Richard's Travel Blog

This central part of Kerala is famous for Kathakali. Kathakali is a performance art where actors reenact episodes of the Hindu classics, the Mabaharata, the Ramayana, and the Puranas. Each segment lasts about an hour. There are 606 segments in Kathakali. Every night in Cochi, and most nights in a couple other nearby locations, a segment is presented, mostly for the tourists. We’re encouraged to show up early and watch them put on their make up.

This story is about virtue maintained and honor restored. A woman’s husband loses her to a demon (with the winged face)in a dice game. The wife refuses the advances of the demon and vows to not wash her hair, her clothes or herself until the demon is killed and her husband washes her hair with the demon’s blood. Krishna (with the green face), impressed with her honor, makes it so no matter how long the demon pulls on her sari, it will never run out of material and come off. Round and round she spins until the demon gives up. Her husband performs 12 years of penance to seek assisstance from Krisna, and is given the power to overcome the demon. Only a true love could want her by then, but he does so, eating out the demon’s heart and washing his wife’s hair with the blood. They live happily ever after.

There is much yelling, especially by the demon who is thoroughly unlikable. There is music onstage. Though a lot about the very many hand gestures and body movements was quickly gone over by the host explaining all this, it was impossible to remember a fraction of what he said. Basically, the performers can say enough that way, that spoken word is unnecessary.

Here’s Krishna

Here’s the repentant husband.

Here’s the husband duking it out with the demon, who looks a little like Longhorn Leghorn to me. I say I say I say, boy, you need more light to take pictures inside from a distance.

Cochi is a great town to hang out in and absorb culture. This is on every night. There are galleries all over. There are other performances of music and theater here and nearby. The locals are very proud, and the foreigners eat it up.  Oh, today was cute. There are a couple of places that try to be art coffee houses/cafes. One does it perfectly. It’s called the Kashi Art Cafe. You go in and there was a Brit with his framed photos from around India on the brick walls. He’s sitting at a card table with his coffee table book for sale, hoping to sell a signed copy. He sold four yesterday. Today he sold four of his framed pictures. He was real pleased about that. You can go to http://www.waswoxwaswo.net/ if you want to look at his stuff. The gallery music was Dan Ackroyd’s House of Blues Radio Hour off satellite radio. It is 10:30 Saturday night on the west coast. In the garden was the coffee house with a few good coffee drinks made with freshly ground arrabica, some teas and other drinks, and a fixed lunch of perfectly acceptible, by California cuisine standards, chicken salad sandwich on fresh thick sliced dark toast and cream of tomato soup. I felt like I was back in a nice place of that style in Mendocino. I just hung out there after lunch with a limeade and listened to the blues. You can go Indian all you want here, but it was nice to get anything I wanted at Alice’s Restaurant. Actually, if you wanted ANYTHING, you’d have to ask any of the rickshaw guys outside.

For no good reason, here is a picture of my hotel. It’s pretty typical of my nicer urban digs.

  As I said in my last blog, I’m going to chill here for a while, if for no other reason than I’m seeing a lot of cultural things I’ve been meaning to see. I’ll be in touch.

There is an exotic Hindu ritual in northern Kerala called theyyam. It’s thought to have origins predating Hinduism, which originated about 3500 years ago. It’s part music, part community and cultural celebration, part costumed ecstatic dance, and part prayer. Traditionally, it lasts about 15 hours. To find this event, I asked a policeman ,who asked another, who asked a rickshaw driver, who hunted up another rickshaw driver who was a devotee of this sect. The one I attended in Kannur started at about 7 PM. It was going to end about noon the next day, but I flagged at about 9 AM, after about 14 hours.

It started with drumming and a man in a headdress offering prayers. There were, at that time, about 300 people there. Here is one of the drummers who pounded their hearts out for hours.

Most of these pictures are dark because most of it was at night and I couldn’t just walk right into their midst with a flash camera.

There followed a parade of children in flowers, and then a parade of umbrellas. I don’t know the significance of the umbrellas.

  Then came an elephant who circled the altars and had been trained to bow before them.

