walk, a resort. Neither Amu nor I were sure we heard him correctly and thought he might have meant our research center. We quickly circled the industries and came out on the highway.
After walking along the highway, we noticed a sign for Lahori Resort and realized that this was what the man had meant. So we turned down the road and decided to get an auto on this side road, rather than the main road. 15 minutes later we gave up, and decided even hitchiking into one of the many trucks passing by would be acceptible.
Surprisingly, a car stopped for us. However they knew no English, and we knew neither Telugu nor Hindi. So we hopped in and rode 6 km to the entrance gate of Lahori. Bowing in thanks, we started to walk down the entry road. After 15 minutes, we came to 5 thatch and tarp shanties stealing electricity. Another 10 minutes brought us to a rock quarry full of men covered in bathing suds jumping into the quarry lake. Finally, 10 minutes of walking later we made it to the real entrance gate to the resort. This was probably 12km from where a sign had advertised 7km.
The Resort was rather interesting: There was a lazy river, some water slides, two pools, a hotel, three restaurants and four unfinished buidlings. The grounds were littered with workers installing walkways, turf, arches and walls. While the hotel, one pool, and water slides were open, going from one to another was quite hazardous as one needed to dodge construction equipment, open pits, and exposed wires. Nonetheless the maître d' was happy to tell me that they had rooms available, a lovely café and a Phillippino band for evening entertainment. While it didn't surprise me to have an unfinished resort open for business, as I have seen associated hotels do this to help recover costs/train employees, it did surprise me that this was suggested as a place to enjoy a nice stroll.
Nonetheless, we finally found the bigscreen TV people wanted for watching the worldcup. The café had a lovely LG 60-70inch on the wall. All we would have to do is hire a driver for the evening, as the 30 minute walk back to the main road was rather much. [As I edit this post 1 month later we have yet to go back]
As many of us know, this often involves seeing parts of a country we wouldn't otherwise notice. In this case we ran across both the standard greetings and the unusual offer of a free pomeranian dog. Apparently the Indian was not particularly happy with his pet. In addition, the slum area we walked through had several rubble or rubbish piles, which made fine homes for puppies and piglets.
As we left the slum for some fields we passed a dining table sized enclosed Hindu shrine, pack of school children (on Saturday!), several of which were dwarfed by the messenger bag backpacks they carried. These totes are typical school bags for tiny tots to teenagers. We also wandered behind some welding and paint industries, which had turned a pond behind them blue.
One of the workers came out and asked me (ignoring the dark skinned Amu) where I was from. He also indicated that 7 km south was a nice place to walk, a resort. Neither Amu nor I were sure we heard him correctly and thought he might have meant our research center. We quickly circled the industries and came out on the highway.
After walking along the highway, we noticed a sign for Lahori Resort and realized that this was what the man had meant. So we turned down the road and decided to get an auto on this side road, rather than the main road. 15 minutes later we gave up, and decided even hitchiking into one of the many trucks passing by would be acceptible.
Surprisingly, a car stopped for us. However they knew no English, and we knew neither Telugu nor Hindi. So we hopped in and rode 6 km to the entrance gate of Lahori. Bowing in thanks, we started to walk down the entry road. After 15 minutes, we came to 5 thatch and tarp shanties stealing electricity. Another 10 minutes brought us to a rock quarry full of men covered in bathing suds jumping into the quarry lake. Finally, 10 minutes of walking later we made it to the real entrance gate to the resort. This was probably 12km from where a sign had advertised 7km.
The Resort was rather interesting: There was a lazy river, some water slides, two pools, a hotel, three restaurants and four unfinished buidlings. The grounds were littered with workers installing walkways, turf, arches and walls. While the hotel, one pool, and water slides were open, going from one to another was quite hazardous as one needed to dodge construction equipment, open pits, and exposed wires. Nonetheless the maître d' was happy to tell me that they had rooms available, a lovely café and a Phillippino band for evening entertainment. While it didn't surprise me to have an unfinished resort open for business, as I have seen associated hotels do this to help recover costs/train employees, it did surprise me that this was suggested as a place to enjoy a nice stroll.
Nonetheless, we finally found the bigscreen TV people wanted for watching the worldcup. The café had a lovely LG 60-70inch on the wall. All we would have to do is hire a driver for the evening, as the 30 minute walk back to the main road was rather much. [As I edit this post 1 month later we have yet to go back]
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
A new greeting/ Day as a Tourist - India 12
There are several common greetings in India. Namaste or Namaskaar are classic Hindu/Hindi greetings. Salaam aleichem is a greeting for Muslims. Hello or How are you, sir, are also normal salutations. While traveling as a tourist I realized there was another greeting, mainly from kids, but acceptable from many different people: 5 Rupees, or 5 Rupees , Sir, or Please, 5 Rupees.
