Port Blair

I had been planning on travelling to Mahaballipuram for some time after reading about it in my Lonely Planet. I miss the community-like feeling which many of the backpacker hangouts had in SE Asia... or perhaps I just missed being around many people who liked to travel? Or do I just miss the partying? In any case, Mahaballipuram is known as a relaxing backpacker hangout, particularly compared to Chennai, and I hoped it might have an odd assortment of expats like there were in Pai, a place which I really miss.

The idea of flying to Port Blair only really crossed my mind as an afterthought; Chennai is after all, the closest major Indian city to the islands, so flight options were mentioned in my tour book. The only thing really drawing me towards the islands was the prospect of scuba diving. With some difficulty, I became a certified recreational diver (which basically means I can dive as long as I'm under supervision) before leaving Mississauga with the intention of diving in Thailand. However, I spent so much time in northern Thailand, and flights to Southern Thailand seemed prohibitively expensive when I was in Cambodia. I had signed up for diving in Cambodia as another option, but ended up getting ill instead, so I had to cancel the dive.

I realized that diving in India would cost a lot, but still, would be cheaper than the same at home; besides, diving in the Bay of Bengal is infinitely more interesting than the murky waters of Georgian Bay, where I finished my certification. Most importantly, I still have no idea when, or if, I will be able to travel like this again, and this seemed like to good an opportunity to pass on.

It wasn't long before my dive trip idea moved from concept to full out implementation. I'm now in Port Blair, which is really not a terribly exciting city, but on the verge of heading to Havelock Island, the dive centre for the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. Getting here was a little complicated; I forgot my dive log book in Bangalore, and went all the way there and back from Chennai just to retrieve it (one day lost doing that). Getting to Havelock Island is also a little complicated; the last boat today was cancelled, so I have to go tomorrow morning (another half day lost). Also, there are three ferries every day, and I've heard slightly different accounts from many different people on how to purchase tickets. They all seem to agree however that I should be at the boat site thirty minutes in advance at least, which means that I will have to leave my hotel room at 5:20 am or so, which blows.

However, if everything goes well, this will definitely cap off my trip with a bang. I will likely dive for three days or so, and just chill one day on the beach, before coming back to Port Blair. So life is good. Will write about the dive afterwards. Wish me luck.

-Udai

The Ashram

While in Mumbai, we knew were were going to be staying in the home of my father's cousin, in a busy neighbourhood called Collaba. Part of our travels around Mumbai involved visiting a friend at the Chinmaya Mission Ashram in Powai, a place well north of Collaba, and difficult to get to for those unfamiliar with the area. Me and my sister set out on a mission to get there on one hot and humid afternoon, and eventually made it after a crowded local train ride, and an auto-rickshaw ride thereafter.

After arriving at the ashram, our friend Vivek introduced us to one of his fellow students, a tall and lanky boy named Nishanth. Nishanth's demeanor could only be described as goofy, but in a way that openly displayed his friendly and gregarious nature. His smile was toothy and broad, and he responded to Vivek's introduction with a slight bow of his head, while touching his chest with his right hand, a respectful gesture used frequently in the ashram. His bright and animated eyes were obscured only by the dusty and smudged lenses of his glasses, a feature which definitely gave him the appearance of an ascetic.

Vivek said that Nishanth was from Canada. Meeting fellow Canadians is always a fun experience, and I immediately asked him which city he was from, perhaps hoping he would say that he is from the Toronto area. I don't know why I always feel the need to meet somebody from home, even when I don't know them. I suppose I always feel an odd sense of comfort when I meet somebody who's familiar with the same roads, restaurants, and bad weather as I am. In any case, he was not from the GTA, but from Ottawa. The fact that he was from Ottawa, and a member of the Chinmaya mission gave me the oddest sense as though I had met him before.

Suddenly, as though a veil had been lifted, I could see exactly where I had met him before. I asked, "Were you at the Chinmaya Mission camp many years ago, at the 4H centre in Boston?"

His eyes widened, and he replied, "You're the same Udai from back then?" He then gave me an enormous three second hug that was sincere and completely friendly, but still totally awkward for a self-conscious and mildy homophobic man like myself.