There are theyyams every night somewhere in northern Kerala. Each place has it’s particular deities they venerate. It is believed that the performers, after appropriate fasting, prayer, and other preparation become the deities. All are male. All are of lower castes, although there are other participants of other castes. The ones allowed to touch and worship right around them are brahmins. The make up artists would be of a paticular caste. It has been highly regimented since time immemorial. Even the temples themselves have been passed down through generations.

Here is a guy getting made up and in his finished look.

Here’s a female deity. He was an amazing dancer. They are so strong, they remind my of sufis.

Lastly, here are a couple of the other deities. I wish I had decent pictures, but my snapshooter and I are not cut out for duty at 4 AM.

There were breaks during the night. One was from about 12:30-1:30, them another from about 3:00-4:00. Other than those times, something was going on. There were frequent times where the deities sat and administered blessings to the faithful. Except in the wee hours, when there were as few as maybe 20 of us in attendance, these gatherings sometimes took a little while. Common people could talk with them and finally get some yellow powder splashed on their heads.

It seemed to me that they were just about done with the more entertaining parts by about 9, so I left.  Here is a last shot taken in the morning after sun up.

I left Kannur and went south to Ernakulam/Cochi. Cochi is what most people will recognize, as it’s the tourist destination across the bay from the real city of Ernaculam. I was bushed after the crowded third class train ride, and spent the first two nights in Ernaculam where the train station is. That was fine. I went on a day long boat ride on some canals and on the big part of the river. It was okay, not memorable. The first evening, I checked out Cochi. It’s touristy, but not too bad. I can relax here, and think I will do so until I feel like moving on.

There are some cute lanes here, plenty of multicuisine restaurants, and entertainment. I went to an abbreviated Kathikali performance the night I got to Ernaculam. Tonight I think I’ll take in some Indian classical music. Kathikali is a presentation in costume and music of stories from the Mahabarata, Ramayana and the Puranas. I’ll write on that later, along with theyam, the 15 hour religious ceremony I saw in Kannur.

Right now, I’m for just lazing for at least a couple of days. I did go out this morning and watch the fishermen who use ancient technology they learned from the Chinese in the 13th century to net fish near the shore.

The nets are spread out over the water at the end of long poles. With counterweights, four guys then hoist it out and collect the fish. About 8 of these rigs are spread out along the beach.

The fishmongers wholesale that and ocean catch to anybody who comes up. Behind the beach are some shacks. You ccan select a fish, or prawns, or these great fresh water mussels they have around here. They cook whatever you select for about 50 cents, and you sit on plastic or bamboo patio furniture for your meal. Two people can get, say, a sizeable rockfish meal for about a buck and a half while the sun sets over the water. Very romantic. Alas…

Like I say, I think I’ll stay here a while. so I’ll have time to keep blogging along. I’m not that busy.

I’ve been in the forests of Kerala’s western mountains. I’ve got fast internet connection again, so here are some pictures. The first is actually from a bird sanctary near Mysore, Karnataka. It’s a 3 meter crocodile. Sorry. I’ll never be a photgrapher for National Geographic.

 

I had an exciting experience when an elephant in Wayanad near Muthanga got mad at us for being between between where she and her young one were to where they wanted to go. She charged twice. We had to peel out twice. No good pictures then, with all the bouncing. Here’s better elephant pictures from Wayanad near Thonpetty.

Here’s an Indian bison. They are tame, like cows, unlike American bison.Â

 

Here’s me by the jeep.

There’s a less wild area near there where anyone can drive and hike or have a picnic. My driver and I spent the afternoon there before going on our morning and afternood jeep “safaris”.

Here’s the food court kitchen there.

And just because I’m vain….

Saddam Hussein was hanged between when I took my early morning jeep “safari” into the Wayanad Wildlife Refuge near Thonpetty and my return in the late afternoon for another. This was erected in front of the entrance.

Under the black protest flag hangs an effigy of George Bush. The sign in English says, “Killer Bush. You never escape”. The other side reads. “You’re next”. I hope they don’t mean me.

The main highway between Mysore and Kalpetta, where I was staying, was blockaded. Another blockade was at the junction where that road meets the one to Thonpetty and becomes the main street in Kalpetta. It’s a good thing I decided to hire a jeep rather than patch together local bus rides. The road was not only blocked, but buses were being emptied of passengers. What for? Looking for foreigners? There were no reports of violence against foreigners anywhere in the morning papers or on TV. My driver took me back to Kalpetta on backwoods roads in the 4-wheel drive jeep. There was a small demonstation amidst the crowd piled up at the blockade at the beginning of town, and a march later down main street. Police were guarding the big hotels and supervising the loud but nonviolent protesters. I did not take pictures, but went straight into the hotel.

