Mood is a fickle thing, and it looks like I'm going to be blogging Udaipur after all.
You may actually recognize Udaipur; it's the city where the Bond movie "Octopussy" was filmed (as about a million signs and restaurants remind us daily). It's got the white palace floating on the lake, etc. Beautiful, but we're definitely getting a little too used to Rajasthan and the northern architecture; we've been here for three days, and only spent one morning doing anything especially proper-touristy (the City Palace). The rest we've just been enjoying the town, which is a little pricy but very laid-back and comfortable for us Western types because it's absolutely overrun by tourists. That's unfortunate - a town this nice should belong to its people - but it is nice to be able to sit on the rooftop in a tank top for a change.
Mostly, what we did here was Holi. I'm going to write a bit more about it in Mumbai (tomorrow) or Aurangabad (the following day), because some very interesting things happened that have got me thinking, and I know I'll need more than a half hour or so to get it out properly. But, in the meantime, a bit about Holi. (Skip the part of that wikipedia article on the health hazards. We did.)
It starts with a huge serious of bonfires in the streets just after sundown on the night before. Stacks of wood, tented together, reach 12 or 14-feet high in small squares (about the size of 3 driveways), and 6-7 feet in the smaller streets. Firecrackers and cherry bombs are thrown into the blaze or launched into the sky. The noise, in a town the size of Udaipur, was tremendous - as was the fireworks display. (Fireworks are legal here and easy to buy year-round because they're used in weddings and on other auspicious days.) Then, a good chunk of the population starts drinking; for most of the residents of a town like Udaipur, Holi is the only day of the entire year that they won't have to work. The enthusiasm is contagious, and there's no argument about it - they deserve it.
Revelry in the streets is over before midnight, but starts again early the next morning. By 9am, the streets are full of people moving in big groups, swarming through each other. Everyone you pass, you say "Happy Holi" to each other and throw a handful of coloured powder (or water) over each other - sometimes you put it directly on each other's faces. Sometimes hugging follows. The result is an incredibly congenial, hilarious atmosphere in which you can't stop laughing and end up with colour in your mouth as well as everywhere else. People are almost unrecognizeable - after about 20 minutes I could only pick out the other people in our party by height and stature, as even our clothes were so covered in bright colours running together that you couldn't tell what they originally looked like. My skin is still stained in a lot of places (all visible, unfortunately), and my clothes are absolutely ruined.
All of which is fine, because it was so much fun. S. and I went out with a couple we met from Toronto named Aaron and Marion, who are maybe 10-12 years older than us but very fun. (Bonus: he's a criminal lawyer who loves his job, and loved law school, and wasn't a jerk in the least. There's hope!) We'll post photos once we get them from Aaron, who was the only one brave enough to bring a camera into that mess.
There were some tourists who were not loving it - which was maybe the most hilarious part of all. Every once in a while you'd see some sour-looking European in khakis and a white golf shirt lurking around with an expensive camera giving death stares to anyone who approaches them with powder. Imagine coming down from your hotel into that chaos - just a huge mob of people greeting, throwing colours and paint everywhere, hugging, laughing - and expecting to be left to yourself on the sidelines. It doesn't work like that. Like I said, there is no solitude in India - and definitely not on Holi. Did I mention there were people walking around with drums, stopping when they met other drummers to play together, and people came running from the sidestreets to dance in big groups wherever they were?
All of which has reminded me that joy can get you through a lot. Again, I'll save some of the details for a longer, later post, but the last few days have been extremely instructive.
Gordon, a British man we met in Pachmari who has been coming to India for 15 years, said over and over again that India is the great teacher about humanity, and that whenever you start to get it wrong, India will correct you. That's certainly what's happened here. Just when I've had all I can take of touts and aggressive salespeople and everyone trying to squeeze every penny they can from you, staring at you, talking about you, and giving you wrong information, you meet a young shop worker who stops you with a glance and all but closes up his shop to sit and talk with you - and then refuses to sell you anything. That's what happened the day before yesterday, to E. and I., when we were out in the market. A man named Surya (appropriately, he's named after the sun) started the conversation the way most touts do - "From which country?" - but ended up being so sweet and so interesting that we spent a few hours with him drinking chai and talking Big Ideas. He grew up in an ashram in Kerala, but when he was in his teens his guru told him he needed to see the world before he would understand anything. So she gave him Rs. 2000 (about $50) and sent him on his way. Ever since then (about 10-15 years ago) he's been moving from place to place every few years, working two jobs for 11 months of the year and then using his 12th to travel around India. He had a really interesting perspective on the world. Although astrology is Not My Thing, he was talking to both E. and I about our signs and whether we match with them (it seems like everyone here takes astrology very seriously), and suddenly got very intense about needing to read my palm. He told me a pretty good story. A lot of it was familiar. With these things, it's not so much about the accuracy or inaccuracy of what people can tell about you; it's about paying attention to how you react to the news. Your own response can be highly, highly instructive. Mine was.