The strangest thing about the encounter was the context in which I originally remember Nishanth, around ten years ago. Me and most of my cousins were playing volleyball on the 4H centre court, along with all of the other students at the Chinmaya Mission camp. One of my elder cousins, Gautham, bumped into Nishanth while moving across the court to try and return the ball, which was heading sharply to the left. Nishanth thought that the the bump was intentional, and shoved Gautham while he was walking away, nearly sending him flying forward. Gautham turned around with fury in his eyes, and started marching towards the taller Nishanth with fists clenched, and Nishanth stepped back with an equally angry look on his face.

The thirty year old Chinmaya Mission volunteer who was running the volleyball activity had a look of sheer panic on her face; I suppose the prospect of a fist fight breaking out amongst teenagers at a camp that taught Yoga, meditation, and peaceful inner-reflection among other topics should be a little scary for the poor lady. She ran forward trying to avert disaster, but thankfully, the situation resolved itself anyway in a short-lived burst of yelling.

The Nishanth I remembered from back then was a far cry from the jovial version of himself who was now in front of me, with his saintly white robes, smudged glasses, and permanent grin. We spent more time with Nishanth later, though I never brought up the volleyball court incident with him.

I'm currently in Bangalore, and hope to head to Chennai or Mahaballipuram in the next few days. Will have some more posts around then.
-Udai

Andhra Meals

I arrived in Hyderabad at around 3:00 pm and went through my now familiar routine of of trying to find a room. This first involved taking a crowded public transit bus into the heart of the city, and from there, getting to a hotel by rickshaw. The whole process was tiring; I was already exhausted from a late night out with some fellow travellers (a German, a Frenchman, a Japanese guy named Yoshi, and a French-Canadian girl) and didn't sleep very well on the night train, which departed Aurangabad at 4 am. By the time I reached my hostel, I found myself somewhat pessimistic. The city seemed big and noisy (like any Indian city) but without the interesting architecture of Mumbai, or the promise of world heritage sites like Aurangabad. I was sufficiently tired that I spent more than a couple hours in my hotel room watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith, instead of exploring.

When it came time for dinner, I headed to a restaurant called Kamat, which was recommended in my Lonely Planet guide. It took me some time to find the restaurant, and when I finally did, I found the place to be small, but busy (usually a good sign). The man at the door said "Andhra meals?" I said "Hanh" (yes in Hindi) and nodded my head. I wasn't entirely sure what I had just agreed to, but thought that having an Andhra-style meal couldn't be a bad thing. When I walked further into the restaurant, I noticed that everyone was eating the same thing, and it occurred to me that I had actually ordered a fixed meal. Further, I noticed that everyone was eating in the traditional Andhra style, using their hands, and eating off banana leaves instead of plates.

At this point, I am proud to say that I was more intrigued than nervous. Much of the food that I was raised on was Andhra-style cooking, and I had eaten with my hand for most of my stay in Mumbai. My only concern was that there might be some rules or traditions that were particular to eating off banana leaves. The only one I could remember was that I was supposed to rinse the leaf off before eating (they are cleaned in advance, so this is more of a tradition than anything else) so I gingerly poured some water into my right hand, sprinkled it on the leaf, and wiped it with my right hand. I couldn't tell if this is what I was supposed to do, because I couldn't tell how traditional this place was. I quietly poured the water off my leaf onto the floor, watching the expressions on the waiters face to see if I was doing the right thing. Nobody seemed to notice, or care, so I figured I was on the right track (as it turned out later, everyone was doing the same thing, and a restaurant employee even came out to clean the water off the floor.

The meal was was an absolutely traditional Andhra meal; the first item served was Poppadom, followed by one type of coora (or subji), sambar, rice, yogurt, chutney, charu (or saaru), and many other dishes that I knew by sight, but didn't remember the names of. Everything was served in little piles on the banana leaf, and I immediately set to work separating the rice pile, and mixing it with the various items. The cook was unreserved about the quantity of green chilis, so I had to separate a few here and there (I didn't bother touching the deadly looking fried red chili which came with my poppadom).

The meal was capped of with a bananna, and a rolled paan leaf. I was never a big fan of paan, but decided that I couldn't leave the meal unfinished. I ate the entire thing, and found it to be quite good (not too strong or sweet). The total bill came up to Rs. 40, which is just slightly over one Canadian dollar, which is cheap even by Indian standards, especially for a quality meal like this served in a clean setting.

