The Parade!

The purpose of our trip to Mysore was to see the famed Dussehra parade. Who could resist the allure of a parade that promised elephants, golden thrones, and dancing girls?

We met up with the Amstutz Family to watch the parade. Paul is a fellow Fulbright teacher, his wife Karen is a park ranger at Yosemite, and together with their three beautiful daughters aged 3, 6 and 9 they are living and teaching in Bangalore. He and his family are perhaps the most adventurous people I have ever met - they make us seem boring by comparison.

Paul and family got an earlier start and found an excellent viewpoint very near our hotel. As we walked the street in search of the Amstutz family I was in absolute awe of the magnitude of the crowds packed onto the sidewalks, in the trees, and on roof tops. Others packed onto the flat bed trucks that served as roadblocks and impromptu seating. If we saw tens of thousands at the palace the night before, then there were easily hundreds of thousands lining the streets now for the parade. The crowds alone were an amazing spectacle.

We sat, as patiently as possible, in the hot sun for hours waiting for the parade to begin. As we waited we got to enjoy the company of our American friends, swapping crazy India stories, and the joys and pains of travelling with children.

When the parade finally reached us it was more than worth the wait! It was everything a parade should be: vibrant, colorful, loud, garish. There were elephants, drums, dancers, fire breathers, puppets, acrobats, men on stilts, gods, goddesses, missiles, musicians, and a golden throne. It was sensational!

I think the parade speaks best through images, so I will let the pictures do the rest of the talking. Click on the link below to see Pat's slide show:

Mysore Parade Slide Show

Mysore Palace

Dussehra is a Hindu celebration of the triumph of good over evil and is dedicated to the goddess Durga, who, legend has it, beheaded a demon and freed the people. Durga was the patron goddess of the former Maharajah in Mysore, and thus Dussehra is celebrated with vibrant zeal in the city.

Mysore is an historic city, home of royalty and a former seat of power. The Maharajah's palace and it's sprawling grounds are the centerpiece to Mysore's cultural beauty. During the Dussehra Festival the palace is illuminated in the evening with 97,000 lights, and it is a spectacular sight!

I think it is safe for me to say, without exaggeration, that there were tens of thousands of people who came out to see the palace. I could not believe the crowds in and around the palace grounds. It was an overwhelming carnival atmosphere with the lights and the hawkers and the popcorn and candy floss. It was a wild scene!

After weaving through the crowds and taking our pictures we began the arduous task of trying to find our driver amongst the chaos in the streets. It was literally like trying to find a needle in a haystack. If there is one thing about India that still amazes me, it is the sheer volumes of people everywhere we go. Tonight, more than ever, the crowds were overwhelming, but as usual we were far from being anonymous. As we tried to find our driver I got tired of the attention and the constant touching of the boys, so for the first time I put up a wall. I used my body to put a physical barrier between the crowds and my children. I ignored requests for pictures and turned away when people reached out to touch Eli. I felt rude, guilty even, but justified - there is only so much attention and touching we can bear.

36 Hairpin Turns and 1000 Stairs

What goes up, must come down, and I was more than happy to be leaving Ooty and our stinky hostel in search of warmer weather and clean sheets. On the advice of our guide we took a bus down the mountain from Ooty to Mysore. It seemed like a great idea since it would be considerably cheaper than a hiring a car. Unfortunately, what we saved in Rupees we lost in time, comfort and frustration.

After circling Ooty for an hour and a half in a desperate attempt to fill the bus, I was stiff and uncomfortable. I was sitting on top of the wheel and therefore had considerably less foot room and my knees were jammed into the seat in front of me. When we finally started our arduous journey down the mountain my personal discomfort turned to abject horror. The driver, obviously a seasoned veteran of this road, sped up between turns overtaking cars, cows and motorcycles with little regard for blind curves. The engine was revving hard never leaving second gear and the brakes were creaking and groaning around the turns. The road down from Ooty has 36 hairpin turns (I wish I were making this up) and at each turn there was a large yellow sign indicating what number hairpin we had just survived. Knees jammed, teeth clenched, legs asleep, I counted down and began to wonder if the $15 we saved was really worth it.

We arrived in Mysore five hours later (more than two hours behind schedule). Our hotel, I was pleased to note, had such modern amenities as air conditioning (suddenly necessary again), cable television, and best of all sheets that did not smell of mildew. We didn't stick around long though... Next stop Chamundi Hill.

Chamundi sits just 2 km from the center of town. The 1000 meter hill provides a scenic backdrop to the tidy and charming city of Mysore and sitting at the summit is a stunning and dramatic temple. In order to reach the temple pilgrims must climb the 1000 stairs leading up the mountain - the less pious can drive. For us there was no question - we would climb!

It was a beautiful, albeit sweaty, journey to the top. There were lovely views of the city, flowers, trees, and most interestingly - hundreds of large hairy spiders hanging in webs above the stairs.

Once we finally reached the summit a fog had rolled in making the temple seem even more dramatic in scale and beauty. There were thousands of people around the temple creating a kind of festive spiritual atmosphere. Pilgrims bowing in prayer sharing space with hawkers selling balloons, noise makers and flutes.