(Actually, this is the second time a relative stranger has singled me out to read my fortune for free. The first time was years ago, and it was helpful too.)
A wave of goodwill can carry you for a long time. I'm hoping mine carries me through Mumbai, but I'm dumping it there, because I have things to do and some serious business to write about. As always, the last few days weren't all rainbows, and I think there's some big shit brewing here. Holi, joy, and the British travel warning released last week about Goa - and, for good measure, how all these remote things on the other side of the world help shape how we perceive our communities at home.
Be good, all.
Showing posts with label local norms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label local norms. Show all posts
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
The other side of Delhi
Yesterday morning we saw a rickshaw driver beaten by a policeman. The police here carry a long stick, about 4 feet, which I didn't want to see used. We're not really sure what the rickshaw driver did wrong... obviously it was something, but we couldn't tell what. He caned him in the side of the knees twice, and hit him three or four times in the face and chest with the butt end of a shorter instrument. The street, like everywhere in Pahar Ganj, was packed. We seemed to be the only ones who were surprised.
Rickshaw drivers here have been on my mind. Taxis are rarely used here. Usually it's either autorickshaws, little three-wheeled green affairs that resemble a dirtbike with a two-person back seat and an enclosure (rent Darjeeling Limited to see), or regular rickshaws, which are a two-seated carriage pulled by a man on a bicycle. We haven't used a cycle one yet, partially because I'm having a hard time stomaching it. Some of the men pulling these little open carriages are well past retirement age. Even our autorickshaw driver confessed he works seven days a week, as many hours as he can stand. Some things I'm getting used to here - like ignoring pushy vendors, negotiating aggressively, declining any offers of help - but I'm nowhere near ready to ride through town in a carriage pulled by a 70-year old barefoot man on a bike.
And where are all the women?
During the day the ratio of men to women in public is easily 15 or 20:1. I have my guesses as to why. I suspect they're busy elsewhere.
A large percentage of the women we see, actually, are white tourists. We've noticed a pretty strange demographic: white tourists here (other than the middle-aged, of which there are tons) tend to be of certain ages. Two men travelling together will universally be in their late thirties. A man and woman will be in their mid twenties, a little older than us but not much. The only people our age you tend to see are pairs or threes of women, and you see no men our age here unless travelling with a woman. (Exception: the odd man our age here and there who's travelling alone.) It's bizarre, we have no idea why this is the case. Why would women our age be drawn to India as a travel destination more than men, particularly? If anything, I would have expected the reverse; that pairs of women would be more drawn to more familiar places (relatively) like Europe for safety reasons, while men would feel more comfortable venturing farther.
Who knows.
D is also for Dizzying. Personal space and solitude don't exist in Delhi. Although there have been quiet moments on our rooftop, in our hotel room, briefly while walking along Rajpath away from the touts, there is no silence and no solitude. We're getting used to people brushing us as they pass, to motorcycles and rickshaws passing within inches of each other on the streets, to veering sideways while walking to avoid getting clipped by the bikes whizzing by.
We're having a slightly harder time getting used to the low-level but persistent harassment. On the subway yesterday, it really felt like the whole platform was staring at us. This isn't just paranoia, it's substantial. We find it happens less when we take certain precautions - dress as covered-up as we can, keep our hair tied back tidily (braided is best) and don't make eye contact - but it's unavoidable in certain circumstances. It's yet to become really threatening - I don't think either of us have particularly feared for our safety since arriving - but it does make things uncomfortable.
We both think it will be easier when Sumeet is with us, which will be in about two weeks. It makes me angry that this behaviour will stop when we have a male with us - shouldn't it stop because we have a right to move freely in public, to dress as we're comfortable, and to be shown some basic respect? - but then I think more, and it's the same in Canada. Women don't get street harassed in Canada when with a male friend, a boyfriend, or, best, their father. The same disrespect is there, the same attitude that men are not to be messed with but women are open territory when in public. Plus, as far as we know, violence against white tourists is much less prevalent here than various types of violence against women is in Canada. Once or twice in Canada I've experienced street harassment that was genuinely menacing, and genuinely frightening. Here it's a low drone with little behind it. We stand out here; it happens more; but its differences from the streets of Montreal or Toronto are differences of degree not of kind.