A general strike was called for the rest of the day in this left-leaning state of Kerala, the only state in India with a communist government. The park was open, as the government did not participate in the strike. The hotels were open, of course, but that’s about it.

Reactions in the press vary. you’ve probably seen reports, though what is on CNN is pablum about the disposition of Saddam’s body and other weak material. Other reactions vary from the Vatican calling the execution “tragic”, to calls for Bush and his handlers to face a war crimes tribunal, to Arab TV which I got in my room with a 1/4 of a screen banner under the reporting, “SADDAM ATTAINS MARTYRDOM”. They report cheers of approval in Kurdestan and in greater Iran, the area west of Iran proper which used to be southern Iraq. The largest English language newspaper in South India, The Deccan Chronicle, reported it in a subdued, professional way. It also had reports on the protests around India, as well as Bush calling it a “milestone”. Typo, I guess. They must have meant “millstone”. Commentary was critical but not scathing. They encouraged peaceful reaction, while reminding people, basically, “What did you expect? The trial, outcome and execution were orchestrated in Washington.”  There was a picture of the Citibank in Cochi being stoned and spray painted. There was another of demonstators being subdued in Kannur. I know the garbage on US TV alleges that the rump government toadies in the Green Zone are responsible. That is a matter for debate in the US because it’s framed that way by the privately sponsered media. It’s also a matter of debate there whether the oil company, auto and beer sponsers control content. Right.

I think that was the worst of it. Yesterday I took two long bus rides to Kannur, and things look pretty cool here. Yesterday was Sunday, and the second day of an important Muslim holy period, and it was new year’s eve. So people have other things to do, besides not working, as usual on Sundays. The quiet was no doubt good for everybody. If the guys in Washington did anything right, it was time the hanging when they did. Now it’s new year’s day. People have counted to 10 and breathed a little.

I’m here to attend a thayyam. That’s an ancient rite probably predating Hinduism, practiced in north Kerala. It involves prayers, dance, spectacular costumes and music. It lasts 15 hours, and one starts tonight at 9 in a place near here. I hunted up a guy to take me and grease it so I can attend and maybe pictures. I should be a zombie by the timeIi drag myself back to my room about this time tomorrow. More on that when I revive.

Happy New Year to you all.

   For the last couple of days, I’ve had very fast internet connections, so here are are a bunch of pictures. I was thinking, perhaps you’d like to see more everyday stuff. So here it is. First, here’s a working class neighborhood on the outskirts of Mysore.

   Here are some people at work in that village. A butcher…

   This girl is making incense sticks. She moistens charcoal and forms a soft ball which she rolls onto the bamboo sticks. then she rolls that, in this case, in sandlewood sandlewood dust. Sandlewood is prevalent around this part of Karnataka state.

A guy making beedis, the thin cigarettes many Indians smoke…

   The next few are at the big temple on the hill in Mysore. As I said in the last blog, people get dressed up nice to go there on a nice Sunday afternoon.

  And there are vendors aplenty. Here are bangles for sale…

  It’s customary to present flowers to the deity inside the temple. Many vendors are there to sell you flowers.

   You can get something to eat. Fruit sellers like this are ubiquitous anywhere in India, anywhere in the developing world really…

   Holy men are all around to give you a blessing and put a tikka on your forehead. Note the devotional flame on his tray…

   Next are some pics of people at work in Mysore. Here is the shoemaker at the corner by my hotel repairing my pack. Shoemakers are the ones to go to for any heavy stitching.

  Here’s a tailor…

Here are scribes. Many people in India are illiterate or don’t have the means to write and send a post, or need to send a formal typewritten letter.

Here is a rice vendor. If you can afford it, you can buy a bag. If not, you can buy a small amount like you see in the trays. This might especially be the case if you want a high quality rice like jasmine. He has many kinds for sale.

Here is a sculptor of sandlewood. This is a valuable section of sandlewood trunk.

