Part 1
Prior to coming to India, I had talked about spending a week working on tsunami relief efforts.  This week was supposed to be that week.  After emails to numerous aid organizations I found that the government of India has taken responsibility for relief efforts.   Without a clearly defined mission I decided that I would simply spend time in Pondicherry (Pondy) instead.

While planning that week I came across articles about how survivors just down the coast in Cuddalore were angry at “tsunami tourism” where people come to devastated areas and take photos and then leave.   I decided that I would not have anything to do with that and for my “Beach Day” in Pondy I would find an isolated beach and spend my day reading V.S. Naipaul’s “India: A Million Mutinies” and swimming in the ocean.

I rented a bicycle and headed north on the East Coast Road.  After 5 kilometers I found a sign that pointed to a private beach at an Ayruvedic Massage Center.  I coasted down the narrow road indicated and came to a small grove of trees, the ocean and an open expanse of beach visible in the near distance.   Pushing my bike through the trees I could see people off to my left.  As I walked on I stopped between two piles of large bricks.  In the sand were some more of these bricks arranged in a tight rectangular pattern.  I instantly realized that these were the foundations of homes and the piles of bricks were created by the tsunami when it leveled the homes.   In a flash I knew, without a doubt, that people had died on the spot that I now stood.   As I looked up to leave a man approached me and said “What you want?”   His tone was not friendly or inviting.   I replied “Beach” while pointing to the open beach behind him.   He said “Go far over” and turned to leave.   I agreed with him and went to the middle of the expanse, equidistant between the little villages on each side.

In my mind I resolved to write no more about the tsunami other than what I mentioned above, that I would take no photos since there was nothing constructive to add, I would leave it at that.

I stayed on the beach only for an hour.   I had not brought enough water to endure the 90 degree heat, and I realized that the beach served as the communal restroom for the village, both factors urged me to move on in search of even more isolation.

Part 2
Moving another 14 kilometers up the coast highway I found an open stretch of beach that looked totally uninhabited.   Riding and walking down a dirt path I arrived at a patch of palm trees.   The day was impossibly hot.  Stopping in the shade of a palm, I rolled out the small rug I had bought in Puri and laid down, intent to sleep through the mid-day heat after my long bike ride.  

My nap lasted about 30 minutes.  Three women woke me up by saying “Sir, Sir”.   They were standing right over me and startled me, causing them much laughter.   They were motioning at my water bottle.   On the ride up to this location I had bought a new liter bottle.  I handed it over and they each took a long drink, leaving me with the amount of water that had forced my first beach retreat.   As I have learned to say in India “Oh well”.   They thanked me and moved on.

I returned to sleep and was awoken 30 minutes later by goats.   Turns out this was not an uninhabited beach after all.   The goats were tended by a young girl who came and sat down near me.   She didn’t seem to want anything, but I offered her water.    After a few minutes I showed her my camera and asked if I could take her picture.  Though she spoke no English, and I spoke no Tamil we understood each other.  I snapped her picture and showed it to her in the screen of the camera.   She was delighted with it and ran off after a few minutes.  

She returned with her younger sister.

I had nothing else to give them except music.   I gave each of them an earpiece of my iPod and queued up some Grateful Dead, thinking that would be more appealing than punk or Pink Floyd.   They sat in joyous captivity.   I got out my book and started to read.

A man appeared shortly and motioned happily at the girls.  Through rough sign-language and limited English I understood that they were his daughters.  

The man went on to explain that his wife and son were killed in the tsunami.    He explained that he and his daughters were farther inland, near the road when it hit and were spared by hanging on to a tree.   He said that 21 people along this single stretch of beach were killed.   The bodies washed ashore for days afterwards.  Three days later he recovered the body of his wife.   He never found his son.

He went on to explain that the government of India had given him 2,500 rupee.   The boat on the shore was his, but he could not afford to buy nets, which cost much more than that.   His home had been destroyed.  He now lived in a small grass hut, no more than 4 feet tall and 6 feet across, visible in the distance.   He said he had no money, but that was OK, since no amount of money could bring back his family.   I nodded and turned to leave.   At first all I offered him was “Good Luck”, but a few paces later I called out to him.  Reaching for my wallet I gave him all I had, 500 rupee.   He thanked me repeatedly and then left.

As I started to pack up, my “Beach Day” no longer seeming interesting or appropriate, thee more men walked up to me.   They told me similar stories of wives killed, children missing and lives devastated.   They must have found out of my gift to the other man and were obviously hoping for something similar.  I rummaged through my bag and found a $5 US bill.  I explained that it was worth about 200 rupee if they took it to a Bank of India.   I gave them the last of my water and the Cliff bar from my bag.   One of the men opened a canvas bag he was carrying.  It was filled with a couple dozen small crawdad type animals.    He explained that this was their subsistence, roaming the beach for these small creatures.   He invited me to eat with them.   I was amazed that people having so little would offer me some of their food.  I indicated I was not hungry.   Raising my hands between theirs to tear filled eyes, they repeatedly thanked me and turned to leave.

I also turned quickly to leave.   The road back to Pondy was very hot, not having any water or money made for a sunburned heat stroked ride.   I thought no complaints though, having nothing to complain about in comparison to those I had just left.

Last night in Pondy there were fireworks sounding off at wedding celebrations.  Shops were open and the city was busy.    The next morning as I write this, processions of grooms from the weddings are making their way past the hotel in noisy processions, on the way to the home of their new bride, ready to start a new life together.

Life goes on, but somehow along this coast and beyond I get the sense that it probably will not be the same as before the tsunami.

If you have not donated to tsunami relief please do so.  If you can give more please do so.  I don’t have a recommendation of what organization should receive your contributions, but suggest you research organizations that are giving loans and grants to coastal fishermen to replace their boats and nets.   

I hate to compress three days into one post, but I am days behind in my posting, and the memory of certain details is fading.

Journey to Orissa
I left Siliguri by plane, flying to Kolkata on the wonderful Jet Airways.   I strongly recommend them for flying around India.   Landing in Kolkata, I purchased a ticket at the prepaid taxi stand for a ride the Hyatt.  They had omitted a page from my receipt the week before and I needed that to get reimbursed.   As I left the prepaid stand, the cashier told me “Find taxi 4116”.  As I walked out the door of the terminal, a man came up and said “What taxi number”, to which I replied “4116”.    There is a sucker born every day, reborn in my case.   He said that was him and took the luggage cart and pushed it to taxi 4116, which had a driver in it.  He turned to me and said “50 rupee”.   I seriously considered punching him, yelled at him and then got in the taxi.   I gave him 20 rupee and told the taxi driver to go.  When the taxi driver hesitated I started to get out.  He then finally started moving.

After stopping at the Hyatt I decided that my most pressing need was to get currency.   Not happy with the exchange rates in Gangtok, I headed off by taxi for the American Express office, which according the guidebook was on Old Courthouse Road, just south of BBD Bagh.   In a rush against time (it was almost 5:00 PM) I got out of the taxi near the Amex office.  I was down to 100 rupee, not even enough for the cab fare to the train station.  Turns out the office has moved, to a location a mile away.     Not wanting to use my last rupees, I headed off of foot for Park Street.   Loaded with heavy baggage in the heat and stifling pollution of downtown Kolkata, I was soon drenched in sweat.   Finally, as 5:30 came I started hailing cabs, but none of them could understand where I wanted to go.   Getting really nervous about time I finally found someone who understood.  

Park Street should not be pronounced with an emphasis on the “k”, it should be pronounced “Park-a” as is you were describing the parka that keeps you warm.   The seemed to work with the autorickshaw driver.  For reasons I cannot fathom though, he turned down Royd street, a one way road that runs near parallel to Park.  It was a one way, so he couldn’t turn around.  He took me to the next intersection where I then had to walk quite a ways further to the Amex office.   There was a guard standing at the door, looking like he was preparing to lock the door.   I pushed my way inside and said “You are open”.  There was not much questioning in my voice.  The time was 5:55.   He said “Yes, until 6:00”.    I finally unloaded some US currency and travelers checks, at a rate only 1 rupee better than Gangtok and was on my way.

Howrah Station at night, as seen from the balcony of the waiting rooms.

The train to Bhubaneswar was uneventful.  The best part was being met by Manas at the terminal to see me off.   The guys in Kolkata have gone out of their way to take good care of me.  Manas had checked the charts and verified my seat and talked to me until just before the train left.   When traveling it is nice to see a friendly face.

The man sharing my cabin didn’t talk to me except to point out that I had dropped my ticket.   That was fine, I couldn’t expect to have great conversations every trip.

Day 1
I arrived at the train station at 6:00 AM.  Jyoti met me and we headed for a hotel near the station.  I relaxed for a few hours and then we took off for Khandagiri and Udayagiri Caves.   These cave complexes are on adjoining hilltops north-west of Bhubaneswar.   The caves were carved centuries ago and still have vividly detailed sculptures in many places.

A whole tribe of monkeys lived on the two hills, sustained by a steady stream of gifts from the visitors.  They were quite clear in their expectation of food from me.

 

Khadagiri also had caves with a Jain temple on the top.   We took off our shoes, paid a 1 rupee entry fee, which included having our feet sprayed with water (the day was so hot I thought about going back a second time just for the cool water).  

This is not Berchtesgarten.  The swastika is a holy symbol to Hindus and Buddhists.  Talk to them about it and they either don't realize its use by the Nazi's or are quite upset that such a valuable and meaningful symbol was misappropriated.