Which gets me thinking about one of the few occasions when I've been cat-called while with a boyfriend. It was from a moving car in New York City. My partner was actually pleased; he felt good to be with a woman who was deserving of cat-calling (... by other men [my addition]). I'm not sure I have the time right now to fully take apart what that means, but I think it's relevant.
I think that's long enough, and E. needs to use the computer. We'll have to talk later about where textiles come from, why the cook in our hotel kitchen had to come here from Nepal (we don't know the answer), and why everybody everybody everybody wants to sell us something. Whatever the social problem, poverty is usually the reason.
Take care, all.
Rickshaw drivers here have been on my mind. Taxis are rarely used here. Usually it's either autorickshaws, little three-wheeled green affairs that resemble a dirtbike with a two-person back seat and an enclosure (rent Darjeeling Limited to see), or regular rickshaws, which are a two-seated carriage pulled by a man on a bicycle. We haven't used a cycle one yet, partially because I'm having a hard time stomaching it. Some of the men pulling these little open carriages are well past retirement age. Even our autorickshaw driver confessed he works seven days a week, as many hours as he can stand. Some things I'm getting used to here - like ignoring pushy vendors, negotiating aggressively, declining any offers of help - but I'm nowhere near ready to ride through town in a carriage pulled by a 70-year old barefoot man on a bike.
And where are all the women?
During the day the ratio of men to women in public is easily 15 or 20:1. I have my guesses as to why. I suspect they're busy elsewhere.
A large percentage of the women we see, actually, are white tourists. We've noticed a pretty strange demographic: white tourists here (other than the middle-aged, of which there are tons) tend to be of certain ages. Two men travelling together will universally be in their late thirties. A man and woman will be in their mid twenties, a little older than us but not much. The only people our age you tend to see are pairs or threes of women, and you see no men our age here unless travelling with a woman. (Exception: the odd man our age here and there who's travelling alone.) It's bizarre, we have no idea why this is the case. Why would women our age be drawn to India as a travel destination more than men, particularly? If anything, I would have expected the reverse; that pairs of women would be more drawn to more familiar places (relatively) like Europe for safety reasons, while men would feel more comfortable venturing farther.
Who knows.
D is also for Dizzying. Personal space and solitude don't exist in Delhi. Although there have been quiet moments on our rooftop, in our hotel room, briefly while walking along Rajpath away from the touts, there is no silence and no solitude. We're getting used to people brushing us as they pass, to motorcycles and rickshaws passing within inches of each other on the streets, to veering sideways while walking to avoid getting clipped by the bikes whizzing by.
We're having a slightly harder time getting used to the low-level but persistent harassment. On the subway yesterday, it really felt like the whole platform was staring at us. This isn't just paranoia, it's substantial. We find it happens less when we take certain precautions - dress as covered-up as we can, keep our hair tied back tidily (braided is best) and don't make eye contact - but it's unavoidable in certain circumstances. It's yet to become really threatening - I don't think either of us have particularly feared for our safety since arriving - but it does make things uncomfortable.
We both think it will be easier when Sumeet is with us, which will be in about two weeks. It makes me angry that this behaviour will stop when we have a male with us - shouldn't it stop because we have a right to move freely in public, to dress as we're comfortable, and to be shown some basic respect? - but then I think more, and it's the same in Canada. Women don't get street harassed in Canada when with a male friend, a boyfriend, or, best, their father. The same disrespect is there, the same attitude that men are not to be messed with but women are open territory when in public. Plus, as far as we know, violence against white tourists is much less prevalent here than various types of violence against women is in Canada. Once or twice in Canada I've experienced street harassment that was genuinely menacing, and genuinely frightening. Here it's a low drone with little behind it. We stand out here; it happens more; but its differences from the streets of Montreal or Toronto are differences of degree not of kind.
Which gets me thinking about one of the few occasions when I've been cat-called while with a boyfriend. It was from a moving car in New York City. My partner was actually pleased; he felt good to be with a woman who was deserving of cat-calling (... by other men [my addition]). I'm not sure I have the time right now to fully take apart what that means, but I think it's relevant.
I think that's long enough, and E. needs to use the computer. We'll have to talk later about where textiles come from, why the cook in our hotel kitchen had to come here from Nepal (we don't know the answer), and why everybody everybody everybody wants to sell us something. Whatever the social problem, poverty is usually the reason.
Take care, all.
Textiles, forts, and photos
Oh my!
Sorry for the gap since the last post...
We've done a lot since. Including figure out how to upload photos onto these computers, so! A brief, incomplete visual guide to our last little while...