I am happy to be in the swirling chaos of this place.

Postcard from Ooty

Ooty... how I wanted to love you.

I was so excited to go to Ooty - a real, honest to goodness hill station. Mountains, trees, fresh air, tea plantations, I could hardly wait. We hired a car to take us up the long, steep and winding mountain road to Ooty. Our driver was a madman passing cars on every turn, but despite this fact the drive was fantastic. We passed through acres and acres of lush, green tea growing on impossibly steep terraces, and the views of neighboring mountains, valleys, and towns were stunning.

When we rolled into town I was still excited. It was cool - sweater weather for sure. The air smelled wonderfully of eucalyptus and the view of town from our hostel was lovely. The room? Well it would have been charming had it not been for the lack of heat and the smell of mildew emanating from the beds. Trying to stay positive about the situation, I decided it would be like camping. And off we went to explore what would turn out to be a disappointing, dirty, stinky little town.

Tempted by our guidebook we ate what I considered to be over hyped and overpriced pizza for lunch. Then headed to the botanical gardens for what started out as a lovely afternoon. However, shortly after our arrival rain moved in quite suddenly and ended the serenity. As we left the gardens the rain subsided enough to allow us to explore the Nepalese bazaar, which ended up being stall after stall of the same stuff. However, we did find some GREAT woolen shawls for a steal and stocked up from a beautiful Nepalese woman.

The rest of the sites we visited that day were disappointing and the cold gray weather began to wear on us. We returned to the hostel and built a fire and spent the best part of the day warm and relaxed, enjoying one anothers company.

Day two turned out to be much more fun. We hired a guide to take us on a full day trek through tea plantations, remote villages and up a mountain. It was really beautiful despite the fog and the occasional shower.

Our guide turned out to be quite friendly and knowledgeable and taught us all about the growing and harvesting tea as well as the people who depended on it for their livelihoods. He also shared the history of the region and educated us in local flora and fauna. We passed through a small village where we enjoyed a delicious hot meal in a tiny, dark, unmarked restaurant with a dirt floor. As we headed out of the village to ascend the mountain our guide pointed out a cow that was afraid of white people. Which sounds ridiculous, but he really did appear spooked as he watched us pass. The mountain we hiked supposedly had a superb view, which unfortunately, we were able to glimpse in for mere seconds before the fog enveloped the landscape again. Our guide told us we were unlucky to miss this view but later reminded us - for the second time - that we were truly "blessed" to have two sons.

I was happy to warm myself by the fire that evening, but couldn't wait to move on to warmer climates.

Postcard from Varkala

By the time we arrived in Varkala it was dark. Although we could not see much, we could hear the soothing sounds of the ocean lapping the shore and the distant twinkle of the cliff top lights across the beach. After settling into our hotel, which were charming round "chalets", we headed to the beach to find some food. We took a table in the sand and ordered beer. It was the start of a wonderfully relaxing three hour dinner where lifetime friendships were forged over chutneys and coconut rice. Eli slept soundly and Evan happily made railroad tracks in the sand.

In the morning light we discovered that Varkala is small, laid back and very beautiful. Despite the dramatic setting it was not however a beach for sun bathing. We arrived with suits on ready for a day in the sand only to find a small handful of fully dressed men loitering in the sand. There were also an army of stray dogs and the sand was a minefield of poop. The surf was intense and the rip tide strong. We quickly abandoned our plans for a beach day and sought out the Taj Garden Hotel where we spent an incredibly relaxing day sipping pina coladas in the pool and dining on an "opulent" lunch (as described by Lonely Planet).

Later in the evening we walked along the cliff top and did some shopping in the myriad of Nepalese handicraft shops, t-shirt stalls, and souvenir stands. We bargained hard for some great gifts for our friends as well as for ourselves. A leisurely dinner capped off another relaxing day.

The view from our hotel

Riding the Rails

We took our first train ride today on the famed Indian Railway. I wish I could say I did it gracefully. Alas the unbearable heat, cranky children and the odd anxiety of finding the right car got the best of me.

The train system in India is vast and complicated, and yet in many ways surprisingly efficient. The cars are comfortable and clean, and snack vendors and chai wallahs (tea vendors) keep you fed and caffeinated. The downside of the Indian railway system is that while all the cars are clearly marked, the order that the cars will arrive in is anyone’s guess. So it becomes necessary to stand in the middle on the platform, preferably near the middle, watch the cars pass and then hurry in the direction of your car. The other staggering negative is that there are no formal announcements at any of the stops. So you must know the approximate time of your arrival and watch for your stop – very unnerving when it is your first time to a destination.

We had an enormous suitcase – two if you count Erin’s, a diaper bag, camera bag, laptop and two children thus making quick mobility limited. So as the train approached I watched anxiously for the Third Class A/C cars to pass by. Luckily for us they stopped near the middle of the train, and thus a short walk from our lookout. As we rushed aboard, the car was cool and welcoming, the man blocking the first set of empty berths was not. He smiled politely and pointed us to the next set of berths, which were covered in blankets, food wrappers and even a pair of socks! I became horribly panicked and confused as we tried in earnest to communicate. Eli, hot tired and hungry wailed uncharacteristically.

