Today’s plan was to make no plans. In completely surrendering the very most basic of control we hoped to avoid the loss of control that seems to be the norm here. It was an ingenious counter-plan if I may be permitted the immodesty, and it worked like a charm. We started the day by puttering over to Varkala Beach. We asked around in the shops for a wooden printing block, and were told that we would have to go to Trivandrum for that. ...
I’ve finally convinced my dad to share his story with my readers. My dad is a fantastic writer. He was a classics major and then a newspaper editor, and then eventually the Editor in Chief of Law and Policy in International Business, a Georgetown University international law review. His posts will be published on the dates they were written, so please follow his author slug so you don’t miss any! In addition to providing great reading for you all, I am pleased as punch to have this record of our shared experience. Please take a moment to greet him in the comment section of his first post!
We had a tasty breakfast at the local + organic ABBA restaurant (where, I kid you not, they play non-stop Abba), and then headed out for coffee and an Internet fix. I have to admit that the power surge that blew up my laptop power supply was pretty annoying, but i still managed to get over it after a few minutes. The downside to this is that I will be typing all of my posts on my iPhone from here on out (please forgive the typos), and l will have to be more stingy with photos. ...
After getting situated in our hotel room, the first order of business was to get a couple of motorcycles so we might regain a modicum of control over our adventure. Dad had an aesthetic interest in the Royal Enfield. So we asked our host if he could arrange such a thing. After a little back and forth on the details he went off to see what he could do. A few minutes later he came back with the details and within 30 minutes we were staring at two of the most beaten up bikes left in India. The first Royal Enfield bikes were built in India in 1955, and I suspect that ours were from the first batch. ...
We left Bangalore last night on an overnight train. We were joined in our sleeper (2AC) car by two guys who were heading to Cochin for a business meeting. After chatting for a while they started making recommendations for our next few days. “You must go to Varkala” they pressed “You will find nice people there and its not too busy”. We chatted a bit longer and then settled in to read the guide books. Dad and I both picked a few hotels that looked good and then hit the hay. ...
Kerala Express November 10, 2009 I am flying on the manic side of our India bi-polar experience today as T and I speed south on the “superfast” Kerala Express through the southern jungle. Our bunkmates on the Bangalore to Cochin train last night convinced us to skip Cochin altogether and head straight for the white sand beaches and palms of Varkala and Kovalam. They suggested we take a bus south, but only a Volvo bus. The other KSRTC buses, they assured us, we would not enjoy. I am silently thanking them for their good advice as I, Varkala bound, peer out our window at the rice paddies, rivers and thick green jungle. I spy a woman dressed in a bright orange sari with a turquoise shawl and a pink parasol walking up a red clay road and feel as if I am watching some PBS documentary, not experiencing this in real life. ...
We knew that we sucked at haggling, and I’ve been fairly warned that Westerners have a harder than average time getting a good price without an Indian to support them, but for some reason I held out hope. After seeing the big smiles on three different wallah’s faces, I knew I had been well and truly bested. I am totally okay with that though. Shopping in Mysore has been a total joy. “Come in, sit down. I will pour you and your father some tea” sings the merchant in the Silk Museum. “This is your son?”, he asks my father. “Your father has been here 3 times already, we have much respect for him, I will give you special price.” Good Lord, I’m in for it already and I haven’t even looked at the merchandise yet. ...
I’m staying in Mysore now, at the lovely Green Hotel. If you happen to be visiting Mysore, I can’t recommend it highly enough. I am still processing the conference and trying to sort out what it all means, and how what I learned there will change me and my course. The one thing I can be sure of is that it has changed me. The speakers, naturally, were (mostly) all amazing, but what really pulled the whole event together were the attendees. From the moment I stepped out of the registration I was greeted by one warm, generous, and engaging person after another. As the conference proceeded, little networks began to form. One new friend would introduce me to another until I felt I knew every like minded person in the thousand person audience. ...