In India, the elephant is associated with the god Ganesh.

 

After this we had a great lunch back in Bhubaneswar and then headed to the local zoo.   This was an interesting experience and quite different from my solitary roaming of the zoo in Gangtok.   There were throngs of people wandering along the pathways.  A majority of the cages had no sign to indicate what was contained inside.  There were only a few interpretive signs.   It seemed to me that there was evidently no need for a sign at the tiger pits, because everyone knew it was a tiger.    It would be a good project for students to collaborate with the zoo in making signs that explained the habitat, behavior and risks to the various animals.    As it were, my guidebook was correct.  People at the zoo were hissing, spitting and throwing rocks at the animals in an attempt to arouse activity, or to take out their own frustrations.   The animals had long ago become conditioned to ignore these idiots.

So many signs in India have a different meaning in US English.  Just in case, I made sure to be on my best behavior so that I wouldn't have to go to the sit out.

A life of captivity enduring the slings and arrows of an outrageous fortune.

A better view of a Himalayan Black than I had in Gangtok.

Unlike most U.S. zoos, at evening time they bring out the animals and parade them through the streets.  I wish they would have brought out the tigers for a revenge feeding on some of the other visitors.

 

 

The zoo adjoined a lake, which had some dilapidated boats that did not look capable of holding afloat more than their own weight.

We left the zoo and took an auto tour of Cuttack, Jyoti’s home town.

Day 2 Konark and Puri
I was delighted to have Samadarsi join us for the day.  He had taken the train down the night before.  He grew up in Puri and knows the area really well.   He had also impressed me with his strong knowledge of Hinduism when we had talked in Kolkata.  He and Jyoti proved to be a great set of guides.

Dhauliguri

There is a Hindu temple behing the white Buddhist temple.  There I was given the red dot, and asked to pay a couple rupee for it.  One of the officials in the temple also puts his hands on my head and pronounced a prayer on my behalf.  I'll take all the help I can get.

One the way to Konark we stopped at Dhauliguri, the location of the Dhauli temple.  This temple is a Buddhist temple that is built on the site that the emperor Ashoka is said to have adopted Buddhism after a dreadful battle where thousands lost their lives.

In my planning for India there were three must-see places.  The Taj Mahal, Konark and the Himalayas.   One down, one to go.   Konark was an incredible monument.   The temple was almost totally covered in exquisitely detailed sculpture.

The lower levels of the temple were devoted to sculptural representations of the Kama Sutra.   I won’t post any close-up photos, the sculptures were very detailed, even after 700 years.  We hired a guide to walk us around.  He was perfunctorily detailed about each section; “here we see a man and a woman….”   Yes, thanks that didn’t require explanation.  

The temple is in the form of a giant chariot.  There are seven horses pulling the chariot.

These boys were insistent that I take their picture.

 

Next stop was Puri.  We headed down the road until I came to the beach.    Impulsively I got out of the car, and walked right down to the edge.  Kicking off my sandals, I walked into the water.   I have now touched the waters of three oceans.   Not bad for a country boy from Utah.

Continuing into Puri, we inched through crowded streets towards the main temple,  the Lord Jagannath Temple.   This temple is one of the four main Holy Centers or Dhamas of India.  I paid a 100 rupee “donation” to the library across the street from the temple to be able to go to their roof balcony and see into the temple.  Jyoti and Samadarsi each went into the temple.

The Jaggannath Temple comples in Puri.

Washing prior to entering the temple.

Main Street, Puri, Orissa.  After Calcutta, this doesn't seem to crowded to me.

At the park in Puri I tried to be an art photographer.  Didn't work out, I couldn't hold the camera still enough to complete the low light exposure of the Gandhi statue with the moon in the background.

On the way back to Bhubaneswar we stopped at a Dhaba, or roadside restaurant.  These are mainly frequented by truck drivers.  We sat outside on a patio, with crickets chirping in the distance.  If there had been catfish on the menu I would have easily believed we were in the Lousiana bayou.  Instead, I had chicken khorma.  Khorma is a sauce made from ground coconut.  It was great.   So far in India the only food related sickness is a little discomfort from the spices.  No food poisoning.

 

After the temple visit we went to a beach in Puri and then went around the town meeting friends of Samadarsi.   I shopped in the silver store of one of these friends while Jyoti and Samadarsi returned to the temple.

Day 3 – Chilika Lake
We departed early for the vast Chilika Lake.  This lake is an inland estuary off the Bay of Bengal.   After a long drive we arrived at a government tourist facility and had a quick lunch.  We then got on a boat and went on a tour of the lake.

Fishing boats working the lake.

Other tourists on the boat.

In true Indian fashion, people were on the roof.  Jyoti is in the middle.   And yes, I indulged in the tradion myself and rode on teh roof for about 30 minutes.  I decided this would be the safest vehicle with which to claim the priviledge.  We were actually stuck in mud in the middle of the lake at the time.

Jyoti Ranjan Dash.

Indiana Jones Proof that I was on the roof.

We approached an enchanted island.

The tour boat not operated by the government.  I wouldn't recommend it.

After the lake we returned to Bhubaneswar and visited a park in the city.  Jyoti is engaged to be married to Julie, my trip to Bhubaneswar was to attend his wedding.   Unfortunately, it was postponed due to a recent death in Julie’s family.   I spent the time in the park peppering Jyoti with questions about how his marriage with Julie was arranged, what the details of the ceremony would be and how he felt about the arrangement.   Coming from the west, where parents are given no say in who marries whom, the idea of an arranged marriage is kind of odd.   But talking to Jyoti and hearing how he has put his faith in the concept and more importantly how he has already formed a strong bond with Julie, you get an idea of why this practice has worked well over the centuries.  

It was sad to leave Jyoti at the station.  I am not sure when we will see each other next.  He has been transferred off my team and is planning on taking an assignment in Britain in a couple of weeks.

The Train to Chennai
I got on the chain to Chennai.  Once again there was only 1 other passenger in my cabin.  We immediately started talking.  Turns out he is a Commodore in the Indian Navy.  Moreover, he has spent the last six years managing software development projects for the Navy.  I hit the jackpot for good train conversations.  I wanted to talk about ships and fleet deployments and what ships India was buying from Russia, he wanted to talk about software development.   Even though I was on vacation, I returned to work related thoughts and he did likewise.  We talked for a couple of hours until we were both so exhausted that we were falling asleep mid-sentence.

He got off the train 3 hours later, at 4:00 AM at Vishakpattanam, site of the Eastern Fleet Headquaters.  For the next 13 hours I had the cabin to myself, a very relaxing solitary confinement.

 

 

26 hours after leaving Jyoti in Bhubaneswar, I arrived in Pondicherry.

I came to India with three sightseeing goals:  The Taj Mahal, Konark and the Himalayas.  Gangtok was overcast the entire time I was there, forcing me to accept that the few fleeting glimpses of snow were going to be all that I would see.  Kanchenzonga was proving to be a shy hostess.   Resigned as I was to not accomplishing my goal, I awoke early Thursday morning for what was going to be an inevitably long day going back to Siliguri, flying to Kolkata and then taking an overnight train to Bhubaneswar.   I awoke at 5:00 AM to finish packing, too exhausted the day before to even really start packing.  What little effort I could exert on Wednesday evening was spent on a load of laundry in the bathtub.  I had forgotten to send out laundry the previous morning.   That laundry was set out to dry over the small space heater in my room, casting a glaze of steam across the mirrors and windows in the room.   Bending over and carefully hoisting my pack I noticed an unfamiliar glow coming in through the window at first light.    The view out the window the prior day only yielded the slopes across the valley from Gangtok.  Flinging the windows open I finally saw Kanchenzonga.    She was not shy, just mischievous, but benevolent enough grant my wish at the last possible moment.

Five minutes were spent at the window, soaking in each detail of the view.    Finally, regretfully turning to leave, I started the long march down the empty morning streets of Gangtok to the Jeep stand.   My legs were aching and throbbing with each step, the result of my long hike the day before.  With the added weight of the backpack, each step seemed to stiffen my resolve to stay in Gangtok for a few more days, but I had a friend to meet in Bhubaneswar.

The jeep stand was more awake than the rest of Gangtok.  I arranged for passage to Siliguri and went to the jeep for the expected wait for the rest of the seats to fill.  After a few minutes a large crowd of Indian tourists started loading their luggage on the jeep.  Things were going better than expected, until a driver of another jeep drove up started talking to the tourists.  He must have offered a better deal.  The tourists unloaded their luggage from my jeep and started getting in the other jeep.   Realizing that this group was my best hope for getting out of Gangtok in the next hour, I started talking and gesturing for them to stay in this jeep, not having much to pitch since they were exactly the same vehicle.  After failing at that, the driver of my jeep motioned for me to get in.   Angrily lighting a cigarette, he started his jeep and roared out of the jeep stand, just the two of us.   I said “You will go with just one passenger?  I can wait a little longer.”  He shrugged and continued driving.   I guess he realized that on a Thursday morning his best bet might be to meet the morning trains from Kolkata and bring tourists up.   

I also realized that his plan was to pick up some passengers on the way down.   At each occurrence of someone on the side of the road with a bag, suitcase or no apparent goal for the day, we would pull over and he would make his pitch.   Feeling a sense of duty to help him out, I started joining in.  I would lean out the window and shout “Shilly-Gurry, come on, get in”.   This produced more laughs than results, but I felt that I was at least doing my part.  In the end we added 4 men.