Prior to today, I thought of this simply as begging. Now I realize that this is just as normal a greeting as Namaste or Hello. I think if anyone asks me what I learned in India, it will be: Please, 5 Rupees. If they give me money and ask again, I will repeat.
After the Mosque we went to an archaeological "museum." This reminded me of Indian libraries. In this one story building surrounding a courtyard 6 rooms had carved stones from Andhra Pradesh history. One half of the rooms (3/6) had these stones labeled as to content and date (13th century to 18th century). The other half had no label at all and most of the unlabeled stones were lying on the floor.
Our guide, a teenager with broken English, would unlock the rooms and describe what he could of the contents. If we wanted to, we could touch the museum pieces. Only this teenager's semivigilant, and likely bribable, watch kept us from taking the pieces. In distinct contrast to the guide at the Mosque, he was overjoyed when we gave him Rs. 100's for his efforts. I hope he develops his English/knowledge for future tourists.
Our final site was Golkonda Fort. The inner fort, built on a strong hill, was the best dilapidated stronghold to which I have ever been. Shounye and I climbed all over the walls and buildings (no guard rails) . This was as close as I have gotten to hiking in India and it was real work.
As two obvious foreigners we were apparently a spectacle. I saw three other whites in the fort, but they were all part of a tour group. Shounye and I explored the fort and the hill it was on. We took our time and whenever we stopped to talk, a small crowd would gather about. On our climb down we were joined by a group of 5 kids, happy to see the two foreigners. We took a picture together although Shounye and I's legs were shaking for all our exercise.
At the base, when I went to use the bathroom, a worker motioned me over and unlocked the bathroom for honored guests. Surprisingly, the marble interior was spotless and even had toilet paper. Nonetheless, it still lacked Japanese flair.
Has anyone found a good US dealer of high-tech toilets?
Prior to today, I thought of this simply as begging. Now I realize that this is just as normal a greeting as Namaste or Hello. I think if anyone asks me what I learned in India, it will be: Please, 5 Rupees. If they give me money and ask again, I will repeat.
After the Mosque we went to an archaeological "museum." This reminded me of Indian libraries. In this one story building surrounding a courtyard 6 rooms had carved stones from Andhra Pradesh history. One half of the rooms (3/6) had these stones labeled as to content and date (13th century to 18th century). The other half had no label at all and most of the unlabeled stones were lying on the floor.
Our guide, a teenager with broken English, would unlock the rooms and describe what he could of the contents. If we wanted to, we could touch the museum pieces. Only this teenager's semivigilant, and likely bribable, watch kept us from taking the pieces. In distinct contrast to the guide at the Mosque, he was overjoyed when we gave him Rs. 100's for his efforts. I hope he develops his English/knowledge for future tourists.
Our final site was Golkonda Fort. The inner fort, built on a strong hill, was the best dilapidated stronghold to which I have ever been. Shounye and I climbed all over the walls and buildings (no guard rails) . This was as close as I have gotten to hiking in India and it was real work.
As two obvious foreigners we were apparently a spectacle. I saw three other whites in the fort, but they were all part of a tour group. Shounye and I explored the fort and the hill it was on. We took our time and whenever we stopped to talk, a small crowd would gather about. On our climb down we were joined by a group of 5 kids, happy to see the two foreigners. We took a picture together although Shounye and I's legs were shaking for all our exercise.
At the base, when I went to use the bathroom, a worker motioned me over and unlocked the bathroom for honored guests. Surprisingly, the marble interior was spotless and even had toilet paper. Nonetheless, it still lacked Japanese flair.
Has anyone found a good US dealer of high-tech toilets?
Sunday, June 18, 2006
A day as a Tourist - India 11
Sunday, I went traipsing around Hyderabad, with my erstwhile companion, the intern Shounye from Tokyo. Our plan was to go to three sites: 1) the royal retreat, Falaknuma Palace, 2) the emblem of Hyderabad, Charminar, and 3) the nigh impregnable fort, Golkonda. At 9am we set off on our day's gallivant.