Bangalore November 8, 2009 Darkness falls abruptly here. At 6 p.m. it is raining hard and the light is abandoning us. Tucker hangs onto the luggage rack of our ancient 100 cc. Hero Honda with a steely grip as I pitch and weave through the crush of Mysore traffic, wiping the fog from my glasses and searching for any clue as to where we might be. Mysore is laid out like a Mandala, with roads radiating outward from the Maharaja’s Palace. An endless web of crooked lanes link the rays, with confusing traffic circles at key intersections. Watchtower Circle, New Statue Circle, Devaraja Urs Swamibatami Circle. Their names are helpfully scribed in Kannada, the predominant second language of Karnataka state. Occasionally a sign in English will give a vague nod in the right direction, but I am forever disappointed in my hope for clear direction. When the sun is out I know my compass points, but in the dark of night in the rain it is dead reckoning only, hopefully in the primary meaning of the phrase. Still, the fact that Sateesh’s motorcycle has no working lights or horn raises the vague possibility of second meanings. ...
The Green Hotel, Mysore November 6, 2009 Here it is 3 a.m. and I have just awakened. It is as quiet as it gets in India. I know it is likely that I will still be awake when the big birds start crowing at 6 a.m. I still haven’t seen them, and probably couldn’t identify them if I did, but they are reliable whatever they are. And they only seem to crow at 6; I don’t hear them at other times of day. When they coo and warble I know the emptiness of the nighttime will soon end. ...
I’ll write this while I still have power. It flickers off at irregular intervals, part of the official load relief program, so the Hindi Times says. This makes it sound planned, but it’s not. Sort of like “Quantitative Easing,” the U.S. load relief program. It has the small businesses in Mysore in a tizzy, because they never know when they’ll have consistent power. When you’re running a foundry and everything cools off in the middle of a run, it makes for a sticky mess. The government still happily adds new customers, nevertheless. ...
Tucker and I are planted on platform number 9 waiting where the porter has deposited us for the 3 p.m. Tippu Express to Mysore. It is 1:30 p.m. and Tuck has settled in for the long wait, putting his backpack down on the dirty cement platform and perching atop it with easy adaptability. I am standing at parade rest, one hand gripping my matched luggage. It is hot, but not oppressive, and the hundred or two other passengers have made themselves as comfortable as possible, chatting, rearranging belongings, trying to position themselves on the platform to be located properly for their car when it arrives, or staring at us. I am trying not to stare back, but with little success. Oddly, there are no flies despite the fecund air and abundant garbage. ...
If you’re just tuning in now, please skip back to the post on Hong Kong, and read the remaining posts in reverse order. If you don’t I’m not sure they would make too much sense. Please leave comments (especially suggestions) in the comments section.
I would guess that more than half of the average person’s enjoyment of food is subjective. There are clearly objective thresholds that must be met (and those differ from person to person) in order for a meal to be enjoyable. I would argue though that what sets the exemplary meal apart from the good, for most people has to do with atmosphere, service, and other intangibles. Gaylord’s nailed the subjectives. Perhaps they didn’t need to even try. So completely overwhelmed, tired, hungry, and hopeful were we, perhaps any place would have brought a contented smile to our faces. I ordered off menu (paneer tikka masala) and my dad ordered the lamb roganjosh. The staff were omnipresent but somehow not imposing. When the food arrived it exceeded all of my expectations and all of my prior experiences. At this moment (it was my last substantial meal) I would believe that it was the best Indian food in the world.
Soon we had our luggage and were clear of customs and the dozen or so passport checks that followed. It was time to discuss the hotel situation. At this point I believe both dad and I were panicked. Tired and overwhelmed we now had to find a place in this sprawling crawling city to rest ourselves. Dad had reviewed our guide book and highlighted a few good candidates. All of them, the guide suggested, “should be booked well in advance.” After dodging scam number one of the evening, we made our way to a “pay phone” and called the first hotel. You can imagine my shock when they told us that they had a vacancy for us. ...