Once outside of Gangtok proper, the drivers intent changed.  From focusing on finding passengers he shifted the diesel engine into high gear and started racing down the Teesta valley.   The winding roads filled with traffic and potholes, and lacking barriers in many places had seemed so terrifying on the way up to Gangtok.  Now, it seemed that some Buddhist tranquility had washed over me, because instead of terror, I was filled with delight at the dangerous race I was witnessing.  The Maharasta Motors jeep seemed to be a licensed clone of an Isuzu Trooper.   Its diesel engine was roaring even on the steep downhill slope.  The driver would deftly work the clutch and the gears as he maneuvered around the slower vehicles in front of him.   I imagine the view from the side of the road as we approached and quickly passed would have been identical to watching the Paris-Dakar Road Rally.   We were not passed by a single vehicle the entire drive down.   I estimate that we passed well over 150 vehicles in the 130 km race.   According the guidebook the drive takes 3-4 hours, we did it in 2.5.

Along the way were cheerful and quirky messages put up by the highway department:  “Married?  Divorce Speed”, “Treat my curves softly”, “Enjoy the valley, this isn’t a rally”, and “Faster equals Disaster”. 

Stopping at the border town of Rangpo, I headed off to get my passport stamped while the driver refueled.   On returning there was a new passenger sitting in the middle, between me and the driver.  Unfazed I climbed in beside him and slammed the door as we took off.  This man promptly fell fast asleep, his head flopping over on my shoulder with each turn to the right, and then back towards the driver with each reciprocal turn to the left.

Even though driving down a narrow dangerous mountain road at the very un-India like speed of 70 kph, I was very comfortable and relaxed and able to spend time thinking about the differences between Gangtok and Kolkata.     Apart from size, the two cities offer a stark contrast to each other.  Each seem deeply rooted in their predominant religions.   Gangtok, perched on the edge of a steep mountain has tall thin buildings reaching up like tall pine trees.  Flags flutter from every place likely to catch a breeze.  I have only seen a few pictures of Lhasa, the capital of Tibet, but it looks very similar to Gangtok.   Especially in the views looking down from above the city, with the monastery at the top of the hill, Gangtok seems like a city built in a Tibetan Buddhist style.

Kolkata on the other hand, only 300+ years old seems like it exists to bear witness to the ability of Lord Krishna to take many incarnations.  You can easily see evidence of the early first incarnation of British colonial planning, followed be early 1900’s attempts at becoming a modern city.   In so many places, such as the boat house I photographed on my second day in the city, that there was a rush of exuberant energy after independence that has proven to be too much for the country to sustain or maintain.   Lastly, you see a truly modern city emerging from the chaos of previous versions.  Especially to the east there are new cities growing up in the marshlands towards Bangladesh.   It seems the temple cities of Puri and Bhubaneswar fit this same pattern, reflecting a Hindu order trying to make sense out of the chaos of a British trading post turned into metropolis. 

In the jeep on the way down from Gangtok I wear my winter coat and hiking boots.  As we descend lower and lower it gets progressively warmer.   Bursting out of the canyons we roar across the Ganga plains, leaving the cold breezes blowing through thousands of prayer flags.  My coat becomes heavy and hot, my thoughts turn from the austerity of the monastery with its chanting, drumming music to the land of the durga, the temples with their own variety of chanting and drumming.   There are so many parallels to be found in this country.  The influence of these two religions appears to me to be so fundamentally rooted that I can’t imagine India without picturing the two different but intertwined faiths.

I look over at my driver as he deftly works the gears, calmly purring the diesel engine past school children, rickshaws and lorries.  Is he the enlightened Bodhisattva driving along the eightfold path or is he an incarnation of Shiva the destroyer, roaring down from the heights of Kailisha in his white bull jeep?  Like the rest of India, he is probably an intertwined mix of both.

   At the start of my second full day in Gangtok I realized that I would again not get to see Kanchenzonga.  Even though I new it was pointless, I hired a taxi to take me out to Tashi Viewpoint, about 8 km away and a great place to view the peaks, weather permitting.

I thought this would be the best view of the Himalayas I would get.

See nothing more than the clouds I had photographed the previous day I returned to Gangtok.  Looking back on my previous posts, I am bemused at how much more comfortable in India I am now than even a week prior.  The cabbie stopped and picked up a friend, then took a second hire, a woman going to work, and then stopped for a quick "break".   When the woman asked to be let off, the driver told her that I was paying the fare.  None of this bothered me as it would have in Kolkata.

I asked the driver to take drop me off at Enchey Monastery, for lack of anywhere else to go.  As he dropped me off I decided to have a "Henry David Thoreau Day", many of my days adopting themes.   Thoreau was a naturalist and author that lived in the woods of Walden Massachusets in the early 1800's.   He would go on long roaming walks through the forest, documenting in a journal the things he observed along the way.  Having 2 cliff bars in the pocket of my jacket, my camera, GPS and purchasing a water at Enchey, I was ready.  My only goal was to be back between the onset of darkness and 10 PM.  

Since the prior morning I had not entered the monastery, I decided this time to wait and go inside.   The guidebook said it opened at 8:30 AM.  That time came and passed with no noticeable change at the gate.  At 8:40 I asked if I could enter.  They said yes and I walked up the flag draped walkway towards the central compound.  At this compound there was a school, with young boys chanting their lessons in rote fashion.   Across the courtyard was a temple.  I stopped in front of the entry and looked inside.  In the temple was a large golden statue of the Buddha.  Several monks were seated alongside the approach to the statue.   There was a loud sound of chanting and drums coming from inside.   I observed this for several minutes before leaving the monastery.  I had an interest in entering, but I was not certain of the protocol, and there was nobody to ask.

The communications tower, observed from near the gates of Enchey

Enchey sits on top of a ridge above Gangtok.  I decided to start my walk be dropping down a narrow road on the other side of the ridge.   I passed through narrow streets, houses on each side.  Most houses had some form of shop on the first floor and living areas above.  If there was no shop then there was usually a garage on the first floor.

I kept walking around this valley for about 6 km, past lines of children heading for school.  Most of them would say "Hello" or "Hi" and give me a friendly wave.  The mothers that were accompanying some of them regarded me with a bit more caution.

Gangtok is on the other side of this ridge.  Enchey Monastery is in the woods at the top left of the ridge.  My walk started by winding down through the houses pictured.

I had registered 5200 ft elevation in Gangtok.   Before long I passed 6000 feet.

The view to the southeast through the morning haze.

Looping back around to a higher spot on the ridge above town, I was rewarded with an even better view.

Along the ridge above was a tourist overlook, decked out in prayer flags.   It was a surreal experience to come around the corner and see this.

Climing to the top I was able to get another view of Gangtok.

Gangtok proper is on the right side of the ridge, my starting point was to the left of the large reddish building along the top of the ridge.

Across from the viewpoint there was a zoo.  This proved to be an interesting path to take.  The entry cost 30 rupee, not much, although before I could buy a ticket the gatekeeper walked me out to a couple of signs.  The first explained that the zoo was managed on principles of large enclosures, so I might not get to see an animal, if not please come again.

The second sign had all sorts of warnings:

Of particular interest was the mention that catapults were not allowed in the zoo.  Sorry Josh, you will have to leave your catapult in the back yard when we come to India.

I headed off to the first exhibit, Himalayan Black Bear.  

This was the only legible direction marker/sign in the entire zoo.

I felt very secure with this stout fence to keep me and the animals separated.

I was luckier than most because I actually got a glimpse of the bear.  He was a long way off and just showed himself for a moment.

Leaving the bear behind, I noticed paw prints on my side of the fence.  I need Aragorn to tell me what they are, but to me it looks like Bengal Tiger.

In ONLY one way, the zoo was the high point of my day.   I passed through the 7000 foot mark while waiting for a barking deer to appear (he never did).

At the far side of the zoo I was presented with a view looking out towards Tashi Viewpoint where I had been the past two mornings.  There were three distinct roads heading in that direction.  Being the highminded and morally sound person that I am, of course I took the high road.  

After a few minutes, to my left down the ridge I saw two soldiers walking up the hill towards me.  I shouted down to them "Army base?"  They shouted back that it wasn't, a second question confirmed that I was allowed to walk here.  I was concerned because down the ridge to my left was an army base.  

These two soldiers climbed the fence and started following me down the road.  I soon nicknamed these two "The Goon Squad."  They looked like two guys out spending all day to do a 10 minute assignment.  My gut feeling that these two could be trouble.  I decided that if they wanted trouble they would have to catch me.  I have a pretty fast walking pace that was still available this early in the day.

"The High Road" is visible in the top right. This was taken from just outside the zoo gate.

I walked along this road for another 5 km or so, all the while approaching a large communications tower.  It appeared that the road would drop down the other side of the ridge and I could then walk back to Tashi, grab a hot bowl of Tibetan Momo soup at the tourist lodge and continue.

As I got to the base of the radio center my plans were reinforced by this sign:

I had no idea where Ratay Chu was, but since it was good enough to merit its own moss covered sign, it was good enough for me.

The view looking back.  The farthest visible ridge is where the zoo and the overlook were located.  Straight line distance 4.5 km.

After walking another 100 meters I met up with a man in an Army style uniform.  He gave me to ask the question no wandering tourist should ever be in a position to ask:

Question: Is this an Army base?

Answer: No, but to the left is, to the right is a restricted government building and the road leads to the gunnery range of the army base.  You need to turn around and go back.

Well, at least I wasn't getting arrested.