I'm feeling much better about being in Hyderabad now. It is my first time being in South India alone, and its really wierd getting used to experiencing South Indian culture without the presence of family (the two have almost always been individisible, especially when it comes to food). I still understand enough Telugu (Andhra Pradesh's language) to understand simple phrases, so its been really interesting to hear so many people speaking it in public. I think I'm going to eat at Kamat again tomorrow night; it's an amazing deal, and the food was fantastic. Maybe I'll even give the explosive chilli a try?

-Udai

Filter Coffee

I haven't been feeling well for the last day or so. Somehow, I caught a bad cold. It's strange that I should catch a cold in India of all places, where I've for once been staying in clean places (with friends and family) and where for once, I've been remaining fairly stationary, enjoying home cooking (and in Delhi, a good quantity of beer).

However, if there is one thing that makes me feel good, no matter what my condition, it's a cup of coffee. I don't know if this is a personal preference, or if it is genetic. However, one of my fondest memories of India is sitting in my grandmother's home around 15 years ago, having coffee with my uncles and cousins who were getting ready for work (there were at least 12 of us staying in the house at the time). The cups were made of stainless steel, and everybody was groggy, so nobody spoke. Even then, I felt like I was taking part in some sort of significant ritual, and indeed, many in my family are completely dependent on their morning cup of coffee, so I guess it was important. I also remember ruining the peace and quiet of the ritual by dropping my steel cup to the floor, and wasting my homemade Bangalore-style latte (I still cringe about this even now).

Coming back to the present, I made a point of leaving the house I'm staying in Mumbai at around 4:00 pm, so that I could find a coffee shop by 4:30. With my newly acquired 'Lonely Planet - South India', I ventured into the heart of Mumbai, searching for Samovar cafe, a small cafe inside the Jehangir art gallery, supposedly overlooking the gardens of the Prince of Wales Museum. The cafe, which took me 20 minutes or so to find, was disappointing. The place was set at ground level with the gardens, so there was nothing much to see. Worse, instead of being separated from the garden by windows, or perhaps a low railing, it was separated by chainlink fence giving the cafe an oddly industrial feel. Finally, to cap it all off, once I found a table, I discovered that they didn't have real coffee, only Nescafe. I got up from the table, apologized to the waiter, and decided to try Churchhill Cafe, an interesting looking cafe which I had passed several times in the last few days.

Getting to the cafe was challenging; by 5:00 pm, Mumbai streets are packed, the traffic is horrendous, and touts selling everything from scarves to upsurdly sized ballons (3.5 feet tall, 1 foot in diameter!) are out in full force. I reached the cafe, and waited patiently for a French couple (at least they looked French) to exit the cafe with two small children. I entered, only to be greeted by "Sorry sir, we're closed." This seemed ridiculous; what kind of Cafe closes at 5:00 pm on a Monday?

I knew of a local Barista location (an Indian version of Starbucks) which was close to the waterfront, on a road adjacent to the main shopping road (Colaba Causeway). Hoping that it would be quieter than the Barista location near the house I'm staying at, I walked towards it. I discovered that this location was under construction, and the front was boarded up.

At this point, I contemplated giving up. I really love coffee, but spending nearly an hour searching for a coffee shop seemed extreme. However, I felt that the chances of running into so many dead ends seemed incredibly remote, and despite the laws of probability working against me thus far, it seemed highly unlikely that I would fail again. This made me even more determined to find a shop, so I headed towards Koyla, a rooftop cafe in the same neighbourhood. Despite the cafe being listed on my map, I couldn't find it at all on the actual street. I read the description of the restaurant (Lonely Planet will often write tips on how to find a place if it is oddly located) only to discover that this particular cafe closes at 2, and isn't even open Mondays.

I was sweating heavily by this point, and my mouth was parched (partly because of the decongestants I've been taking). I decided to walk back towards the house, to try Leopolds Cafe, the most popular traveller's hangout in the city. Part way there, I came to an intersection with a traffic officer in the middle. He was vigorously directing traffic off a side road onto the main road, and the opposing direction on this side road had already been cleared of traffic. A couple police cars sped by, and I realized that these were the lead cars for a dignitary who was in the city (this used to happen frequently in Delhi).