Here is a sight you see several times in the length of a block, or by the road, or anywhee. It’s a paan stand. You can get fresh paan, but most buy a packet from the selection hanging there from a guy like this for 1 rupee, about 2 cents. Paan is a mixture of betel nut, spices, sugar and lime paste, wrapped in a paan leaf. Sometimes it contains tobacco. I think it’s disgusting, but many men love it. I just can’t stand the amount of juice you have to spit out. Red splashes are everywhere on the ground and in the street in India. Also in this picture are a guy selling lottery tickets and a paper boy.

This man is doing a horoscope for a passerby. Indians are big believers in astrology. Weddings have been called off because it’s not in the stars.

Here are monkeys grubbing in some coconut hulls. Monkeys are everywhere inside and outside the towns.

 

And last but not least… The street boy bangs his drum. Bangbangbangbangbang. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present for your enjoyment and AMAZEMENT… bangbangbangbangbangbang… the LOVELY and ASTONISHING…. bangbangbangbangbang…. U-U-U-U-Uma, the WORLD’S STRONGEST 8 year old! She will now before your very eyes break this two inch thick slab of 2 inch concret with her BARE FOREARM! Just look at her muscles!

 She did it after about 8 whacks at it, then sat on the curb behind a street cart, rocking, and cradling her very black and blue arm. 15 minutes later she was back out in front of a new batch of passersby, doing it again.

Usually the maharajah’s palace night lights are turned on on Sundays. On Christmas, it is lit up with 97,000 light bulbs. He is the palace on Christmas Eve and on Christmas.

Crowds gathered to look before fanning out to the various restaurants, dhabas and street carts to eat. For the second night in a row, I went to the Parklane Hotel for dinner. It’s a little upscale for me, but the food is good and there is live music every night.

75% of India’s 25 million Christians live in the south. In Mysore they are a significant fraction of the population. The Parklane, like other places frequented by westerners, put up a Christmas tree and lighted paper star lamps. I got there on Christmas at about 7:30, an hour before the music starts because the night before I arrived a half hour early and there were few tables free. Fortunately, I was dining alone, and four choice tables were vacant right in front of the musicians platform.  They were available because singles are something of a rarity in India in a nice restaurant. Even most travelers travel with someone. Tonight, however, the place didn’t fill up till about 9.

A young Canadian asked if he could sit with me. His story is that he’d finished his freshman year in college and was unsure of his direction, so he hit the road a few months ago. We chitchatted about our lives and had beers. He had tummy trouble and ordered fried eggs. I mention that because he got the best sunny side up eggs I’ve seen since I got to India. Nice and soft, with runny yolks. Usually they cook them to death on too hot a frying surface. They cook them on the same ones they cook chapattis on. I almost wanted that to eat but, I don’t know, for me fried eggs is dinner food only in an emergency. Probably it was an emergency for him. I ordered the fried rice with mutton, chicken and fish from the Chinese column. Chinese is traditional on Christmas in some Jewish circles. Maybe with the Chinese too.

Around 8:30, the music started. What a hoot! On Christmas Eve there was the very authentic Indian music of a kind of mandolin and tabla.

This night, the mandolin player switched to tabla and this kid about the age of my dinner partner came in, put his motorcycle helmet on the platform in front of him and whipped out a Casio keyboard. “This is going to suck”, I said to myself. It did. But it was funky in it’s own little way. Here’s a place about 1/4 filled with tourists wanting a taste of India. Mysore is having a huge international conference of anesthesiologists now, and most of the patrons looked like doc types. Wife-of-doc types have been all over town alone during the day. Now they are together. So what do we get? Electronic pulp folk. At one point they did “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”. Wry smiles and head shakes everywhere. The Indians don’t generally have a fond impression of the British. The history books don’t treat the colonial period as much more than a time of suppression, corruption of a magnificent ancient civilization, exploitation of India’s resources, people, and artwork theft. Never mind the complexities of history. I expected Christmas carols but, after that, it was back to the corruption of ancient magnificent music. Irony can be fun.

