Kochi-Chennai

The South at long last. From Nasik we took a bus 5 hours to Mumbai, then a train 21 hours to Kochi, Kerala (thank god for the foreign tourist quota and Tatkal tickets, and every other strange reservation of rail tickets that makes our impulsive travel possible). A town full of tourists and hot, humid air, but I don't mind for these few days of beach town, easiness and safety walking around. We didn't do many of the touristy things there, mostly wandered as always. It's easy to feel like that time is wasted of not seeing the Sights, but it is just as valuable to get the feel of a place without the museums and monuments.

Ferry Ride Ernakulam to Ft. Cochin Rupees 4 Only:
And the man spoke slowly for his lips were encrusted with barnacles, and the fish were skipping stones around the oil drills, and the white whiskers protruded from the dark skin of his cheek. A rectangle of men around me, a kilo of lightly squashed oranges in my lap. I had a milky sweet coffee for the pink hot clean water, each drained, bill impaled on a metal stake. The air is mostly water now, waves too big for the foam to form a pattern again. Fishing nets, chests thrust forward, heads facing across the channel of water. Dredge VIII spewing waves and jets of dirty water. We are bobbing backwards in the waves, elephants slinking like cats on the road, arching. So many bottles floating in this water, messages drunk clear through. Mad rush to get in the boat, India is one big game of musical chairs. Seems like you're on the moon, he said, proly right, proly right.
We didn't sleep the last night. Heat and Caffeine and probably the restlessness of the last week of Known. Miserable warm when the power would go out, the smell of sewer bubbling up and a solitary mosquito. Mr. Skitters the cockroach making infrequent appearances in our bathroom.
Strolled on the boardwalk past fish stalls and ice cream and trinkets, juice, coconuts, trash and rocks and sand and dogs. Sat on the beach, dipped our ankles in the Arabian sea, watched the sun set behind the smog.

Bus to Madurai 10(?) hours on smooth roads, but living up to its superfast express name, the bus barely kept us in our seats on hours of curves. Arrived too early, so we waited for dawn at the bus stop. We are cautious taking auto rickshaws in odd hours in new cities, and anyhow had nowhere to go. Took another bus into town and talked our way into staying at a grungy hotel (but madam there is such a nice place just down the road, are you sure? Indian toilet only, are you sure?). We slept a long, long time to old Bollywood songs and a merciful fan. Wandered a ridiculous amount of time in search of food, usually in India no need (especially food!) is farther than a few blocks away. But in the end it was entirely worth the circling around. A magnificent south thali, heap of rice on a banana leaf with a dozen little bowls of coconut chutneys, vegetables, sambhar, curd, rasam, sweet. On these streets were mountains of fruit, pineapple, and so many bananas, whole trees of bananas. But the reason we were in Madurai at all was the Meenakshi Temple, a massive complex framed by huge towers carved with thousands of deities brightly painted. A candy cane striped pool in the middle reflecting the pillars, gold and painted in bright pink, orange, green, blue, yellow. We went for several hours each of the days we had there. We haven't had a guide anywhere we've gone yet, so we don't get all the highlights and history but we do sit for hours staring at whatever the heck we want, we get to watch birds flying in circles round and round one of the towers.

Bus 9(?) hours to Chennai on a straight smooth road, and miracle of sweet miracles, our seats reclined! The magic wore off as soon as we arrived and realized that it was late and Chennai is a really big city and we had forgotten to eat all day. Paid a ridiculous feeling auto fare (6 dollars oh the horror!) the long way to the place Lonely Planet said had some cheap hotels. I don't know quite how we always manage to find a place to stay, but we always do.

Goodnuff

     I am getting better at arriving in a new city at night and remembering to buy myself vegetables, worse at forming proper sentences and thoughts to write down. I am surprised and flattered that so many people are still checking in with this blog. And as much as I hate the ubiquitous posts that begin with "sorry I haven't been writing," I am going to break my own rule and apologize for being out of touch. I hope I'll be able to be at least a little more consistent the rest of my trip.