For nearly three hours, by bus (to Secunderabad), by train (MMTS from Secunderabad to Falaknuma), and by foot (2km from station to palace) we trekked to Falaknuma. Interestingly, the doors on the bus and trains are never closed, to allow convenient exit points. We two, however, traveled nearly the full length of the metro transit system to arrive at our first destination,
where we found a day laborer foreman asking us whose permission we had to view the palace. Interestingly, Falaknuma Palace is private property. It also happens to be in the midst of 2yr long renovation. Therefore, no one can enter for tours, absent permission. Amused that the state tours still list this attraction and resolute in our tourist status, we continued on to Charminar,
where we got in line to climb the edifice. About five minutes in, a man came and told us to follow him; we were in the wrong line. The other line, which looked like the exit to me (and it was) had no one in it. We foreign tourists were shepherded to the front through the exit and had to pay Rs. 100 instead of the Indian cost of Rs. 8. This then gave us permission to continue to the head of the climbing queue. Not the best for intercultural relations but justifiable for paying 12.5x the entry fee.
Interestingly, Indians don't normally form lines. Usually they slowly press forward until a couple of hands with papers or money are all in front of the teller person. The teller sits at what Indians term a "cell" rather than desk or counter. I believe the only reason there was a line for Charminar, was because the 40-50 person throng awaiting entry into the monument in the center of a traffic circle would have spilled unacceptably into traffic.
Charminar, and its neighboring giant mosque, the Mecca Masjid were neat enough structures, but I really have no appreciation for the time and effort it took to build them at the time. The mosque took 77 years to build.
An English speaking Indian took Shounye and I on a whirlwind tour of the Mosque. I gave the man what I thought it was worth, Rs. 10. Shounye couldn't find his small bills and surprised me by giving the man Rs. 100. While this man was useful, I felt bad for future tourists that we had overpaid the huckster.
For nearly three hours, by bus (to Secunderabad), by train (MMTS from Secunderabad to Falaknuma), and by foot (2km from station to palace) we trekked to Falaknuma. Interestingly, the doors on the bus and trains are never closed, to allow convenient exit points. We two, however, traveled nearly the full length of the metro transit system to arrive at our first destination,
where we found a day laborer foreman asking us whose permission we had to view the palace. Interestingly, Falaknuma Palace is private property. It also happens to be in the midst of 2yr long renovation. Therefore, no one can enter for tours, absent permission. Amused that the state tours still list this attraction and resolute in our tourist status, we continued on to Charminar,
where we got in line to climb the edifice. About five minutes in, a man came and told us to follow him; we were in the wrong line. The other line, which looked like the exit to me (and it was) had no one in it. We foreign tourists were shepherded to the front through the exit and had to pay Rs. 100 instead of the Indian cost of Rs. 8. This then gave us permission to continue to the head of the climbing queue. Not the best for intercultural relations but justifiable for paying 12.5x the entry fee.
Interestingly, Indians don't normally form lines. Usually they slowly press forward until a couple of hands with papers or money are all in front of the teller person. The teller sits at what Indians term a "cell" rather than desk or counter. I believe the only reason there was a line for Charminar, was because the 40-50 person throng awaiting entry into the monument in the center of a traffic circle would have spilled unacceptably into traffic.
Charminar, and its neighboring giant mosque, the Mecca Masjid were neat enough structures, but I really have no appreciation for the time and effort it took to build them at the time. The mosque took 77 years to build.
An English speaking Indian took Shounye and I on a whirlwind tour of the Mosque. I gave the man what I thought it was worth, Rs. 10. Shounye couldn't find his small bills and surprised me by giving the man Rs. 100. While this man was useful, I felt bad for future tourists that we had overpaid the huckster.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Uruguay beats the US - World Cup Part 2
In protest to the US being beaten with Red Cards by the Uruguayan Ref, I give up my blog on India for yet another day. In other news, the US tied Italy 1-1.
Note: the World Cup is the most exciting thing of late. More adventures soon!
Note: the World Cup is the most exciting thing of late. More adventures soon!
Monday, June 12, 2006
We regret to inform you... - World Cup Part 1
One thing and one thing only has dominated my days since June 9th. Therefore, today I am ashamed of my country on the national stage. While Germany and so many other teams have played as though they knew where their teammates would place the ball, my home country, USA, does not. I regret to inform you that USA has lost 3-0 in their opening match to the Czechs.
This is a trivial setback, as the Greatest Nation will defeat Ghana and Italy to continue on to play the winner of Group F: Brasil. Crap.
This is a trivial setback, as the Greatest Nation will defeat Ghana and Italy to continue on to play the winner of Group F: Brasil. Crap.
Day-glo Orange / INP - India 10
This post is not about caution tape or warning signs. While some say that India could use this, I do not begrudge it for lacking warning signs in or on its boarders. Frankly, this is probably because I am tired of seeing warnings in the U.S.
This post is about a get-rich scheme of mine involving letter and road numbers. Much like the Alaska plan, I have no doubt in the efficacy of my get rich quick scheme. For today I fell afoul of the directional system of India.