Cars, motor cycles, and taxis passing through the intersection on the main road came to a standstill and drivers ceased their normally incessant honking as they waited for the convoy to pass. Pedestrians were halted, and everyone, including tourists, shoppers, street vendors, and a man selling maps of the world (who buys these maps? who!?) stopped. Local shopkeepers waited quietly in front of their stores, wondering (like everyone else) who the VIP was, and what kind of luxury car they would be in. An odd silence settled over the intersection; I say odd, because this is Mumbai, and silence in itself is a strange and disconcerting occurance. Talking was limited to a gentle murmur, as the convoy approached.

The convoy was big, and the main car was an impressive, late-model Mercedes saloon, followed by less impressive Ambassador sedans, minivans, and other police cars. The flags on the Mercedes were from some small and insignificant country (I really hope I don't get an angry email from somebody in Malta or perhaps Burkina Faso tomorrow). When the last car finally went by, the police officer waived his hand in the air, as if to say "Chaos, resume!". The intersection roared back to life.

I crossed the intersection and eventually arrived at Leopolds. I ordered a cappuchino, only to be told that they weren't serving cappuchino, and weren't even serving coffee. I didn't bother to ask why. The waiter was apologetic as I stood up, and walked out. I felt a little defeated as I walked towards a second Barista location; I was certain that this one would be open, but it was usually busy, and kind of boring compared to the other options. However, the cappuchino was good, and my need for coffee was satisfied.

I'm headed to Aurangabad next, and will be alone (without friends or family) for the first time in a couple weeks. I will hopefully have more to write then.

-Udai

Returning to Delhi

"Are we headed to customs?" I asked the man beside me. I had spoken with him for nearly two hours on the plane, and thought it would be polite to walk with him from the boarding ramp to Indian customs. For some reason, he was speaking with a group of airport security people.

"Well, my father-in-law is the DIG (Deputy Inspector General) of the Delhi Police. I could get us around the customs line. It's a thirty minute wait to get through the line."

I thought carefully about this. Many Indians rant about corruption in this country, and I began to wonder if I should willingly partake in some small element of it. I decided that to use this connection (just this once) would be an interesting cultural experience... and in truth, it would be fun to be 'that jerk' who manages to circumvent all the bureaucratic bull-shit that goes on at Indira Gandhi airport.

We waited for a few minutes with the guards, and one of them asked us in Hindi to take a seat. My friend replied "we've been sitting for 4 hours. We'll stand for a little while". The security guard replied "Sir, if you don't sit, we can't sit," suggesting that she didn't want to look bad in front of her superiors, sitting down when a semi-important visitor (my friend) was passing through the airport.

An official eventually gave us the go-ahead and he walked us past the enormous line up at customs. I kept my head down through most of it, not wanting to see the angry looks which were undoubtedly being sent in our direction.

I left the airport and took a prepaid taxi towards Anand Niketan, a stone's throw away from Shanti Niketan where I used to live. I felt odd about returning to this area; I am used to feeling like a backpacker when I land in a city, but here, I almost felt like a local. I say almost, because I still can't speak Hindi, and mostly hung out with expatriates when I was here previously.

My lifestyle here for the last couple days is definitely a step up from the backpacker life. I've been staying with my friend Mihir (I wrote a blog entry about him two years ago) in his swanky bungalow, with my own room, which is fantastic compared to the cramped dorm I stayed at in Bangkok.

I can't think about anything else worth writing about.
ttyl,
Udai

The Surreal Life

Phnom Penh wasn't terribly different from what I expected upon getting off the bus. It was noisy, crowded, and the tuk-tuk drivers were all competing vigorously to get customers. I was however, surprised by No. 9 Guesthouse.

Lonely Planet (SE Asia Edition) recommends that when checking in to No. 9, one should look at a few rooms before deciding which one to sleep in. Indeed, the first room I looked at had no sink. There was a toilet, a shower, a bucket, and a faucet to fill the bucket (presumably to flush the toilet) but no sink, and no mirror.

"Do you have a room with a sink?" I asked the men at reception, chuckling a bit (it was an absurd situation, so laughter was necessary). In fact, they did have another room, for the same price (US$4) , and it was fully equipped (it even had a mirror!). Mind you, I found out later that the sinkless rooms can be bought for $3, if you're willing to haggle.