     I sometimes wonder what a map of our journey would look like. It is certainly not a well planned itinerary, more like the path of someone who is confused, lost, impulsive, or maybe blindfolded. Within towns we travel in endless loops and zigzags through alleys and side roads, which I wish could be attributed to our adventurous spirits alone, but probably is mostly due to indecisiveness and losing our bearings. It's quite fun though to find less beaten paths and have the time to make our way by foot. Between towns we pick whatever sounds nice to do next, which means that there have been quite a few multi-day journeys decided a day or two beforehand as well as a lot of backtracking and familiarity with the Indian transportation system. Any trips less than 24 hours start to sound pretty doable. There are obvious downsides to our method, but we have come to some very interesting places as a result, and I feel quite a lot more confidant making my way around in the world.
     To give an overview up til this point, we've gone to Udaipur, Jaipur, Amritsar, Dharamsala (McLeod Ganj), Yamunotri, Badrinath, Rishikesh, Haridwar, Varanasi, Darjeeling, Kausani, Delhi, Nagpur, Aurangabad, and now back briefly in Nasik, not counting all the small towns we've stayed en route. We were in Kausani for the full month of December at Anamay Ashram, a Vedic ashram where we were WWOOFing (a program where work on a farm is exchanged for room and board).
     We have adopted the Goodnuff philosophy for our travels, an ancient system of beliefs we've discovered and pushed to new levels. It  comes to great use in matters of comfort, cleanliness, and carrying out all the tasks necessary to sustain life. It has been serving us quite well so far. Things may not be perfect, but as long as they are goodnuff, cleanuff, warmnuff, ediblenuff, I am happy.
     I hope to write more soon (motivation, time, and Internet permitting), but for now know that I am well and sending love to everyone at home. Write me!
Jai Guru Dev, Radhaswami, Jai Jinendra, Hari Om, Namaste,
Meleah

Merry Christmas!

Badrinath October 25th, temple bells ring, are ya listening?
     It's snowing heavy flakes coating my black shawl, we're sitting toes chilly in bed, a towel wet on my greasy, sulfur hair. I slipped on the bridge, falling on the other side of my tailbone, which had finally healed from Nagpur, luckily not bad this time. I am the happiest I've been in a while. Billows of steam rising from below the temple at dusk, we made our way through the fog to the Tapkund. The hotsprings here are the opposite of the last, now the water is to hot to dip in. It's empty now, with thick swirls of steam. We got Indian-naked in conservative underclothes and sat splashing scoops from our plastic containers, so scalding and absolutely marvelous, quick splash arm, arm, head, arm, arm, knee, knee, talking and laughing and trying to keep from burning or freezing. Outside the snow is still coming down. Conversation is easy because talking about the future and present doesn't run out.
     We slept in this morning. I had oats which are so much more fun now with our iodine water, which turns from piss-colored to purple in the metal bowl. Almost makes up for eating oats soaked in cold water every morning. Later we had chai and paratha in the purple plastic cups and shiny silver plates. Our new breakfast favorite, the men flailing around like a parody of something, a skit of a married couple, the man with the big mustache and kerchief tied around his head whacks the other with a rolling pin on his behind as he passes, telling him to hurry up to serve their customers, who number fewer than the staff. The thin teenage boy in baggy clothes boiling chai looks like he might start rapping and the entire scene would turn into a music video.
     We walked through rock pasture to Mana village, up to the temple for the mother of the five brothers in the ancient Hindu epic. We watched a movie playing in the chai shop, the kind of really great, old effects religious film with uncomfortable looking fat actors with ill fitting wigs. As they all cross the bridge, the mother falls down, her blurred, photoshop outline slowly sinks into the water, help me, but the men only look slightly more uncomfortable and sad and keep walking with their black dog. We sat for a while up there, I wrote letters I wont send on the stone steps surrounding the red temple. Went down past the people breaking rocks up to the stone village with mustard growing and hats and cozy sweaters. Two temples where the Bhagavad Gita and other parts of the Mahabharata were written thousand of years ago in caves in the rock. We are getting used to being dragged into pujas in the temples and then asked for donations, which usually happens in the tourist-frequented places. the disappointment with our very small contributions is a little off-putting.The very long road home with dark storm clouds pouring in from the south, starting raindrops and then snow.
Before we saw the Himalayas, but now we are unmistakably in them. Surrounded on each side by peaks so massive, you can't quite take it in, even if you schedule 5 days to do just that. Photos do even less justice than usual because each one could be taken from anywhere and be beautiful, there isn't any way to get the scale.
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And up here even higher, we are on a lichen stone table in every fantasy novel, mountains ducking in and out of clouds. My face is so dry, chapped nose and bright sun. . Even less oxygen here, makes you feel even smaller than the scenery make you feel already. We can't see Badrinath at all, only sign of humans is a tarp stretched over a rock, maybe a dwelling or an out of season chai stand. We haven't seen anyone past the shack where we had condensed milk smoky chai, except one man in religious clothes who disappeared far up into the glacier. This place is a different world, the snow is still in patches here, in the town it has all melted. There is a river on the sun side of the valley, which echoes of rocks on the other side. I dreamed I was at a contra dance last night, spun so much I lifted off the ground. There's another sound coming from the mountain above us, irregular, could be air, water, or earth and I wouldn't know. I don't know this land, I love this land in a new way. Where we ended our hike farther up, and the base of a huge peak, I have a page in my journal with lots of scribbles. It was the first time I actually wanted to capture something, usually I am satisfied with a little piece of it, but I'll have to rely on a few blurry pictures.