My plan is a little like this:
Step 1: Get to where you need to be
...
Step 3: Profit!
The genesis of my plan occurred when I boarded a bus into the city, as per normal. I usually board a bus with one of three neighborhoods or 5 numbers on it. The bus I boarded had the city center listed instead of a neighborhood or number.
---
I tell the conductor I want to go to the city center. "We don't go there." So I get off at a transfer point and caught one of the 5 buses.
I get off the bus with a nice government worker who shepherds me through the security entrance so I can get to the office without walking an extra mile. Of course the government building I enter has no floor plan or directory.
So, I wander until I find where I think I want to go (standard Greg in India procedure) and then I ask a person behind a desk, "Is this where X progress report is?" They then bring me to someone else, who usually brings me to a third person. Only today the third person didn't show up, so at 11:30 rather than the normal start time of 10:30, I get to the records room. This works splendidly until the librarian has to go to the library he normally works at, which means I have to get permission from his superior to continue there.
The superior gives me permission, but tells me I should immediately talk to someone else. This someone else gives me a 3rd person in another building. This other building is only a few kilometers away, but no one can point it out on a map or give an address (because addresses don't exist, just landmarks). They can only give direction that it is behind Irrumzentale neighborhood and near the Taj Residency Hotel.
So I go to the Taj Residency, show them the office name (Engineer-in-Chief of the state rural water supply) and the Taj gives me bad directions. So I go to the nearby National government building with a rural water mandate and they give me bad directions. So I go to the nearby Taj Krishna (maybe they switched hotel names) and they direct me to the offices of the Metropolitan Water Supply rather than the offices of the Rural Water Supply. The Metropolitan Water Supply has no idea.
Then I walk to the center of the neighborhood and show my information to three irrigation or water coordination offices I come across. The first doesn't have anyone who speaks English. The second only knows it isn't in there building, and the third, who can't direct me offers to have his driver take me there.
His driver chooses to use his own motorcycle, so I hop on the back, and ride to the Rural Water Supply, within a few hundred meters of the Metropolitan Water Supply. To the MWS's credit, there were office buildings and apartments between us. Nonetheless, 3 hours to go a few kilometers is inexcusable.
Incidentally, there was some rioting here when helmet laws began to be enforced and about half the drivers darting between trucks and buses lack helmets.
Back to the main point-
Step 0: day-glo orange house and building numbers painted on the street (so people will see and use them) and numbered by 5's (for future construction possibilities). The first city that enforces this would have such a marked increase in navigability, it would be worth the paint. Buildings should have directories. And somewhere or other, the metropolitan area should publish a bus map.
These increases would allow everybody in India to reach Step 1, and then there is no telling how long until Step 3: Profit!
When I get back to my dorm, I go use the bathroom. The fluorescent light doesn't turn on when I switch it, so I flick it off and get shocked. It takes a moment to register that I am feeling pain and pull away. I swear for the first time in 2 months. I then flicked the switch on (down in India) with my toothpaste. After using the toilet I went to turn the light off (up), and guess what happens? My other arm starts jerking and I swear for the second time in as many months.
This post is about a get-rich scheme of mine involving letter and road numbers. Much like the Alaska plan, I have no doubt in the efficacy of my get rich quick scheme. For today I fell afoul of the directional system of India.
My plan is a little like this:
Step 1: Get to where you need to be
...
Step 3: Profit!
The genesis of my plan occurred when I boarded a bus into the city, as per normal. I usually board a bus with one of three neighborhoods or 5 numbers on it. The bus I boarded had the city center listed instead of a neighborhood or number.
---
I tell the conductor I want to go to the city center. "We don't go there." So I get off at a transfer point and caught one of the 5 buses.
I get off the bus with a nice government worker who shepherds me through the security entrance so I can get to the office without walking an extra mile. Of course the government building I enter has no floor plan or directory.
So, I wander until I find where I think I want to go (standard Greg in India procedure) and then I ask a person behind a desk, "Is this where X progress report is?" They then bring me to someone else, who usually brings me to a third person. Only today the third person didn't show up, so at 11:30 rather than the normal start time of 10:30, I get to the records room. This works splendidly until the librarian has to go to the library he normally works at, which means I have to get permission from his superior to continue there.
The superior gives me permission, but tells me I should immediately talk to someone else. This someone else gives me a 3rd person in another building. This other building is only a few kilometers away, but no one can point it out on a map or give an address (because addresses don't exist, just landmarks). They can only give direction that it is behind Irrumzentale neighborhood and near the Taj Residency Hotel.