I made my way to the common area, where a handful of people were watching Team America. Upon passing the tv, I quickly realized what made No. 9 popular, despite the lack of sinks, and the disorganized staff. The back of the hostel looks out onto Boeng Kak lake, a small lake measuring only one kilometer in diameter. Despite the fact that it is really a giant waste outlet for surrounding businesses, and the fact that it is an enormous breeding ground for mosquitos, Boeng Kak lake is also one of the few places in the city where one can quietly lounge in an easychair with a 50 cent pint of Angkor, while watching the sunset. With a liberal amount of mosquito spray, and a bit of Bob Marley playing, it almost feels like a beach.

The staff have added several couches, hammocks, and a pool table to the covered section of the deck. They have also discreetly decided to give happy hour prices every hour to those who have stayed for more than one night (50 cent Angkor, all the time). Combined with the tv, and a giant selection of movies, it becomes easy to see why people spend more time in Phnom Penh then they planned. Invariably, people eagerly drink the beer, only to wake up late, watch movies, play pool, and start all over again with happy hour around sunset. I can't claim it is a productive lifestyle, but it is a thoroughly enjoyable one. I watched parts of Team America repeatedly, saw the Borat movie, watched the Killing Fields (that one wasn't so much fun), watched the end of Curious George, and saw Clerks 2 (I haven't even seen Clerks 1 yet).

Alright, I did also see the National Museum, the Tuong Sleng Museum, and the real Killing Fields. The last one deserves special mention; there are still bones and fragments of clothing sticking up from the ground at the killing fields of Choeung Ek. It was uncomfortable to see, but definitely one of those things that a person should force themselves to experience.

Well, that's it from me. I'm back in Bangkok. Will write more later.
-Udai

Seam Reap

Siem Reap is not the prettiest city in Cambodia, and probably isn't even close. The city has exploded as of late, in an attempt to cope with the massive number of tourists who visit the temples of Angkor. This was of concern to me; it was a priority of mine to spend a lot of time at the temples, but I didn't want to spend an excessive amount time in the city, or around massive tour groups.

I had read that hiring a bicycle was one of the best ways to get around the city, so I found a fancy mountain bike that was being rented out for $2 a day, and made my way towards the southern most of the temples, Angkor Wat. Despite the fact that there is only one, fairly well-marked and well-travelled road to Angkor, I managed to get lost. I found myself on the side of a wide and recently-constructed road with rice paddies on the left, and an enormous construction site on the right. I stopped by a small vendor on the side of the road who was selling drinks and cigarettes.

I said "Is this the way to Angkor Wat?". "Uh.. Angkor" he said affirmatively with a smile, and pointed down the road. "But is this the way to Angkor Wat" I asked, not wanting to be led to any of the other temple complexes. He was unsure, so I took out a map. He struggled, looking as though he had never seen a map of the city before. "I only start work here few weeks back," he said, chuckling.

I glanced back to where I had come from, and then in the direction of where I was planning on going. I resolved to continue, kicking myself for not having researched this more thoroughly beforehand. Eventually, I made it to a small booth on the side of the road which said "Angkor Admission" on it. I asked the people there which direction Angkor Wat was in, and they told me that I was more than a few kilometers east of the main route to the temple, and even had to backtrack two kilometers to buy a ticket before being admitted.

When I finally made it to Angkor Wat after having shelled out US$60 for a weekly pass, I was drenched in sweat and exhausted. However, I wasn't at all disapointed. I'm not going to attempt to describe the temples, except to say that they are vast, beautiful, and often mysterious (click here to see some pictures on google images). I was a little disappointed with the sheer volume of tour groups that were roaming the complexes, but learned that they could be avoided with patience. Even the smaller temples had quiet areas where one could read without being disturbed, so it was just a matter of finding these spots. At Angkor Thom (the old city centre), I even found some smaller temples that were entirely deserted.

I have since left Seam Reap, and have been to Phnom Penh, and am now in Sihanoukville, a beach-front city in Southern Cambodia. I'm only a week away from heading to India, which I'm really excited about. I'm trying to make the most of my last week in SE Asia though, and will definitely have some more entries from here.

ttyl,
Udai