This is the main building of Humayun's Tomb, which was built in the 16th century. You can't see a lot of the detail here, but just about every square inch was covered in paint and carvings. It was really beautiful, and on huge grounds, which were based on an octagon motif. There were streams running out from it on all four sides, which led to smaller structures.
Note the mass of private school kids on a field trip. Private school kids on field trips have been a pattern at every place we've been. They nag white tourists incessantly for attention, usually just with a chorus of "Hi! Hi! Hi!" until you obligate, but sometimes we've been cornered, got stuck shaking dozens of hands, having extremely awkward small talk with a group of kids we're trying to ignore and are sure are making fun of us. So that's been not great. At all costs, we're trying to avoid getting stuck in a mass (by this we mean hundreds) of teenage boys, which happened once with unpleasant effects. Still, look how nice that tomb is.
This is the view down from our room to the rooftop patio of our hotel, and down to the square we face, which is just off the main bazaar in Pahar Ganj. We've been eating there a lot. It's cheap and hasn't made us sick yet. Woot! Excuse the blur.
Sorry for the gap since the last post...
We've done a lot since. Including figure out how to upload photos onto these computers, so! A brief, incomplete visual guide to our last little while...
This is the main building of Humayun's Tomb, which was built in the 16th century. You can't see a lot of the detail here, but just about every square inch was covered in paint and carvings. It was really beautiful, and on huge grounds, which were based on an octagon motif. There were streams running out from it on all four sides, which led to smaller structures.
Note the mass of private school kids on a field trip. Private school kids on field trips have been a pattern at every place we've been. They nag white tourists incessantly for attention, usually just with a chorus of "Hi! Hi! Hi!" until you obligate, but sometimes we've been cornered, got stuck shaking dozens of hands, having extremely awkward small talk with a group of kids we're trying to ignore and are sure are making fun of us. So that's been not great. At all costs, we're trying to avoid getting stuck in a mass (by this we mean hundreds) of teenage boys, which happened once with unpleasant effects. Still, look how nice that tomb is.
This is the view down from our room to the rooftop patio of our hotel, and down to the square we face, which is just off the main bazaar in Pahar Ganj. We've been eating there a lot. It's cheap and hasn't made us sick yet. Woot! Excuse the blur.
We can't offer photos right now of a lot of what we saw, including the National Museum and Qutb Minar, this beautiful 13th century minaret, because they're on Emma's camera and she doesn't have it on her at the moment. So, some other time.
This is a very small part of the inside of the Red Fort, which is probably something like 2 square km inside. Enormous. The outside is all red sandstone, and the inside, where Shah Jahan and his family lived, gave audiences, etc, is all this sort of architecture; really ornate, very intricately carved white marble. Again, very beautiful. A lot of the paint has been chipped away, and large parts were once inlaid with gold and precious stones, which are all gone. We were still very impressed.
We also wish we could show you Akshardam, the recently built temple we went to a few days ago. All white and pink sandstone, again with the amazing carvings. Attention to detail seems to be what differentiates the peaks of Indian architecture from that of other countries. This huge structure, which also sat on massive grounds, were over 100 000 carvings of deities, over 200 elephants (around the perimeter of the temple), and uncountable other details (especially the ceilings). Something like 300 million hours of labour went into the details. So, you know, that's a lot of detail.
(Nevermind how much it cost to build, how much the land would have cost and the materials, and how much, in comparison, the actual labourers who built it were paid... that's a whole other issue.)
Today we braved the bazaar and got some things, mostly necessities like power converters and locks, but we also each bought a shawl-type-thing. The green one I brought (thanks Marcelle) has been the MVP of my wardrobe so far, turning the most scandalous tshirt into something socially appropriate. Also, it's cold at night.... I've really only taken it off to shower since we got on the plane. So we thought investing in one or two of those made sense. Also, they're pretty. And cheap! Emma's was less than $2 CDN, and mine was less than $8 (a little heavier/warmer material). Which brings me to my next point...
Oh my god, textiles.
Today was a great day.
I think we're both adjusting to the, uh... cultural climate, here a little more. We had to remind ourselves yesterday that we'd really only been here for less than a week. We're just about feeling ready to move on, which is good because tomorrow morning, bright and early (read: around 6am) we're getting on a train for Jaipur, Rajasthan. We have one night there, then we're taking an overnight train the next night for Jodhpur, then a few days later on to Jaisalmer. A few days after that we're up to Bikaner where we're doing perhaps the tackiest thing we'll be at during this entire trip: riding camels out into the desert for an overnight. (Emma is bullying me to use the word "safari," but my dignity refuses.) So we're obviously excited about that, even though it's so, so touristy. Come on. How many times do you get to camp in the desert, much less ride a camel there and back?