So I go to the Taj Residency, show them the office name (Engineer-in-Chief of the state rural water supply) and the Taj gives me bad directions. So I go to the nearby National government building with a rural water mandate and they give me bad directions. So I go to the nearby Taj Krishna (maybe they switched hotel names) and they direct me to the offices of the Metropolitan Water Supply rather than the offices of the Rural Water Supply. The Metropolitan Water Supply has no idea.
Then I walk to the center of the neighborhood and show my information to three irrigation or water coordination offices I come across. The first doesn't have anyone who speaks English. The second only knows it isn't in there building, and the third, who can't direct me offers to have his driver take me there.
His driver chooses to use his own motorcycle, so I hop on the back, and ride to the Rural Water Supply, within a few hundred meters of the Metropolitan Water Supply. To the MWS's credit, there were office buildings and apartments between us. Nonetheless, 3 hours to go a few kilometers is inexcusable.
Incidentally, there was some rioting here when helmet laws began to be enforced and about half the drivers darting between trucks and buses lack helmets.
Back to the main point-
Step 0: day-glo orange house and building numbers painted on the street (so people will see and use them) and numbered by 5's (for future construction possibilities). The first city that enforces this would have such a marked increase in navigability, it would be worth the paint. Buildings should have directories. And somewhere or other, the metropolitan area should publish a bus map.
These increases would allow everybody in India to reach Step 1, and then there is no telling how long until Step 3: Profit!
When I get back to my dorm, I go use the bathroom. The fluorescent light doesn't turn on when I switch it, so I flick it off and get shocked. It takes a moment to register that I am feeling pain and pull away. I swear for the first time in 2 months. I then flicked the switch on (down in India) with my toothpaste. After using the toilet I went to turn the light off (up), and guess what happens? My other arm starts jerking and I swear for the second time in as many months.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Weather, Work, and Timothy - India 9
The rains are coming, I can tell by the smell and the wind in the air. The rain is nice and helps cool things down. Many people stand waiting underneath awnings, but despite getting used to wearing long sleeves and pants, walking/standing in the rain helps keep my temperature decent. Today was a cool day; it only got up to 94.
We went biking through the pastoral landscape of my campus. The farm roads are accessible and there is a large lake with pavilion. Around sunset the 90 or so peacocks are out and about. Unfortunately the mosquitos come at the same time. Todays rain kept the mosquitos down, but it also sent us packing. While the monsoons haven't yet started I could use wipers for my glasses.
The trees around my dorm are pregnant with mangoes. The wind causes them to drop. Workers pick them up and some pile them into bags. Many are sold and many go into pickles. For my part I have tried these unripened mangoes, and I have to agree they are better as pickles.
Last year, I am told, the mangoes were plump, yellow and brilliant. Therefore, this year the crop is not so good. Most of the mangoes are mainly pit with little flesh to enjoy. I am tempted to rename this blog about food, because that is all I seem to want to write about.
Three people have been given IV's for heat, one gets used to the heat, and then many forget to drink, or they have diuretics like alcohol in the evening after a day in the field. Hydration is particularly a challenge, because except at a nice restaurant: the poor sanitation encourages bottled water, which isnt always available. The common idea of a clean straw or spoon is a spotless one, even if that means cleaned by thumb, right in front of the patron. I am told that straws are recycled.
I keep bottled water in the library with me, although I sampled the water today at the Chinese restaurant. This afternoon I started making photocopies in data collection from annual reviews of the state of Andhra Pradesh's five year plan. I had a breakthrough when I found that these reviews list projects, how much was spent on them, whether they were completed, and what steps will be taken. These directly relate to my goal of finding government actions and commitment to drinking water on the Krishna river.
Conveniently, this morning I hitched a ride towards town with the head librarian of ICRISAT. I have often tended towards librarians and this one is no exception. After explaining my research he told me that if I need a document in any library in Hyderabad, he would pass my name as a contact. This is useful because I believe the annual reviews of Andhra Pradesh are mostly in the Secretariat Library, which is only somewhat open to the public. I will head there or to a university library tomorrow. Is anyone else's summer being spent in libraries?
While taking the shuttle home from nearby the Hyderabad International School, a waiter riding the bus gave me a Christian Bible quote tract. For the most part, humdrum except that it quotes from I Tim. I had thought I read the Catholic Bible, which includes more than the typical protestant Bible, but I didn't recall a gospel of Timothy. I wonder if my copy didn't have it due to its discredited nature. More likely, I simply disregarded the Epistles, as they are not my favorite part of the Bible. For a while though, I had wondered if the Indians had extra parts to their Bible and not just been the recipients of visiting Apostles.