Married Life

    Jaipur was our second stop after Udaipur. We had many lovely experiences and good meals and saw beautiful old forts and palaces, but what stuck out most was the endless harassment as we explored the city. This isn't unique to Jaipur (or India) as women travelling alone, but the sheer volume of catcalls and less than comfortable situations coupled with hot, dusty weather and lots of walking was overwhelming. In just a few days we (probably more me than Laura with my bright-white skin) had hundreds of men calling out to us, asking to take our picture (or not asking). I had at least three men serenade me, once while I ate lunch someone sat at my booth to try to talk to me, once we were followed for a decent amount of time by two boys on a motorcycle, once someone drove by on a motorcycle, touching Laura's arm. I got much better at sticking up for myself in a very short amount of time. Several of the rare, proper Meleah-yells made their way into the world. None of the situations felt like I was in any serious danger, but it is so frustrating to have the act of going across the street to eat be a big, stressful undertaking.
      I have gender envy like never before. Being a female certainly has it's charms here, access to the community of other women has been a valuable experience, especially when I lived with my Indian family, but for the purposes of travelling, I am finally realizing how short my end of the stick is. In order to stay safe, we have to generally avoid being out after dark, keep our adventures to a minimum, always keep a foot on the beaten path. It is an exacerbated version of the patriarchy in the US, but one that's harder to ignore because it is in an unfamiliar context.
     It's also always hard to get straight information about places to travel. "That place isn't good for you" can either mean "It's closed," "It is actually not a safe place to travel," or "You are probably too weak to go on that awesome hike because you weren't born with a penis."
     Life had gotten a little easier since I got married. It's easier to explain that we aren't two women travelling alone in a foreign land, but that our husbands are eternally waiting dutifully for us in our hotel rooms (or we'll meet them in the next city if we are taking transportation). Being married puts the concerned aunties and uncles we meet at ease and makes us look a little less vulnerable.
     The other day Laura and I sat exhausted waiting for a train, our dusty backpacks seated in the chairs next to us, each with its own character and I realized we haven't been entirely lying. Our backpacks are our husbands, forever kindly waiting for us in the room while we go on adventures during the day. We haven't solemnized the event with rings yet, but we are on the lookout for nice bands. 

Yamunotri Going? Guide Chahiye?

   Bits from my journal Yamunotri (with most of the complaining and repetition and nonsense phrases gone)

In the cold, grimy pool huddled by the stream of hot water, Laura's face lit up, eyes half closed, covered in droplets. A pink room from another dark world. The smell is perhaps the sulfur, but more like a really dirty room. In our kurtas and leggings, splashing warm on our faces, ears, necks, knees, the patch of sun sometimes far off steam rising up and the particles in the water dancing, something long rotten. This is no Golden Temple, but it's divine, the gift of the sun to his daughter, the goddess-river Yamuna, a little dribble of it at least in the neglected women's pool. The temple right above is still freezing, filled with hash and drums, something carried on the shoulders of two men, turned to each direction. Aunties making sure we've had enough prasad, huge balls of warm jaggery, ghee, some flour, and black flecks of the pan. We are so high up, 10,000 feet, lungs straining the 5 kilometers up to the temple, up these uneven steps, metal coverings here and there to stop the glacial drip on out heads. It's like some mythological gorge, shiny rocks shoved up from the earth (why don't I know anything about geology?), the treeline ends where the goddess pours out of the glacier. Dark, gnarled trees, some colors look like fall below, blackberries, ferns, and spiked rose and nettle.
We came out of the water, dripping and freezing, lost Laura's pocket knife somewhere along the way. We stopped in a dubba, sitting on the stone hearth in silence with the men in a comfortable way of humans battling a common element. A huge plate of rajma chawal peas and potatoes, two dollars for two overfull bellies, never too full for tea.
Hiking is strange here, often it feels remote, then a family rides up on ponies. I'm so glad we are not on ponies. Then after the trek you expect some secluded, natural bit and find yourself in a little bustling town, food stalls and souvenirs all carried up the same trail.
Also I don't know if I've mentioned enough how stunning this place is, glaciers lit up by the sun, the valley goes on forever now with rays through the clouds, sunset and sunrise in our ridiculous hotel. The windows are nice, the bed mostly clean, no cockroaches or grime, the bathroom mostly works by pouring buckets to flush it. The very young manager just wants to be friends, but we have to be too cautious for that. This would be so much easier with a man. Yesterday we had a laze and acclimation day, in bed and walking around the village. From our window we see clumps of grass bumbling down the road, closer there are people under the masses, but it's more interesting to see it this way. A dead cow was on the road, there will be a story behind that,

I'm Not Dead!