As I headed back down I started to worry about the Goon Squad.  They had still been visible on the road behind me.  As I rounded a corner I saw a new group of men.  I decided to go back around the corner and have lunch, suddenly hungry.

After 20 minutes these men were still standing on the road.  As I walked around the bend I say a fifth man sit down in the middle of the road, 10 meters ahead of me.   I decided that I had no choice but to walk past him and the other 4.  As I did so I saw that he had a large Ghurka knife on his belt.  I suddenly realized what happens to all those American backpackers that disappear without a trace.

A quick "hello" and my fastest pace put me past them.  The goon squad must have gotten bored and left, because I never saw them again. 

I continued my walking for a total of 25.5 km (15.8 miles).  The walk was always either up or down.  By the end of the day I was dreading the downhill parts.  My legs and knees were aching.   I had bought my Asolo hiking boots in November for just this walk.  They had been beguilingly comfortable in the store, but a week later I hated them.  They were too narrow in the toebox for my feet, causing sores that would easily lead to blisters.  My uncomfortable solution was to remove the liners inside the boot.  Allowing me to walk without blisters but without the comfort of cushion.  They were great for the steep muddy slopes, the only time I slipped was about 10 steps from the end of my journey.   My Himalayan Walking Shoes had done the job, but I have not worn them since.

It took 4 days afterwards for me to stop hobbling when I walked.  It was an easy price to pay for a remarkable walk.  Henry David Thoreau would be proud, I think.

On the bus from Chennai to Pondy last night I passed a motorcycle accident.   The bike was sprawled across the street, with broken glass an plastic visible in the glare from the headlights.  Six men were carrying an apparently lifeless man towards a taxi.  My first thought was to get off the bus and help, my first aid kit only inches away.  I didn't get up because I realized that me and my overly stocked first aid kit with its scalpels, suture kits and syringes could not help out in this situation.  If the man was not in fact dead he was unconscious with severe head trauma.  His arms and legs hung limp.  In the two previous motorcycle accidents I have witnessed, the victims were screaming loudly and trying to get up.  Maybe if I had brought a neck brace I could have donated that.

Indian roads are dominated by motorcycles and scooters.   Most of the motorcycles have a metal frame along the left side so that a woman can side sideways on the motorcycle and have a footrest and a guard to keep her sari from getting caught in the chain and gears.   It is very typical for such a vehicle to be the family vehicle, with the father driving, the mother sitting sideways on back, holding a child and another child riding between the fathers arms.  

When I was traveling with Jyoti in Orissa on Sunday he told me of an accident that he was in years ago that involved just such an arrangement, four people on a scooter.  Accident happens, mom and sister bail off the rear of the bike just before impact.  Jyoti is thrown over the handlebars and lands on the street, getting a wound to the forehead that he still carries the scar from.   Dad also is severly injured.

Amy and I have talked on several occaisions about how as children we were rarely required to weat seat belts, if our cars even had them.  We survived childhood without getting thrown through a windshield, although my brother Derrick did fall out of a moving car once.  

I think the reality of India is that it is probably not desirable to load up your family on a scooter and take to the streets, but there are few viable alternatives.   Public transportation is limited, taxi's are too costly for everyday use and cars are more expensive in India than in the US.

As I travel around in various modes of transportation, I try to always consider my options in an emergency.  Most options are not good.

Jeep to/from Gangtok:  No seatbelts, not that it would matter.  Head on collision or plunging off the side of a cliff, both likely fatal.

Plane to Calcutta: Mentally rehearsed this a hundred times on the flight to LA, note the location of the closest exit before takeoff, crawl over seatbacks to reach exit, don't take aisle.   Hope that if there is an emergency that that is an option.

Boat ride on Chilika Lake: Take two water bottles, drain one and stick in shoulder bag to use as floatation aid, drink water from the second one and it adds to flotation as I get more tired (I am not a good swimmer).  Hope that the boat sinks in or near the part of the lake that is only 3 feet deep.

Motorcycle Rickshaws: Sit right behind the driver, in the middle to put as much space between me and a side impact, and so that I land on the driver in a front impact (hey, this is a matter of survival).

Cycle Rickshaws: Pay attention to everything, get ready to jump as hard and far as I can to the left.

Walking:  Pay really close attention to sounds.   Don't walk and read, listen to iPod or chew bubblegum because I will most likely be walking on the road and cannot expect anywone to swerve out of the way. especially if the honked as they approached me.

Train:   Try to sit facing to the rear so that in the event of a collision I am pushed into the bulkhead instead of thrown across the cabin.   Plan on using blanket to protect feet and leg as I kick out the window.

 

I do all this planning because years ago I saw a documentary on how to survive a plane crash.  The expert on the show said that most people die in accidents that are survivable because they panic, and they panic because they are not prepared.  Now I have a habit of preparing an exit strategy for each situation I am in.

Overall I think road traffic in India is safer than in the US.  The speeds are much slower which makes an accident more survivable.  In the 3 weeks I have been here I have seen 4 accidents.   It is not uncommon to pass that many in a single day on my way into work in Phoenix.

 

Morbid planning aside, I survived a day long train and bus journey.  25 hours after leaving Bhubaneswar I arrived in Pondicherry, the city of my dreams.

I am currently in Bhubaneswar, but will be leaving in an hour for Chennai (Madras) by train.  The jouney will take about 22 hours.  I finally got my reservations all worked out for Pondicherry, so will be there all next week.  I am really excited about that, expecially because it should allow me time to slow down and rest, the last few days have been a wonderfully busy tour of Orissa.

I have about 20 pictures that I want to post, and lots of stories to go along with them, but I cannot find a cyber cafe that has a USB port (I guess there was something good about Shiliguri, that was the last time I was able to upload a photo).

I will also be asking for your help to bring a devious criminal to justice, more on that later, but I have seen a crime committed and I know who did it, but justice will take an international effort.

Next post, hopefully with pictures from Pondicherry (Pondy).

 

I will never know for sure how they came to him, but in my memory it was an afternoon in the fall of 1946, an ex-serviceman, just returned from the war trudged up the walkway, tired after walking door to door in a small town.  The young veteran explained to the 50 year-old man that answered the door that the books covered every country in the world.   He flipped open the book and said “See sir, this in Mt. Pinatubo.  That is exactly how it looks, I was there with Macarthur.”    The man considered the sales pitch of the young veteran, considered the fine volumes, bound in rich blue leather, with scenes embossed on the covers of each.   The color plates that filled the books gave the volumes a rich appearance, full color not yet common in books.    Considering his infant daughter, two teenage sons and his own curiosity he bought the books. 

The eight volume set of “Lands and Peoples” held a place of honor in the bookshelves near the fireplace.   I imagine that he occasionally took one of the books off the shelf, opened it and studied the foreign lands described so vividly in the books.   Even in 1946 the books were anachronistic.   The printing date might have been 1946, but the books had changed little since they were first compiled in the early 1930’s.   The few automobiles pictured were all vintage 1930’s and the figures seemed oblivious to the changes brought by a second world war.  

The man that bought those books was my grandfather, a hardworking man who never left his home country, save for a short vacation or two into Canada.   When I think of what motivated him to buy these books I believe that it was a curiosity and a desire.  That on winter nights he looked at these books and imagined distant lands.   I imagine that he had dreams of visiting places that must have seemed unimaginably distant to the man who grew up herding cattle in the desert and working as a painter at a sugar refinery.

I know the value of these books to him because he entrusted them to me on a spring morning in 1982.   I was 9 years old; he was in his 80’s.  He called me over to his chair and instructed me to go home and come back with my wagon.   When I returned he took me to the bookshelf near the fireplace and told me that his children would soon be fighting over his belongings and that I was to take the books and keep them safe.   He told me that no matter what my mother or my uncles said, the books were mine.  Pulling one of the “Lands and Peoples” volumes from the shelf he told me that these books, and a few other volumes in particular where entrusted to me.

Carefully placing the books in my wagon I took them home.   I studied these books as I am certain he once did.  Reading every page over and over again, memorizing the place names, studying the maps and pictures.  I, like my grandfather became an armchair traveler through the pages of these books.

Years later, as I carried these books off to college with me, I understood that they could be replaced for $50, and that the words and pictures were an anachronistic reminder of a long-ago reality.   For me these books were a gift that I will hold continue to hold in honor.   And as I travel the streets of Calcutta and pass dozens of rickshaws, I think that the only thing that has really changed is that the British officers have all quit India, otherwise it is very similar.

My grandfather, LaMont Harris, died a few years later.  And 21 years after his death, on a cold February morning I am walking up a hill at the base of the Himalayas.  Through the morning mist I see Buddhist Monks and women clutching babies wrapped against the cold.  They appear through the haze, and then just as quickly disappear down a forest trail.   The buildings all seem to have a distant familiarity to me, as if I was here for an afternoon, many years ago as a child.  

Throughout my childhood I was an armchair traveler, roaming the world through Kodachrome tinted plates, black and white pictures and rosy descriptions of distant lands.   I would study the maps, planning the best route from Cairo to Capetown or from Istanbul to Singapore.   Each stop along the route would be carefully studied and investigated.  The lands of the British Empire were of particular interest, the east coast of Africa and great Raj of India, still massive before partition.    

 

Out of the mist ahead of me emerges Enchey Monastery, the headquarters of one of the sects of Tibetan Buddhism, and I realize that I was not given these books so that I would be an armchair traveler like my grandfather, I was given them because I was meant to leave the armchair behind and see the world.   These books served as a travel guide, giving me a happy and peaceful view of the world, and preparing me to travel places he could only dream of.