We were getting no where with this gentleman who was saving the seats for his friends and my anxiety was only growing. In a sudden fit of hot anxious disgust I whined: “I just want to sit down! I don’t care where!”

To which the unflappable Erin smiled and soothingly said: “OK, we’ll sit here. It will be fine, we’ll just move this stuff.” She set to work moving the blankets, trash and socks while Pat stowed the luggage. After which we happily took up residence in our new berth. The cold air quickly calmed me. Eli was pacified by a snack, and before long Evan fell fast asleep. After we enjoyed a hot cup of tea I was able to have a good laugh at my own foolishness, and decided maybe this train stuff is not so bad.

The tourist in me

So I purchased a skirt today. Seduced by it's orangey coolness I gave in to the ever decreasing price of the seller (and still spent a buck too much). I was pleased with my new skirt. I decided it would keep me cool in this hot, sticky weather. I was pleased that is, until I started seeing my skirt all over town. In every souvenir shop and even on other tourists! Oh, the horror! I was suddenly embarrassed by my new skirt. Embarrassed that in this city of tourists, I suddenly looked like one of them. You see, I was feeling a bit self righteous when we rolled in to Fort Cochin. Suddenly we were surrounded by tourists and trendy restaurants and good coffee!! It was strange to dine only with white people. It was relaxing not to be the center of attention. And fun to eat and drink the delicacies of home. But at the same time I didn't want to be associated with them - these other tourists. I live here. India is my home, however temporary, and I am proud of it. I realize of course that in Fort Cochin and for the rest of our holiday I would be a tourist in every sense of the word. But I began to feel bad for the other tourists in Fort Cochin. If this is what they saw of India, than they were missing the best parts. The fancy coffee shops , swank restaurants and fancy shops were great, but this is not how Indians live. For us it was a wonderful break from the routine of our Indian life. It was a treat to drink coffee and eat carrot cake and quiche. It was nice to be anonymous in a crowd, and fun to shop in the stores. But I hope my fellow tourists had other opportunities to see the real India, and experience the warmth and hospitality of her people. Otherwise I fear they have missed the real magic of India.

Me in my new tourist skirt with Erin and Eli

A Postcard from Fort Cochin

October 13th. Our Dessara Holiday began today. A long awaited vacation from teaching and living in our little fishbowl. We are travelling with another US teacher named Erin McGraw who is stationed nearby in Hyderabad (her apartment in Hyderabad is perhaps only 10 miles from ours, but given Hyderabadi traffic it is an hour plus journey). Erin hails from Rutland, Vermont, and is a fantastic, unflappable, travel companion. Between tantrums, train anxiety, poopy diapers, hungry and tired children, and hungry and tired parents - travelling with the likes of us isn't for the faint of heart. Lucky for us, Erin took us in stride.

Our journey begins with a flight to Kerala, a small coastal state in the south western corner of the country. It's hot and sticky here on the coast, like Florida in the middle of summer. The air, the landscape, and the language are all different and new, but the scents and sounds remind me we are still in India.

Tonight we are staying in Fort Cochin, a former Portuguese port town. The town is small and pleasant with a warm intimate almost European feel. After checking in to our great little hotel we headed for lunch at the Teapot Restaurant. Here, at the Teapot, we realized that we were in a tourist hot spot. The restaurant was full of Europeans (and only Europeans), and the menu and decor were designed with a western palette in mind. Over pots of tea we laughed at the novelty of blending into the crowd. What a welcome change!

After lunch we headed to the docks to see the Chinese fishing nets. Stopping on the way to visit the Catholic Cathedral and to do a little souvenir shopping. Then we grabbed an auto to Jew Town (I swear I am not making this up). Jew Town is a shopping district that happens to house one of India's only Synagogues. Most of the shops were Kashmiri and sold many of the same types of Kashmiri handicrafts. Tall Kashmiri men with brilliant blue and green eyes worked the shops and offered us "Temptation Prices" on all sorts of handmade goods. Although the merchandise was beautiful we weren't feeling all that tempted. The purchase of the day, however, was a little toy auto rickshaw for Evan. It was like a dream come true for him to have a toy auto. He told me: "I don't like trucks. I only like autos." Between the plane ride and the toy auto it was a great day for him.

After an early dinner of carrot cake and the finest cup of coffee I have had since coming to India we headed to a performance of Kathakali dance. Kathakali is a famous regional dance that the guide book advised was not to be missed. I had my reservations about going, but was very glad we did. The performance was mesmerizing. The performers, wearing elaborate costumes and make-up, use hand and facial gestures to act out a story to the beating of drums and the singing of the narrator. My feeble description does not begin to do justice to the artistry of the performance or the fun in watching it. Evan went to the back of the theater and happily played with his auto on the dirt floor for 2 hours, while Eli slept - drums and all. A successful first day!