     Every time I've gone to an internet cafe everything feels very strange and claustrophobic. I get a tiny glimpse into a different life in the form of a screen, and a worn, sticky keyboard to try to tell the people I love that I am alive and well. My brain is working hard to reconcile all of the different places I am travelling and a brief mental trip to the US throws me off. Walking back to the hotel last time, all of the things I usually barely notice were so surreal, the man begging, rolling on the ground with no legs and the white donkey standing perfectly still in the middle of traffic.

     I have spent less than 4 hours on the internet in the past month, which is a lovely break, but also makes the thought of a blog post entirely overwhelming. I have plenty to say, scribbled in margins and sketches and lists in notebooks, and I am now in a place where a flurry of writing seems much more possible and likely. On this blog I can see all the people who view it as tiny little bar graph blips from around the world, a good (if oddly formatted) reminder that there are people who would probably like to hear about what I am doing. I hope to say more in the next few days, but know that I am very much not dead, and for the most part also very happy.

 Much love from Rishikesh, land of hilarious white yogis and breakfast stealing monkeys,

Meleah

Snake City

     Nagpur is in the dead center of India, with hot weather, few tourist attractions, and much more of the feel of a city than Nasik. During my exchange year I stayed there for a month with another exchange student from Portland and her host family. She is now one of my very closest friends, and no one else knows my experience in both countries as exactly as Hannah. This time again I stayed with her host family, parents and two brothers around my age. I don't know if there is a family that has ever made me laugh as much as the Sachanis, each of them is such a great character.
     Her father (I still think of them in relation to Hannah so you'll have to humor me) owns a wheat and rice factory as well as a petrol pump. He speaks only Sindhi and Hindi I couldn't understand so our interactions were limited, but he would always check to make sure I had enough food and change the channel to an English movie whenever I was watching, and show me the metal bangle Hannah gave him as a gift that he's worn since she left. Her mother is one of the sweetest women in the world, always laughing and tirelessly working through my awful Hindi and her bit of English (both aided by copious hand gestures). Often Hannah's grandfather would come in and instruct me to say the Hare Krishna mantra and chant om and tell me about a golden temple that's in America. This conversation would be repeated so frequently that it became almost comedic and exasperating while still staying just as inspiring and endearing. He has bright orange hair, the result of henna dye on white hair which many older people sport. His low-off tone mantra could be heard for hours on end, over the blaring TV and shouting and conversations.
      In India, nights still belong to men and street dogs, but having a family of boys meant I was entitled to the privilege of going out at night. Even small walks around the neighborhood after dinner were welcome, and rides on the back of a motorcycle even better. Riding two wheelers, as they are called here, is probably one of my favorite things in the world. There is absolutely nothing that matches that freedom and exhilaration. Praveen, the younger brother took me all around the city. We went to lots of Sikh and Hindu temples. At one of them below there was a place to feed fish in one of Nagpur's lakes. We sat on the crumbling steps leading down to the water throwing in bits of bread, with only tiny fish coming through the trash and sludge to nibble on the crumbs. Poisonous water snakes would swim by and in the distance the mass of Ganpati idols that had been immersed a few days ago were floating. I let go of my aversion to further polluting the lake, (sometimes in India putting up a fight just isn't worth it) and I hope I'll be forgiven for the pieces of pav sitting at the bottom now. It was still a lovely memory, although I don't know how to describe the loveliness of it, it was quiet(ish) and the water and temple were still beautiful in their own way, but also it was lovely because of the ridiculousness of it. Praveen and I had lots of good conversations while riding around and sitting wondering where to go next. He is itching to go to the Western world as I head the other way, but immigration is hard on his demographic, and he's been denied a visa multiple times without any reason. Many people I know here say that India has to develop. If that means less social inequality and corruption and indifference to problems, I could get behind it. But development is often tied in with the idea of the Western world, and many of the "more developed" areas of India are missing the charm of the traditional culture. I don't know how this country will change in the next few years or decades, but change it will.
     During my short time there I also took a day trip to Wardha, a few hours away and visited the Ashram where Mahatma Gandhi (known as Gandhiji or Bappu) lived and developed many of his ideas. It is so inspiring to see such an important place in person. Somehow to see his mud floored house and bathtub and labelled spot where he sunbathed was just as meaningful as understanding the history of his life. The independence movement is still relatively recent, with far less than a century behind it. Understanding Gandhiji and the work and thoughts of all the freedom fighters is essential to understanding India.
     I had to leave too early. I wish I could have spent just a few more days there, it woke up a piece of joy in me. Perhaps it was to be in a place I didn't know as well as Nasik, perhaps it was all of the two wheeler rides, perhaps it was just the time with this family who has welcomed me more graciously and completely than I can express. I wont forget those four days, there are lots of little memories I have tucked away. I already miss them all. I hate not knowing how many years it will be before I'll see someone again, but it's the trade off I made when I went on exchange and worth it beyond all doubt.