On Christmas Eve, I hired an autorickshaw to take me around for the day. He took me too the big temple on the hill. Being Sunday, it was a swarm of humanity. There was no going in for me, as the line was about an hour long and I’ve seen a lot of nice temples in the past 3 1/2 months. I amused myself people watching. Except for the poorest, who barely have anything to wear at all, people show up for an outing like this in their best clothes. The women are especially good looking in their saris and jewelry. Their hair is perfect. The Muslim women who, like me, are sightseers at this Hindu temple, have on their finest pashmina shawls.

There are always vendors of every sort at these places like this. It’s like a little bazaar. Indians really like kitch. They will handle and haggle over the cheapest Chinese bauble you ever saw. Remember Silly Putty? Remember the plastic eggs it came in? I saw a family getting excited over some of these eggs, so the oldest guy, presumably dad, negotiated for about five minutes and proudly presented them to his family. Mom loved it. She beamed like the kids. Indians love to shop. Sometimes they haven’t got the money for much, but they love what they can get. I think it doesn’t matter what for. It’s the experience.

Boy, I’m on a roll. I better knock it off. Most of you haven’t gotten this far. If you have, don’t you have something better to do? Just kidding. Thanks for reading it.

Yesterday evening was like most others. After a day of sightseeing, I laid on the bed with a pillow rolled up under my head, reading until I lost focus on the story. As per usual when that happens, I went out for a stroll. There’s no point in thinking I might go to sleep early. Indian hotels must be the noisiest in the world. Why not, in a country where people routinely stay up after 11 socializing, and where there is so little privacy anyway? The kids even play late into the night. “Late” is relative. It’s me who is attached to early to bed and early to rise.

Sravanabelagola is a largely Jain town. Very straight. No alcohol, or at least I don’t find a bar or liquor store. Nobody’s smoking in public, except at the bus station. The people here are very friendly and polite. It’s much cleaner than most Indian towns. There’s even an almost continuous sidewalk the length of one side of main street, and it appears work is in progress on the the other side. I don’t know what they’ll do when they get to the middle of town where all the stalls are almost out to the street. Eminent domain? Probably. Permanent structures? For sure, this place will grow up just as the rest of India is.

After my stroll out of town in the dark under a sliver of a moon, I retured to my room to read again but didn’t feel like it. So I just laid there and listened to the kids scream and run in the halls. No carpetting in Indian hotels. My late night musings turned to Comparative Hotel Rooms, a subject in which I’ve become an expert in recent years. One first thought I had when I went into this room was, “Holy cow, the bed has a bottom and a top sheet!”.Oh, no, there’s only a bottom sheet that doesn’t reach the head of the mattress. That makes sense. If the sheets you have are too short, it’s probably better to expose the head of the mattress. Sandalled or bare feet get so filthy here, the foot of the mattress would be black in no time. Better to have oily matresses than street filth. Oily mattresses and pillows creep me out, but this mattress is clean. It even looks pretty new. The pillow’s fine. I’m fine. I’m actually fine with almost everything. The phrase almost everyone who comes here says when something is off is, “This is India”.

This whole place was exceptionally clean. The floors shine. The windows are almost clean. the bathroom’s nice, though the faucet next to the toilet for filling the cup used for cleaning your bottom drips. It’s all consistent with the general wholesomeness of this Jain operated establishment. Not that many places are this nice for 135 rupees ($3) per night.

The main attraction and money earner in Sravanabelagola is a 17.5 meter high monolithic granite statue of a Jain deity, Bahubali. The story goes that Bahubali’s father, an emporor in the 10th century and a revered Jain teacher, died. Bahubali competed with his brother for control of the kingdom till Bahubali realised the futility of the struggle, renounced his claim, and meditated in the forest till he attained enlightenment. Jain holy men wear no clothes as a symbol of their oneness with nature and the cosmos. This staute has him standing naked with vines growing up his body, an anthill forming around his feet, and various snakes and such looking up and admiring him.

You have to walk up these 620 steps barefoot to see it. It’s not recommended for feet that are only used to carpets.

I was wondering how going back on the road would be. It’s turning out fine. After about 2 1/2 weeks of braindead beachcombing, it feels good to get some new stimulation.

I just need to say this. Many times I’ve seen people who look just like somebody. Sometimes it’s a very close resemblance. Yesterday I saw a guy who looks exactly like my dad about 15 years ago. I mean exactly. Same hair, same smile, almost the same complexion (which you rarely see in an Indian), same size and build. I tried not to stare, but it was eerie.