Without that the gift of those eight blue books I doubt I would have had the interest to be here in India today.  From the hillside I scoop up a bit of soil and place it in a small Altoids tin.   My grandfather couldn’t come to India, so I will take a little bit of it back to him.  

Some day I will pass on the legacy and give these books to one of my grandchildren, but on that day they will have a bookmark.   A small green Buddhist prayer flag will mark the pages covering northern India, and if I am asked what the writing on the flag means, I will say that it is a Buddhist prayer of wanderlust, that whoever holds this flag will want to travel the world and see the wonder that exists everywhere you look.

 

Before I get on to the great time in Gangtok, I should fill in the details on Monday morning in Siliguri.  I am back in the town as I write this, the net connections in Gangtok being unusably slow. 

As I mentioned, earlier, the train ride was interesting and as exciting as I had imagined it would be.

Arriving in Siligiri, I was confronted by a legion of touts, all trying to sell me the lowest price ride to Darjeeling.   I took a cab to the Sikkim Tourism Office to get my permit.  I arrived at 7:45 and the office didn't open until 10:00, so I took a cycle-rickshaw up the street to Net-N-Net, the internet joint I am writing from now.   I checked emails, wrote the post about the geologists on the train and then go some more passport photos.   Back to the Sikkim office at 10, the man ad the desk handed me a form and told me to have a seat.  When I gave him the completed form he said "OK, if my boss comes in then we can get this approved".   Focusing on the "if" in the sentence, I sat down to wait.  About 45 minutes later the boss man arrived, and 20 minutes later, after he had checked the newspapers and chatted about several stories with the man at the desk, he signed my forms.

I then remembered that I was supposed to buy my train ticket to Chennai at the NJP station but had forgotten to.  Instead of going all the way back to NJP, I took a cycle-rickshaw to a junction station nearby, they in turn sent me downtown to a place called "Central Booking", which sounds a lot like where the criminals are taken.  

This is where the "fun" began.  I had told myself before coming to India that I would need "infinite patience" to survive without going crazy.  Because of this, I would occaisionally think to myself "Infinite Patience" when stuck waiting.   At Central Booking there are three lines, one for Enquiry, two more for Purchase.   You are supposed to stand in line and see if your train is available in the Enquiry line, then get in line to purchase it.   I decided to skip the enquiry line and just risk it.   I really wanted to get up to Gangtok before dark, and time was running out.

An hour later, the number of people ahead of me in line had increased from 14 to over 20.  It seems the "queue system" works something like this:  Imagine a set of 20 cm sqauares, lined up approaching the window.  You stand on one square, and move up when you can.  If someone doesn't move fast enough, then a square in front of them is open.   If you are taller, angrier or are chewing something that needs to be spit out, then you can leave the line, go to the cafeteria and come back a couple of hours later and claim your spot.   If you are in the enquiry line, then just take 4 steps to your right, and if nobody shouts at you, then you are next in line to buy your ticket.  

I enter this system and use my 50 pound backpack as a block, to keep the people in front of me from backing up when people come to claim their place in line.  I figure that my only hope is to get close enough to the window to reach out and grab the little opening and hold on.

Half way up the line, I am told that I need a form, and that I have to stay in the Enquiry line to get one.  I have learned enough after an hour to put my pack on and charge the front of the enquiry line.  I wait patiently for the woman behind the window to acknowledge me, but after about 5 minutes I just reach into the little opening, across the woman and grab a form.  It really helps to have long arms.

Back to the purchase line, 3 people have taken my place and insist that I have to go to the end.  The last man in line spent the next 45 minutes with my pack pushing against his legs.

After much pushing, and shouting among the people ahead of me in line, I get to the counter.  The agent says that I have to provide my address in India.   I now live at JA-1, Kolkata, 700-098.  While I made that up, the guy behind me squeezes in and purchases his ticket.  I let that go because 30 minutes earlier, in a bit of frustration, I spun around and accidentaly clobbered the poor fellow in the jaw with my elbow.   Another person tried to purchase his ticket while I found the correct change, but he was met with a loud "BACK OFF", which he seemed to understand.  Throughout this ordeal my "Infinite Patience" was replaced with "SERENITY NOW" and I had 2 hours to very strongly consider a 2 week vacation in Singapore or Australia.

After purchasing the ticket, I went upstairs, pretty mad at having spent 2 hours on something that should have taken 20 minutes.  I needed to get a refund on the ticket that Jyoti had purchased for me.  It was the wrong ticket because I did not want to come back to Kolkata after visiting Orissa.   There were three people in line, pretty manageable, but I wondered what all the men were doing just sitting around this office.  As I got in line, one of them told me that all of the men were in line.   I said "Oh, to hell with this!" a little bit too loud and turned to leave.  Several of the men jumped up and said "India is our country, you are our guest, please go next in line."  I felt really stupid at having lost my cool, but took them up on it, my faith in India restored.

When I got down to the taxi a few minutes later, I noticed that the 50 rupees worth of magazines that I had stuck in the pocket of my pack were missing.  Oh well.

Coming back to the jeep stand, I had to wait 45 more minutes for the jeep to fill up, then off I went to Gangtok.

Along the way I took a couple of pictures:

This girl was waiting at the Sikkim Tourism office for the bus to Gangtok, her mother was nearby.

Later, while waiting for the jeep to fill up, I was playing the magic trick where I pull 1 rupee coins out of this girls ears.  Her mother was begging, but she wasn't, so a loophole in the no money to beggars rule.

Women on the street of Siliguri. After leaving Central Booking, I was walking up the main street looking for a cab.  Even with my pack on, I was the fastest person on the street.  I ended up walking 500+ meters until traffic caught up with me an I hopped on to a cycle-rickshaw.

Life in Siliguri moves at a very relaxed pace.

The jeep, at the first stop.

Highway truck stop, India style.

The jeep was packed, but I had it better than this guy.  I am 90% certain that I passed this same guy on the way down from Gangtok, looks like he never gets a seat inside.

 

I will post more tomorrow but this will serve as a quick update:

I have decided to start a translation of Indian placenames to English equivalents.

   Siliguri = "Stay away if at all possible, this town is where inefficiency was invented"

 

Second, the next time someone in the US says that I am not adventurous because I would rather stay home and plant tomatos and build furniture I will tell them that there is enough adventure for me in piling in a jeep with 10 other people, with a 20 year old driver that knows every swear word in Nepalese, Hindi and English, that the jeep's tires have treads as smooth as a baby's bottom, and then taking that vehicle on a high speed race up a rain soaked, narrow road in the Himalaya's, with giant TATA trucks barelling down the mountain, and with no barrier between the vehicle and the Teesta River 500 feet straight down.  Oh, and it was dark most of the way, and the other 10 people in the jeep seemed to be arguing with the driver the whole way, because he kept turning around and shouting.  Until that can be topped I will enjoy my tomatos and woodworking and fondly remember my crazy drive to Gangtok.  I will also remember that the whole thing only cost me $2.50.

The other adventurous was to relent to the Nepalese woman sittng next to me when she insisted that I try the sweets she had brought along with her.  It tasted like sugar cookie dough and was formed into balls that were soaking in milk and sugar.   Remember that I hate milk, haven't drank a glass of it in 25 years.   So far no vomit, but another Apocalypse Now moment "Captain, try these and you will never have to prove your bravery again."

 

Third, I can't wait for morning.  From what I can see this is an amazing city.

I think I can also post pictures tomorrow.

 

Subrata was kind enough to see me off and I am grateful for that, because now I feel a bit more confident about navigating the train station and boarding process.

When I got seat, #45, it looked like I had gotten a pretty good assignment because there was no top bunk above me and I was right near the back of the car, so I wouldn't be to far from my gear when using the facilities.   After a few minutes, a certain "S. Lala" came and sat down on my bench.  He said "You, seat #45?", I said "Yes, you?", to which he replied "Seat 45".   I have learned to take everything in India with a double-dose of patience, so I replied "The TT will sort it all out".  True enough, the Ticket Taker came and moved Mr. Lala to an empty berth in the car.  No reason to get worked up over.

Across from me were two gentlemen who from the moment they boarded were in a vigorous discussion in Hindi.  I figured they were engineers because they kept using english words like "composites" and would gesture with their hands and say something like "60 meter span".  A couple of minutes after I pulled out my GPS they started talking to me.  Turns out they are geologists with the Indian Geological Survey and are on the way to Bhutan to consult on a dam project.    We spent the next 2 hours in a great conversation about slope stabilisation, the increasing preference of shotcrete over terracing, geography of Bhutan related to dam and resevior construction etc.  They also confirmed my suspicion that using the World Geoditic Survey Datum of 1984 (WGS 84) was not the most accurate datum for India, and that I should be using an India Regional Datum instead.    I think that accounts for some discrepencies in my measurements with the GPS.   I did find it odd and typical of India that the government has 7 different datums.   Seems all North America can get by on 1, but not India.

After a while we made up oru beds and turned off the lights.   I slept pretty well, until the middle of the night when a father took his infant son to the common area immediately on the other side of my berth.  The kid was crying loudly, except when loudly working a latch that turned my berth into an echo chamber.  After a while, one of the geologists told him to keep quiet.  