We went biking through the pastoral landscape of my campus. The farm roads are accessible and there is a large lake with pavilion. Around sunset the 90 or so peacocks are out and about. Unfortunately the mosquitos come at the same time. Todays rain kept the mosquitos down, but it also sent us packing. While the monsoons haven't yet started I could use wipers for my glasses.
The trees around my dorm are pregnant with mangoes. The wind causes them to drop. Workers pick them up and some pile them into bags. Many are sold and many go into pickles. For my part I have tried these unripened mangoes, and I have to agree they are better as pickles.
Last year, I am told, the mangoes were plump, yellow and brilliant. Therefore, this year the crop is not so good. Most of the mangoes are mainly pit with little flesh to enjoy. I am tempted to rename this blog about food, because that is all I seem to want to write about.
Three people have been given IV's for heat, one gets used to the heat, and then many forget to drink, or they have diuretics like alcohol in the evening after a day in the field. Hydration is particularly a challenge, because except at a nice restaurant: the poor sanitation encourages bottled water, which isnt always available. The common idea of a clean straw or spoon is a spotless one, even if that means cleaned by thumb, right in front of the patron. I am told that straws are recycled.
I keep bottled water in the library with me, although I sampled the water today at the Chinese restaurant. This afternoon I started making photocopies in data collection from annual reviews of the state of Andhra Pradesh's five year plan. I had a breakthrough when I found that these reviews list projects, how much was spent on them, whether they were completed, and what steps will be taken. These directly relate to my goal of finding government actions and commitment to drinking water on the Krishna river.
Conveniently, this morning I hitched a ride towards town with the head librarian of ICRISAT. I have often tended towards librarians and this one is no exception. After explaining my research he told me that if I need a document in any library in Hyderabad, he would pass my name as a contact. This is useful because I believe the annual reviews of Andhra Pradesh are mostly in the Secretariat Library, which is only somewhat open to the public. I will head there or to a university library tomorrow. Is anyone else's summer being spent in libraries?
While taking the shuttle home from nearby the Hyderabad International School, a waiter riding the bus gave me a Christian Bible quote tract. For the most part, humdrum except that it quotes from I Tim. I had thought I read the Catholic Bible, which includes more than the typical protestant Bible, but I didn't recall a gospel of Timothy. I wonder if my copy didn't have it due to its discredited nature. More likely, I simply disregarded the Epistles, as they are not my favorite part of the Bible. For a while though, I had wondered if the Indians had extra parts to their Bible and not just been the recipients of visiting Apostles.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
The 5 P's of India (and a bit about work)- India 8
So I wanted to wait abit until I had some experience outside the UN/ICRISAT campus to post about. This week I went 35km to the Medak District police headquarters in order to register as a resident foreigner. While this was a routine registration requiring a single signature, we got a bit of a runaround and had to wait 3 hours.
Later this week I went in to the City Central Library (CCL) to view the Andhra Pradesh Gazetteer (equivalent to the Federal Register) and several books listing which laws were in effect, because neither were available historically online. We also went to see the library minister to get permission to use a camara (their are no accessible copy machines). This incured a 3 hour wait.
My point? In India all things work given the proper balance of the the four 5 P's: Politeness
Patience, Persistence, Pushiness, People.
People bow, bring you drinks, and are more than happy to show you to a seat; however, once you are in the seat, nothing will necessarily happen. Perhaps you need to speak to the right person, need anyone's letter of recommendation, or simply need to wait. I am told that many things which require 5 min or less of work take days or weeks, and if you don't call/come again (thank you), people believe you don't care enough for them to complete the task.
People are key. Just as in the US, if you drop the right name, you are in. Sometimes any name will do, and now I always carry a letter of recommendation. Other times I need to have my boss call a friend, who calls a friend, and then all doors are open. With so many people in India, there is no surprise doors are closed. After all, who can you trust?
The reason I am writing all of this, is because the project I work on is a sensitive topic. Because water is a limited resource, any allocation of already allocated water equals conflict. Therefore I tell officials nothing about other projects between states or cities on the Krishna river, but instead simply indicate my focus on urban drinking water.
At this point my project involves going into the city for a couple of weeks to collect data. If nothing else, this alone is fun. I get to leave the artificial atmosphere of the campus and experience India.
Later this week I went in to the City Central Library (CCL) to view the Andhra Pradesh Gazetteer (equivalent to the Federal Register) and several books listing which laws were in effect, because neither were available historically online. We also went to see the library minister to get permission to use a camara (their are no accessible copy machines). This incured a 3 hour wait.
My point? In India all things work given the proper balance of the the four 5 P's: Politeness
Patience, Persistence, Pushiness, People.