Enough about that.

I left Gokarna around 4:30 the day before yesterday. Another coincidence. Getting on the train for Mangalore with me was another American. I talked with him for 4 hours. That’s the longest I’ve talked to another American since I got to India. It was nice to speak in my own idioms for so long. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing the ability to speak anything other than International Simplified English.

I stayed overnight in Mangalore, and headed to Belur. It and Halebidu are between Mangalore and Bangalore. I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop there, but they’ve been replacing the narrow guage rails between the two cities for the last three years, and it won’t be completed till next month. That meant I had to take a government bus for 9 hours if I wanted to go all the way to Mysore. That is something I’ve avoided when possible. They’re sometimes one step above chicken buses. Lonely Planet talked up Belur and Halebidu, and they’re halfway between, so I went there.

These places are in the Western Ghats, that is, the western hill country of South India. There are Eastern Ghats on the other side of Mysore. You wind up over a combination of lousy old road and road under construction to an elevation of about 3000 ft. There is kilometer after kilometer of coconut, cocoa, tea, banana and other plantations, and forest. It looks like this most of the way.

Once you’re up on top, more regular agriculture takes over. They grow a lot of rice, corn, sunflowers and, of all things, castor beans.

Belur turned out to be a good tourist destination. The Hoysala dynasties ruled the area from the 11th to the 14th centuries, and their art is what you think of when you think f Indian architectural art. They built low temples mostly, and some high ones.

The amazing thing about them is the detail of the carvings. The other main thing is the amount of relatively undamaged sculpture there is, considering they are up to 900 years old.

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Even better is Halebidu. I stayed the night in Belur, and went the 16 km to Halebidu this morning at 6. Then I returned and came to this town to see what’s billed as the world’s largest monlithic statue, that of a Jain deity. I’ll get back to you with the name of this place. It’s a tongue twister, and I’ve forgotten it just now. I suppose I could go out in the street and look at a sign. Anyway, Halebidu was even better than Belur. The staue is big, I’ll grant it that.

I’ll post pictures of Halebidu and this place tomorrow or the next day. I left my USB cord in my room.

So, that’s it for today. Again, I hope your holiday season is nice for you.

By this place’s standards, it’s high season here. The huts all fill up and at least a couple dozen newcomers a night sleep out on the beach or in unoccupied hammocks at one of the shacks.

I was fully expecting a full moon party thing, but it’s remained mellow here. The beach people stay up after midnight and make music, smoke or whatnot. It’s like a resort here, without the ammenities. One can see the changes coming one day, though. It’ll probably be alright. Om and the other beaches will go through a period of side by side shacks before the industry matures.

I went to bed reserving the right to change my mind about anything. I woke up early as usual. The shack guys here were comatose, so I went up the beach. Ganesh was open. Nirvana was open, and I looked in to see if Kathryn was up and around. She wasn’t, so I went to Ganesh, sat with a chai, and decided to leave for Mangalore.

The most common way to smoke hash or “chalas” here and everywhere I think is to break it up into little pieces, kind of roast it with a match, and roll into a tobacco cigarette. A piece of a hardback pack of cigs is made into a roll and used as a crutch. When I got back to my shack, Surya was sitting at the table my group often sits at. He smokes all day, way too much really, but I sat with him and had a last doob for I presume a long time.

After breakfast, I published that last blog. Jeez, I had to bail on downloading the pictures last night, the connection was so slow. At least today it eventually happened and I could send it off. Basically, I’m killing time till I take a rickshaw to the train station. The train leaves sometime after 4, so I’m here till maybe 2:30. Then it’s “so long” to my vacation from travelling.

It’s been good for me to hang out. I was getting spent. And for what? I haven’t quite gotten used to retirement maybe. I’m sure the rest of my trip this time will be at a slower pace. That said, going to the Western Ghats and relaxing quietly in the forest and tea plantations was an idea. I now think I won’t. I’m pretty relaxed and more feel like going to Mysore. There’s lots to see there. I can be busy. Woohoo. Besides, after that I’ll probably go to Kerala and lounge around on a backwater cruise. That will be a lot more upscale than the one in Kashmir.

That’s about it for now. I’m packed and paid up, and it’s time for an early lunch before leaving. Take care, you all.