I woke up just in time to realize that I was only 18 km from Siligure (according to my newly recalibrated GPS).   Got off the train, saw lots of backpackers, got a cab to the Sikkim Tourist Office so I can get my permit.  Along the way the cab got a flat so I had to walk the last 300 meters.   Between the 50 pound backpack and sleeping on hard beds on the train, my back is really starting to feel abused.  I think I need to buy a small roller suitcase to relieve the strain on my back.

Well, it is almost 10 and I need to get back to the Sikkim Tourism Office.   Next post should be from Gangtok.

I check out of the hotel in 20 minutes, and leave for the train station in about 2 hours.   The day today was spent watching the Indian Rail website to see if I would actually have a spot on the train.   In talking about the situation to Subrata this morning, it looked for a time that the plan would be to go to the station early and slip the Ticket Taker some money.  That has proved to be unneccessary, as I am booked on Coach 1, Seat 45.   

With a little more luck my next post will be from Gangtok in the foothills of the Himalayas.

I would be remiss if I didn't write about my day on Friday while the memories are still so strong.  I had not been looking forward to my last day with the vendor team because it was such a good experience.  I wish we could work together on a daily basis like we have over the past two weeks, but that is not what situations permit.

I had a morning meeting with Subrata so the two of us could wrap up any issues and make sure I had a good understanding of any concerns or ideas that he had.

After that I took the team out to lunch.  We headed for a place called "The Pen and Ink".  We had a great meal, sampling all sorts of appetizers and entrees.  

After lunch we had a final training session and talked as a team about our accomplishments and what I would focus on as a result of my meetings with them.

The final meeting was with Bhaskar, Syamil and Subrata.  They were amazing hosts, I am sure that I have every been treated with such courtesy, accomodation and friendliness.   Whatever challenges may lie ahead in my trip, the first two weeks were days of ease and comfort because of their excellent hospitality.  I will miss all of them.

The Team: Around the table from front left - Soumen, Anabik, Anup, Subrata, Prosenjit, Sabyasachi, Samadarsi and Manas.

Outside the restaurant: From left - Anup, Prosenjit, Soumen, Shawn, Anabik, Sabyasachi, Subrata, Manas, Samadarsi.

Abco's food plaza.  They have a restaurant on each level, each with a different theme/cuisine.

 

Finally, one of the people I will miss the most is Ismail.  I quickly learned to trust in his driving and always felt very relaxed in his care.  It was a great way to start off the morning to walk out of the hotel and be greated by his smile and cheerfulness. 

The ceiling inside the hotel is done similar to the great hall, if you look up you can see stars and clouds moving across the ceiling.

 

Earlier in the week I noticed that someone had put up a bunch of red flags around the city.

And also flags of Chandra Bose.

I asked my comrades at the office if it was just early preparation for May Day or some other reason.  The response was "oh, they don't need any reason".  I thought that the flag above would be a wonderful souvenir, but didn't want to risk the gulag.

 

One last picture for Joshua:

This is the cycle-rickshaw that people use, along with taxis, buses and other vehicles, to get around town in.

I was planning on taking some pictures of the work area for the offshore team but decided against it as it was inside the vendors office and I didn't feel like asking permission (although I am certain they would have given it).  Instead, these are some of the views from their office:

 

Not sure what these buildings are used for.

There is a lot of construction going on around Salt Lake City.

These buildings are the home of a jewelry and gemstone company so they made their building in the shape of a gemstone.

The yellow buildings might be single family homes, if they are then they are the first of their kind that I have seen here.  There are many other single family homes that I have seen, but those were all made by the family out of what materials they could come by.

11:00 AM on a Saturday morning, nothing to do (not really), so decide to go hang at the mall.

Decide it is time for a haircut, 150 rupee.  Stop by Pizza Hut for lunch, order 6" Personal Pan Pepperoni Pizza and Pepsi.  Close my eyes as I take the first bite, and for one moment I am back home on the couch watching Elf with the kids, it was just that much like the American version.  Total cost 255 rupee, and since when did lunch cost more than a haircut?

Hang out at the mall, decide I need some more clothes, order 2 pair of 100% wool trousers, tailored to fit.  Total cost 2093 Rupee.  The kind staff at the store also gave me a box and their only roll of packing tape.  How nice was that?

Walk around the mall making silly faces at the kids who stare at me, order a box of chocolates, total cost 130 rupee, ignore the puzzled look of the clerk when I say "well, this is what life is like".  Consider going into the chocolate import business.

Stop by the chemist, explain the purpose of Imodium to the nice woman at the counter, learn that after all these years it is pronounced "EYE-mod ee um" not "e mode EEE um".  Buy their entire stock of 10 pills, total cost 12.5 rupee, get a pile of coins that add up to less than a penny in value, consider going into the Imodium import business.  Haven't had a need for these pills, but good to know there are there, just in case....

India is a land of contradictions.  This mall could easily fit right in anywhere in the US, same brands, same teenagers, similar stores etc all just down the street from a guy selling pastries and rice out of a wooden cart on the side of the road.

Saturday morning 11:15 AM
Walk outside the hotel gates to the Taxi Cab Union queue on Market street.   Ask union boss man for taxi to City Centre Mall.  Fixed price 50 rupees.

Saturday afternoon 2:15 PM
Flag down cab at mall, return to hotel.  Same distance, 160 rupees based on rate card.

Saturday afternoon 3:00 PM
Ask hotel bellman for his estimate on a cab to downtown Kolkata, he doesn't know but ends up explaining the rate card to me (which I had already figured out) and calls a cab.  Shows me the drivers rate card (it was white) and off we go.   With clear instructions to go to Park street.  Along the way, while at a traffic jam, cabbie buys a new rate card from a street vendor, suddenly doesn't understand "Rate Card" when I ask to see it.   Cabbie takes me to Shakespeare Sarani, at which time I start giving the directions.   When cabbie finally pulls over, he pulls out his new yellow rate card and says "320 rupees", at which time I restrain myself from teaching cabbie the english translation of "haramjada" or "naraka sana".

Saturday afternoon 5:05 PM
Hail a cab on Park Street, destination Hyatt Hotel.   Rate:  80 Rupees, I pay 140, honesty and good service should be rewarded.  Decide that the older the cabbie, the more I like them.

Saturday afternoon 5:15 PM
Go back to the Taxi Cab Union queue, ask for cab, get directed to the first one on line and who would it be, none other than the haramjada from 2 hours earlier.   He starts shouting, I start shouting, I exit cab, climb in next one.  50 rupees, fixed cost, no problems.  What are the odds, that in a city of 2 million little yellow taxi's that I would get in the same one twice in the same day.

Saturday evening 6:15 PM
City Centre Mall.  With help of kind security guard, flag down taxi.  Hop in taxi, taxi goes about 100 meters, slows down and some guy climbs in the front seat.  I get out of taxi awfully quick and start walking back to mall.  Cabbie pops into reverse, friend hops out and says "Ok, Ok, Ok, please sir".  Throw my best skunk-eye to both of them, get back in and go to hotel.  On way to hotel I realize that I have 60 rupees in small bills, otherwise nothing smaller than 500, and I know that as soon as he knows that he will only have 10 rupees in change.   At hotel, hand him all 60 and hop out of cab with a quick "OK" that did not have much of a question to the tone.  He says "namaste", no hard feelings, so here I am.

Saturday evening 6:50 PM
Do I wish I had arranged for Ismail to drive me around?  Not really.  It was an exciting day.

Every now and then I get these cravings for certain things not available here:

Pot Roast
Swedish Fish (I had a bag but forgot to pack them)
Cherry Chocolates
Miracle Mile Pastrami
Strawberry Starburst
Taco Salad

The desire washes over me and then is gone in an instant, almost more of a distant memory brought back by impulse.  It seems silly when I think about it, but it seems like I have been away for a long time.  In reality, it was 2 weeks ago right now that I was doing the last final packing and preparations. 

I have a similarly odd list of things that I need to find on Saturday:

A cardboard box, 12 x 12 x 24 in good enough condition to survive a 10,000 UPS journey
A smaller box, similar condition
4 tins of Rosogollah from K.C. Das & Co.
1 Cricket Bat
1 2-meter long chain, thin links, about 400 lb test with a long loop (enough to secure 3 links) padlock.
The location of the UPS drop off center (Royd Street)
The location of a barber (oh, I have found many but am too shy to have my hair cut out on the sidewalk or the side of the road).
A small jar of Excedrin (or no-doze, the sought after ingredient is the same).  For this I get to go to a "Chemist"
A Hindi phrasebook
A copy of the Short Stories of Satyajit Ray

I am looking forward to roaming all over Kolkata on my quests.

Busy day tomorrow and I should have been asleep hours ago, but that is another Seinfeld moment:

   Jerry:  You kept making the stops?

   Kramer: Well, they kept ringing the bell....

I got to turn off email if I hope to sleep during the week.

My usually peaceful meal at the restaurant was disturbed tonight by a bunch of Americans.    At the table by the window were 4 businessmen loudly talking about golf and football and drinking beer.  Next to them was a woman who couldn't understand the waiter, and next to me were two men.  These two men have been around since Sunday.  One looks like a New York psychiatrist, the other an original California hippie.   I haven't been brave enough to act on my urge to go up to them say "Ok, what's the story here???".  Since Sunday they have been in the cafe every single time I have been there, and I have no consistency to my schedule.  Earlier one of them was reading an older copy of the Lonely Planet guide.   So many of the westerners here are obviously on business trips that these two really stick out as odd exceptions. 

Another thing about the hotel restaurant.

Come in on Sunday wearing jeans, rugby shirt and sandals.  Find your own table, help yourself to the buffet.