Don't judge us.
Alright, maybe another post later. We're getting grumpy and it's lunch time (almost 1pm).
Take care y'all.
Oh, ps, this is from when we got our bags back:
Oh, ps, this is from when we got our bags back:
Yes, it was that good.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Delhi, equipped
We got our bags. Heads exploded, tears were choked back, gratuities offered gratuitously to the delivery person. We were so sure they were lost, not delayed. God bless you, Virgin Atlantic, God bless you.
American Airlines, you are on notice.
Anyway.
We had an actual fun day full of fun things yesterday. After a brief morning stop to the Canadian Embassy (dropped off: passport application, photos, and $150 CDN. picked up: toilet paper and clean water. good trade over all), we walked for about an hour and a half through the city center, past the President's Estate, which we saw but couldn't enter, and up to the India Gate. It's a huge monument to the Indian soldiers who died in the... well, we're disagreeing whether it's the Third Afghan War or World War I. But it's huge. And gorgeous... and has the name of every soldier who died inscribed on it. We took lots of photos. The whole area was a very nice change from the incredibly hectic area where we're staying. It was wide open spaces without too too many people walking. We had a nice sit by India Gate, and found out what happens when Emma's sleeves aren't long enough. Requests for photos were declined, and eventually she gave up and put her sweater back on... at my behest.
(Emma injects: It's all true.)
After that we grabbed an auto-rickshaw and headed to the amazing Humayun's Tomb. Just incredible. It's this 16th-century complex that... well, if it had been finished, it was supposed to rival the Taj, but they stopped a little short. Still, the grounds were incredible, and the main building just beautiful. I was on photo duty for this attraction, and went a little overboard, but hey. Beautiful red and white sandstone. Some very friendly flocks of Indian private school children, who are probably making fun of us but I really don't care.
We were back on our hotel's rooftop patio by early evening, eating with the small group of travellers we seem to be sharing every meal with these days. We were both asleep by 8.30. Yes, we party hard.
Saw the sun rise this morning. Well, through the haze and clouds. Still. We had a relaxing morning drinking multiple cups of tea on the roof with an older couple we've met, Jennifer and Eep (sp?), who've been very helpful and interesting. Now we're just heading out, at noon.
Anyway. Hey, don't expect this much detail in every entry. We're still into it now, but we're going to get lazy.
Sumantra, if you're reading this, we are going to have a lot to talk about when I get back. Oh man do I wish I could call you. This has been incredibly interesting.
Take care all. Emma sends her love.
American Airlines, you are on notice.
Anyway.
We had an actual fun day full of fun things yesterday. After a brief morning stop to the Canadian Embassy (dropped off: passport application, photos, and $150 CDN. picked up: toilet paper and clean water. good trade over all), we walked for about an hour and a half through the city center, past the President's Estate, which we saw but couldn't enter, and up to the India Gate. It's a huge monument to the Indian soldiers who died in the... well, we're disagreeing whether it's the Third Afghan War or World War I. But it's huge. And gorgeous... and has the name of every soldier who died inscribed on it. We took lots of photos. The whole area was a very nice change from the incredibly hectic area where we're staying. It was wide open spaces without too too many people walking. We had a nice sit by India Gate, and found out what happens when Emma's sleeves aren't long enough. Requests for photos were declined, and eventually she gave up and put her sweater back on... at my behest.
(Emma injects: It's all true.)
After that we grabbed an auto-rickshaw and headed to the amazing Humayun's Tomb. Just incredible. It's this 16th-century complex that... well, if it had been finished, it was supposed to rival the Taj, but they stopped a little short. Still, the grounds were incredible, and the main building just beautiful. I was on photo duty for this attraction, and went a little overboard, but hey. Beautiful red and white sandstone. Some very friendly flocks of Indian private school children, who are probably making fun of us but I really don't care.
We were back on our hotel's rooftop patio by early evening, eating with the small group of travellers we seem to be sharing every meal with these days. We were both asleep by 8.30. Yes, we party hard.
Saw the sun rise this morning. Well, through the haze and clouds. Still. We had a relaxing morning drinking multiple cups of tea on the roof with an older couple we've met, Jennifer and Eep (sp?), who've been very helpful and interesting. Now we're just heading out, at noon.
Anyway. Hey, don't expect this much detail in every entry. We're still into it now, but we're going to get lazy.
Sumantra, if you're reading this, we are going to have a lot to talk about when I get back. Oh man do I wish I could call you. This has been incredibly interesting.
Take care all. Emma sends her love.
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