People bow, bring you drinks, and are more than happy to show you to a seat; however, once you are in the seat, nothing will necessarily happen. Perhaps you need to speak to the right person, need anyone's letter of recommendation, or simply need to wait. I am told that many things which require 5 min or less of work take days or weeks, and if you don't call/come again (thank you), people believe you don't care enough for them to complete the task.
People are key. Just as in the US, if you drop the right name, you are in. Sometimes any name will do, and now I always carry a letter of recommendation. Other times I need to have my boss call a friend, who calls a friend, and then all doors are open. With so many people in India, there is no surprise doors are closed. After all, who can you trust?
The reason I am writing all of this, is because the project I work on is a sensitive topic. Because water is a limited resource, any allocation of already allocated water equals conflict. Therefore I tell officials nothing about other projects between states or cities on the Krishna river, but instead simply indicate my focus on urban drinking water.
At this point my project involves going into the city for a couple of weeks to collect data. If nothing else, this alone is fun. I get to leave the artificial atmosphere of the campus and experience India.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Sunday with Ramesh and Satish - India 7
Sunday, I decided to take it easy and recover from my trip to KFC. The only plan I had was to go to Chandinagar and make 5 passport photos for my police registration. Around 3 or 4, as the day was cooling, I went to the bus stop at the liquor store just off campus and caught a bus to the closest town.
For those who are unfamiliar with buses in third world countries, catching a bus in India is easier said than done. Buses may have a short (5sec) stop but usually they just slow down. This is because the bus usually only has men getting on or off and the bus is already packed. In Andhra Pradesh the first 6 rows of every bus are reserved for women. The back is packed with men, some of which are just barely in the stairwell. The 8th bus that came by (3min) had room enough for me to squeeze on.
5 Rupees later I arrived in town, outside the only supermarket (the size of a large 7-eleven). Like many shops it was nestled in an open concrete 3-story mall (1 floor sunken). Not seeing a photo-booth I wandered into some back streets until I came to a photo-shop.
I talked with the proprietor, who spoke well-enunciated English, to determine I would pay 60 rupees for 8 passport size glossies, made with a digital camera. He told me it would be five minutes until his brother-in-law, the owner of the shop arrived. We chatted about work and education. He introduced himself as Ramesh.
A few minutes later, his brother-in-law came in and entered the studio. Apparently this place specialized in glamour shots and portraits, which were posted on the walls about the place. My passport photos presented a special challenge, as I wanted a white background and was wearing a white shirt. As the brother-in-law made adjustments, several family members came out of the woodwork.
Ramesh, told me of how he was a math teacher in a nearby village, and that he was on holiday. Satish, another young English speaker, told of his love of American movies, and how he had just completed his M.S. in Computer Science. His job? Computer game gold farming to sell to rich Westerners in the game World of Warcraft. He was happy to practice English and hoped to get a new job.
Once my pictures were done, 45 min and a free cup of Fanta later, Ramesh and Satish wanted to know if they could get pictures with me. They had portraits made with their American friend. Afterwards they offered to be tour guides or otherwise help me, and practice their English. When I mentioned that I needed to buy a mosquito net, we spent an hour scouring the furniture and clothing stores until we found one.
Not only did they find me a mosquito net, they gave me their mobile (cel) numbers. I told them I planned to call them next weekend to see about going about Hyderabad with them. They offered to take me to the church where their family was from and introduce me to the Bishop. I think I will have to take up their offer. With "Best wishes!" and a "Cheers!" they got me aboard my bus. I returned to ICRISAT 2 friends richer.
My German friend Phillip says the best time to travel is when you have time to go where the currents may take you.
For those who are unfamiliar with buses in third world countries, catching a bus in India is easier said than done. Buses may have a short (5sec) stop but usually they just slow down. This is because the bus usually only has men getting on or off and the bus is already packed. In Andhra Pradesh the first 6 rows of every bus are reserved for women. The back is packed with men, some of which are just barely in the stairwell. The 8th bus that came by (3min) had room enough for me to squeeze on.
5 Rupees later I arrived in town, outside the only supermarket (the size of a large 7-eleven). Like many shops it was nestled in an open concrete 3-story mall (1 floor sunken). Not seeing a photo-booth I wandered into some back streets until I came to a photo-shop.
I talked with the proprietor, who spoke well-enunciated English, to determine I would pay 60 rupees for 8 passport size glossies, made with a digital camera. He told me it would be five minutes until his brother-in-law, the owner of the shop arrived. We chatted about work and education. He introduced himself as Ramesh.
A few minutes later, his brother-in-law came in and entered the studio. Apparently this place specialized in glamour shots and portraits, which were posted on the walls about the place. My passport photos presented a special challenge, as I wanted a white background and was wearing a white shirt. As the brother-in-law made adjustments, several family members came out of the woodwork.