Come in on Tuesday wearing suit coat, shirt, tie etc.  Have three people help you to your table, have the manager ask to take your jacket for you and get offered a complimentary chicken pizza.

Both times I had to wait 10 minutes and ask twice for the check.

 

Woke up this morning and realized I didn't post this last night, but had another Seinfeld moment today to include.  Overnight I woke up and thought of something that seemed really funny at the time, and maybe not so funny now:

   Q:      How can you make Calcutta quieter?

   A:      Put a "Honk if you like George Bush" sticker on the back of each cab....

It seems the karma works like this:  Seinfeld moment = good karma, Apocalypse Now moment = bad karma.   Sometime I will post more on this, because I have a fair quantity of both.

 

I have gotten word back that the villagers do not drink the water in the adjacent ponds.  They have wells.   I didn't think they drank the pond water, but didn't know about the wells.   Thanks to SB for the clarification.

Some have pointed out that by posting events in chronological order that they come up in reverse order, so if you want to read the three parts of the Shantiniketan trip in order then you need to scroll down to and read the third post below this one, then the second then the one beneath this one.  Or you can use the following links:

   The Road to Shantiniketan
   Shantiniketan
   The way home, Belur Math

In the future I will put an entire episode in a single post.

Hidden Identities

You may be wondering why I refer to my company as "my company" and the people I am visiting as "the vendor".   The reason is not that I own the company, it is that the company I work for is, you could say, a fairly large company and they have spent a lot of effort setting up Corporate Communications and Marketing teams that are designed to promote the image of the company.  Since I am in India on behalf of that company (and they have paid most of the cost of my trip), I am acting on their behalf.  Nobody at my company asked me to write this blog, and I am not running the words and pictures through our Corporate Communications Department for review.  Because of that, they remain anonymous.  If you know me you know who I work for, if you don't, does it really matter?  I am not a spy or anything that merits this anonymity other than the fact that I respect the right of my company to craft their public image without my assistance.

The other path is to try to follow the rules, and hope that I am accurately presenting the truth in a way that doesn't accidentally detract from my company's image. 

Saturday morning I had plenty of stomach pains and decided that I needed a break from food for a couple of days.  When we first got to the motel, Subrata and Ismail ordered food.  I didn't but broke out the first of my Cliff Bars.  The Cliff bars are pretty much like the Lamas Bread in Lord of the Rings, one bar will make is so that you are not hungry for one full day.  It won't fill you up either, it just makes you not think about eating.  

Just have to throw in a Tolkein quote: 

      "Lamas bread... one bite is enough to feed a man for a day, how much did you have?"

      "Four"

We decided that we had seen all that Shantiniketan had to offer, so I suggested that we leave early and go to Belur Math on the way back.

At about 5:30 I told Subrata and Ismail goodnight and headed for my room.  Having been staying at the Hyatt, which probably has a strong claim on being the nicest hotel in India, I had to make a mental adjustment for me new room.  It was only 8 years old, but looked and felt 20 years old.  The beds were a plywood platform with a 2 inch thick foam mattress.  The bathroom had a "geyser" hot water heater, which is an electric heater on the wall above the tub.  You turn it on and about 15-20 minutes later you have warm water.

In planning my trip I knew that I would be staying at hotels like this, and probably not as nice as this.  As I stood there, thinking back to a certain motel in Kingman, AZ that Amy and I stayed in (and point out every time we drive by it), I realized that this is what I came to India to experience, the authentic experience of an Indian hotel.   I decided that I had stayed at worse (in Kingman) and stacked up the pillows to get a little bit of comfort on the bed.  About half an hour later I was sound asleep.   The 80+ hours of work the week before had finally caught up with me.  I slept for about 12 hours, it was very relaxing to be away from my computer.

The next morning I figured out the geyser, got ready and met Subrata and Ismail for the drive back.

Since we had taken the road less traveled to get here, we didn't see any point in taking it back.   We headed down National Highway 2 and made good time, getting back to Kolkata in about 3 hours.

Along the way we passed through gorgeous semi-tropical forests and open grasslands that I imagine to be what India looked like a 1000 years ago.

We arrived at Belur Math and walked around the site.  The grounds were meticulously cared for and there was a very diligent and orderly staff wandering the grounds to make sure it stayed that way.  Subrata told me that the followers are very diligent, organized and efficient.  Confirms what I have observed from the followers I know.

We took our shoes off and went into the main temple.  Vivekananda preached that all religions have value and in the design of this temple he incorporated many symbols and elements from many different religions.  Since I had read "The Da Vinci Code", I was able to pick out some of the Christian motifs.

Just as at Shantiniketan, we had arrived just before closing, so weren't able to see many of the sites, but it was another interesting addition to our journey.

Back to the Hyatt and the laptop.   Time to get ready for another busy week.  More importantly, I need to figure out my itinerary or I will be in for a rough vacation.  Bhaskar offered to have the vendors admin assitants help in securing reservations, but I need to figure out what I want them to book.

 

After a quick break at the motel we headed to Shantiniketan.  This place is the location of a school and university where the emphasis is on topics concerning people's relationship with nature and the earth.  Students study art and other humanities related topics.   The school takes great pride in its founder, Rabindragath Tagore, who is one of India's most famous writers.   We arrived fairly late in the day, as things were closing.  We hired a cycle rickshaw driver who charged us 50 rupee (yes, I know that puts the dancing monkey experience into perspective) to drive us tour of the campus.  

Statues created by the school's students.

A buddha statue.

The campus seemed pleasant and open.  The thing I wondered about was; if the focus was on man and nature, why not keep the grounds cleaner?

The grounds also had schools for younger childeren.

This atrium is where Tagore would frequently come to meditate.

 

At the end of the tour we went into the museum.  The displays were very descriptive and informative about the life of Tagore.  He had been a well-known Bengali poet and writer for years before the west knew of him.  He had been very insistent on writing in Bengali as opposed to English, but on a whim decided to translate some of his work into English.  When visiting England a friend, Rothenstein, persuaded him to share the translation.  Rothenstein was friends with W.B. Yeats, Ezra Pound and other poets who were amazed at the poetry.  They worked to get the poetry published and Tagore was instantly famous in the west.

He returned to India, started the school and worked on Indian Independence.  

Another thing that I wondered was what Tagore would say about the "Tagore worship" that was the theme to much of the museum and grounds.  The museum had "The hair brush that Tagore used" and other artifacts from his life.   His car was still parked in the garage, from the 1920's.

As we were leaving the museum a bunch of school boys, about 10-14 years old were watching me closely.  The bravest came up and stuck his hand out.  I shook it and then everyone of them wanted to shake my hand and tell me their name.  The last one came up and said "I'm Shawn", which is what I had said to each of them.  We all laughed and I used this as my cue to catch up to Subrata.  I asked him for the Bengali word for "comedian" so I would be prepared next time, but there is apparently no such word in Bengali.

Overall, the place lived up to its name, Shantiniketan means "Peaceful Abode".

Having seen all we were permitted to see, and not wanting to have to navigate unfamiliar streets at night, we headed back to the motel.  Our total stay there lasted about

I am not ungrateful for the opportunity to go and see Shantiniketan, it was interesting and the drive was a great opportunity to see the countryside.

 

Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive.
Robert M. Pirsig - Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

To paraphrase another Pirsig quote:  It is the journey, not the destination that is most important.

We left the hotel right on time at 9:00 AM, headed down the EM bypass and caught a flyover (a elevated street) that cut across central Kolkata, just south of the Maidan and Victoria Memorial.

We then crossed the famous Howrah Bridge.

This picture doesn't due the fact justice, but the bridge is one of the busiest bridges in the world.

Once across the river and through the industrial suburbs on the other side we headed out into the countryside on National Highway 1, a part of a new road network connecting different parts of India, kind of a freeway network, but with a distinctly Indian flavor.

This was a common site along the way, either new buildings being built, heavily used buildings or abandoned buildings, all with the same weary complexion.

Along the highway were hundreds of trucks.  The finished parts of the highway had lines, but those are just suggestions.  Note how the taxi in the picture is straddlying the center line.  Essentially you take the position that gives you the most reaction time or options.  A moment later, Ismail honked the horn, the taxi moved over about a meter and we passed.

Along the highway were little workshops selling tires, truck parts, bicycle parts and food, among just about anything else. 

A closeup of the shop above.

There seems to be a permanent haze of pollution, contributed greatly to by the many factories dotting the landscape.   This was one of the larger ones.  We also passed about a dozen brick kilns and smaller factories.

Another view of the road.   The TATA and Ashok Leyland trucks/lorries looked in some cases to be at least 50 years old.  All of them were painted up with decorative motifs, religious looking scenes and messages.

The backs of most of them instruct you to blow your horn if you want to pass.   Since the truck was so much bigger than we were, the driver would often motion with his hand out the window when it was safe to pass.  The "Good Luck" message on his mud flaps is appropriately suggestive of a need for luck.

Ismail is an absolutely wonderful driver and I have learned to not get in any way concerned with his judgement, but the judgement of some other drivers in passing us or passing as they approached us made for an interesting drive.

As I said above, the highway is still under construction.   With so many people in India employed in various jobs, they must have not seen the need for highway flagmen or people to control traffic.   It seems obvious: if you see a truck blocking the highway so he can dump some dirt, then you will just have to wait.  No need for a guy holding a sign to tell me the obvious.   I am starting to understand the extent that liability lawsuits have shaped American life.

After a while the highway was blocked at a railway crossing (the did see the value in having a manned rail crossing station, with large arms that blocked the traffic).   The rusty box in the back of this truck was filled with water.  The two men on the right were vigourously pushing a large pot up and down in the water.  In the box were a bunch of little fish, and the motion of their legwork kept the water aerated.   As we were waiting for the train, they threw out a dead fish.

Also at this point there were a bunch of vendors selling food, probably making most of their income when the highway was closed for the train.   They will be out of luck when the overpass being built just to the left is completed.

A few kilometers later we entered Bardahman.   The scene above looks a lot like Kolkata, but Kolkata is a lot busier.  Again, Ismail would have to work the horn to squeeze by the cycle-rickshaw, bicycle, motorcycle and pedestrian traffic.

At the other side of this town we asked for directions and got some advice that we would later learn proves that the straightest line between two points is not the shortest route, but that the road less travelled is bumpier.

Outside Kolkata, the crops were mostly potato, but changed to rice.

 

The people out in the country lived in small villages of mud or grass walled buildings. 

The building were topped by thatch, tin or tarps.   Each village had a small pond nearby that was used for washing and bathing, and perhaps drinking (I am not sure, I only say washing and bathing).

There were tractors occaisionally working the fields, but it almost seems as if the oxen/cattle that were more common might almost be more effective.  The tractors had steel paddlewheels in addition to their tires and had to keep moving at a pretty good speed to keep from getting stuck.

After Bardharmon the road became narrower and more crowded with agricultural traffic.  This traffic was often tractors pulling carts at full speed, but also ox-carts, cycle-rickshaws with rice stalks stacked over 10 feet high, or with what looked like 500 pounds of steel bars 20 feet long, sticking way out in front of the peddler.

The above scene could almost have been taken in northern Utah where I grew up, but I don't recall seeing "Emergency Milk Duty" trucks, just "Cache Valley Milkmen's Coop".

It takes a certain kind of fearlessness or insanity to ride on top of the bus, but this was a common site.

The further out of Kolkata we go the narrower the road became.   In some places it was a strip of asphalt barely wide enough for one vehicle.  The steady stream of oncoming vehicles meant that someone had to volunteer to drive on the shoulder.  At one point the pavement disappeared completely, with a bit of a drop-off, to which Ismail exclaimed "Oi, aye, aye", which from his tone seemed to be translated to "This is not what I signed up for".

Along the roadways, the public philosophy seems to be that the road is a hard, flat surface built for public use.  That we were using it to go somewhere was only one possible use.   The others I saw were: 1- Fixing trucks (many were broke down or with flat tires in the middle of the highway and street).  2- As a pedestrian walkway; 3- As a great place to herd cattle; 4- As a place to wash your motorcycle; 5- as a place to have drivers help thresh your rice; 6- as a place to dry your rice.

In this picture the brown stuff on the road behind the cyclist is rice.  All along the road women were smoothing rice ourt to dry.  What looks like weeds or hay on the road are rice stalks that they would throw out, I am guessing to have traffic run over it and separate the rice from the chaff. 

 

After that very fascinating drive we arrived at our motel.  It was a peaceful place with a big central garden/courtyard. 

The center garden was lined with a walkway leading to each of the rooms. 

The garden had several strange statues or mythical animals.

Subrata and I at the motel.   He and Ismail grabbed a bite to eat and then we headed for Shantiniketan.

It has been a full week now and things are going well:

Work:  I am progressing through my agenda faster than anticipated, and we are adding a few project review sessions.  Working with the vendor team has been a great experience.  It is amazing how sitting down and talking and having a series of open sessions can change a working relationship.   I think that one of the risks of offshoring, at a direct project management level, is alienation between onshore management and offshore workers.  Coming out and spending 2 weeks working together is helping to minimize that risk.  As for my other work, the job where I spend the day on the phone and sending emails to the onsite team, I brought that job with me from Phoenix.

Hotel:  I am leaving for Shantiniketan in an hour (see below) and will be leaving the comfort of my room at the Hyatt for a more "authentic" Indian hotel.   If this week had a theme word it would be "comfortable" as I have been extremely comfortable with the hotel, the people at work, the food (mostly) etc.

Food:  Too much of a good thing.  I think I need to eat less more often instead of the huge meals I have been eating.

India:   If you read what I wrote a week ago you may catch a bit of hesitation regarding India, but that is gone now.  I feel as comfortable and relaxed here as in Phoenix or maybe even LA.   My work schedule has not permitted me to see much, but I know that will change after next week.

To Do List:
By Monday I have to have figured out my vacation itinerary.   It is getting critical that I do that soon or lack of availability and time will dictate the itinerary.  Bhaskar at the vendor company is going to have an assistant help with the arrangements, but I have to figure out what I want to do.

Shopping:  I came to India with a shopping list that makes for an interesting scavenger hunt.  Sorry Michael, but the "Harley-Davidson Calcutta" T-shirt isn't going to happen, but I think I can get a "Honda 90" t-shirt.

Here is a typical day this week:

5:30 AM (at the latest) wake up.  Usually I wake up earlier because I don't have a clock in the room, so I have to turn on the light or the computer to see the time.

5:30 - 8:00    log into work and have email and vonage conversations with California based team before they leave for the day.  Call home and talk to Amy and the kids.

8:00    Get ready for work, head downstairs to the cafe for breakfast

8:30 - 8:45    Wait for the waiter to bring the check for breakfast.

8:45     Meet Ismail, my driver, and head to the office.

9:00 AM - 7:00 PM   Work with the development team.  I am in meetings about 4 or 5 hours a day, and either preparing for the next meeting or writing my reports on the previous meeting.  Since I don't have internet access I count down the hours until I get back to the hotel and have internet access.

7:00 - 7:15   Catch a ride from Ismail back to the hotel

7:15 - Midnight   log into work and have email and vonage converstions with California based team as they start their day.  Call home and talk to Amy and the kids.

So far I have skipped dinner every night this week.  The lunches I am getting at the office are so big that I don't really feel hungry in the evening, plus I am having a big breakfast which is really unusual for me.

A couple of days ago 4 kids and 2 verbally abusive parents moved in next door, so the "buyers remorse" I had from picking up an iPod in Singapore is going away quickly.   I spend the evening listening to the iPod.  The TV has been off since Monday, so I am being very productive.

Tomorrow night will be different, the vendor is hosting a dinner.  If the food is anything like the wonderful Indian food we had for lunch then it will be great.  I should probably get a few extra hours of sleep so I am not extra boring at dinner.

 

It looks like my entire remaining itinerary is going to change.  The first change is definately a good surprise.  When I arrived at the office today I stopped to talk to Bhaskar.  (Bhaskar is a former professor and has spent 12+ years in the US, so we have a lot to talk about.  I am not a former professor, but I am psychologically very rooted in academia.  It is great to talk to him, but we don't do much of that because we are both workaholics.)

Bhaskar offered to organize a trip to Shantiniketan, a town about 4 hours away from Kolkata that was the childhood home of Rabindranath Tagore, a very famous West Bengali writer and India's first Nobel Laureate.    We will also be there for the festival of Magh Mela.  Ismail, our driver, will drive us up there and Subrata will join in as well.  It should be a perfect weekend to visit and a great experience.

I usually would not accept such an offer, especially from a vendor on a business trip, but this is not a sales trip, I am here to improve the coordination between our development teams, so I do not feel this is creating a situation where the vendor is purchasing favors or consideration from me.

We will leave Saturday morning and spend the night in the town, then return on Sunday afternoon.  

 

The vendor company I am visiting is providing lunch each day.   They have someone who brings it in and sets it up in the conference room.   He also supplies me with an endless supply of diet Pepsi, which I fing oddly addictive.

Yesterday, I head to the conference room for lunch and see pizza set out on the table on the china plates.   It looked like really good pizza, with chicken and onions, kind of like you would get at California Pizza Kitchen or some place.  I had heard that there is a canteen in the lobby that most people eat at, so I figure this guy who brings in the food runs the canteen, and am amazed at how he managed to deliver this perfect pizza.  I start commenting to Bhaskar, Syamil and Subrata about how authentic tasting the pizza is, how perfect the crust is etc.  I ask them "what did you do, fly this in from the US?".    As I am raving about this and wondering how the canteen cooked this so well, I look over at a brownie supplied in a plastic wrapper and catch the Domino's logo on the side.

Turns out there is a Domino's Pizza nearby, and the canteen doesn't cook much of anything.

That was Tuesday, today we had Chinese food and tomorrow we are getting Indian food, spicy Indian food.  I can't wait, but am a little bit nervous, because I find plain oatmeal to be a little bit too spicy.   Hopefully my daily dose of Indian food at breakfast has been enough preparation.

As for eating, these lunches are so large that I have yet to go for dinner this week.   This has the side benefit of providing fewer receipts to lose before I file my expense report.

Even after a great weekend of exploring and getting adjusted to the time zone difference, I was ready to get moving on my real reason for coming to India.

At 9:30 I was met a the hotel by Subrata and a driver the vendor company has assigned to me for the next 2 weeks.  We went to the office and were met be some representatives, including a woman who gave me a bouquet of roses.  It was a nice touch to be treated like such a dignitary, but I am always uncomfortable with such formalities.

The first day was spent discussing goals and objectives of the trip and meeting with the team members.   It was really nice to meet them in person after spending the last 6 months talking to them on the phone.

No pictures, I will take some of the office later in the visit.