Ramesh, told me of how he was a math teacher in a nearby village, and that he was on holiday. Satish, another young English speaker, told of his love of American movies, and how he had just completed his M.S. in Computer Science. His job? Computer game gold farming to sell to rich Westerners in the game World of Warcraft. He was happy to practice English and hoped to get a new job.
Once my pictures were done, 45 min and a free cup of Fanta later, Ramesh and Satish wanted to know if they could get pictures with me. They had portraits made with their American friend. Afterwards they offered to be tour guides or otherwise help me, and practice their English. When I mentioned that I needed to buy a mosquito net, we spent an hour scouring the furniture and clothing stores until we found one.
Not only did they find me a mosquito net, they gave me their mobile (cel) numbers. I told them I planned to call them next weekend to see about going about Hyderabad with them. They offered to take me to the church where their family was from and introduce me to the Bishop. I think I will have to take up their offer. With "Best wishes!" and a "Cheers!" they got me aboard my bus. I returned to ICRISAT 2 friends richer.
My German friend Phillip says the best time to travel is when you have time to go where the currents may take you.
Saturday in the City - India 6
Amu, a coworker from South Africa, turned 24 Saturday. Consequently, we went to a uniquely Indian restaurant that would nonetheless to remind her of home. We went to a place advertised for 3 weeks in the paper. We went to KFC.
Many of you have traveled throughout the world and have seen that lovely conspiracy of American culture: exported chain food stores. Between McDonald's, YUM Foods (KFC, Pizza Hut, T-Bell), Subway, and Burger King, I could travel the world and stick to "safe" food. While not entirely ubiquitous here in India, it doesn't take much to find one in Hyderabad. Although not my cup of tea, a friend here on a medical vacation is not only recognized at Subway, they know her order.
Each of these chains is subtly changed for the local consumer. Pizza Hut, where I intend to eat, has several varieties of Indian spiced pizzas as well as traditional Indian pizza. McD's serves neither pig nor cow, unless one refers to the occasional consumer. None offer free drink refills.
Amu bought six of us a family feast, including "Hot and Tasty" chicken, cole slaw, and french fries. While indicating that her friends would make fun of her for going to a "high school" restaurant, she was happy to get leftovers. Whats more, because it was her birthday, the staff all came out. They told Amu to stand on a chair and tell everyone in the restaurant that it was her Birthday. With a whistle, the staff then proceeded to pat their legs twice and chant "Happy Birthday, Amu!" three times. Even the Indians in the restaurant were surprised.
After our semi-service meal (after you bring your food from the counter the staff will get anything for you), our hired driver (7hours $20) took us to "Our Place" an atmospheric oasis of trees, manicured grass, and terraced seating secluded between buildings in the city. Not only did they breakout the red carpet, but the low lighting and live music gave great ambiance. Following the example of nearby tables, we (not me) got out our mobile phones and played games. My Indian guide and guru, Valentine Gandhi, had Mechwarrior on his.
Many of you have traveled throughout the world and have seen that lovely conspiracy of American culture: exported chain food stores. Between McDonald's, YUM Foods (KFC, Pizza Hut, T-Bell), Subway, and Burger King, I could travel the world and stick to "safe" food. While not entirely ubiquitous here in India, it doesn't take much to find one in Hyderabad. Although not my cup of tea, a friend here on a medical vacation is not only recognized at Subway, they know her order.
Each of these chains is subtly changed for the local consumer. Pizza Hut, where I intend to eat, has several varieties of Indian spiced pizzas as well as traditional Indian pizza. McD's serves neither pig nor cow, unless one refers to the occasional consumer. None offer free drink refills.
Amu bought six of us a family feast, including "Hot and Tasty" chicken, cole slaw, and french fries. While indicating that her friends would make fun of her for going to a "high school" restaurant, she was happy to get leftovers. Whats more, because it was her birthday, the staff all came out. They told Amu to stand on a chair and tell everyone in the restaurant that it was her Birthday. With a whistle, the staff then proceeded to pat their legs twice and chant "Happy Birthday, Amu!" three times. Even the Indians in the restaurant were surprised.
After our semi-service meal (after you bring your food from the counter the staff will get anything for you), our hired driver (7hours $20) took us to "Our Place" an atmospheric oasis of trees, manicured grass, and terraced seating secluded between buildings in the city. Not only did they breakout the red carpet, but the low lighting and live music gave great ambiance. Following the example of nearby tables, we (not me) got out our mobile phones and played games. My Indian guide and guru, Valentine Gandhi, had Mechwarrior on his.
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