2 Weeks in Kerala

We left Hampi and returned to Goa by train for 1 night to catch a flight from Goa to Trivandrum the next morning. We stayed in a nothing-town in Goa called Vasco de Gama, because it was just two blocks from the train station where we arrived and only 3 km from the airport. We ended up at the wrong hotel, but it had the same name as the one where I had made the reservation (Hotel Vasco—how original). Considering that it was too muggy outside to drag our luggage around and try and find the other Hotel Vasco (trying to get directions to anywhere in India will be a whole separate post), and also we were tired from traveling (the train took 9 hours rather than 7), we decided just to stay at the wrong hotel, despite it costing a bit more. (And honestly the promise of a hot shower was enticing enough for me—despite the fact that in the end the water heater didn't work!) The building looked not unlike many we had already seen in Goa—very large, dirty, and quite bombed out. Basically old British colonial homes or barracks that haven't been taken care of since India gained independence some 50 years ago—the walls are all smudged with dirt, wires and rods stick out everywhere, the plumbing is a bit suspect. (In fact at our quaint guesthouse in Hampi, the pipe from the bathroom sink just stuck out the bottom of the sink and emptied out onto the bathroom floor. Nathan didn't notice at first and after he brushed his teeth, his spit just went down the sink through the pipe and right onto his feet!)

We slept well (generally I am woken up in the middle of the night or very early morning by the sounds of either: street dogs violently fighting, roosters crowing, auto-rickshaws honking, or women sweeping) and woke up hungry for breakfast before our flight. I usually prefer a “western breakfast” (toast, eggs, granola, fruit, pineapple juice) which has been pretty easy to find in most towns, but when it's not available I opt for the masala dosa—an Indian breakfast that is like a large crispy crepe filled with a mash of sauteed potatoes, onions and hot peppers, and various dipping sauces. We headed to a divey little cafe right around the corner from our hotel—that looked a bit dingey at first—but we went in and I proceeded to have the best masala dosa in the world. It was not only delicious, but also only 18 Rupees (about 40 cents). Since then I've had several masala dosas but none have compared in taste and usually cost 2 or 3 times as much. Sigh.

Later that day, we flew from Goa to Bangalore to Trivandrum on regional airlines. I won't get into it, but the Goa airport was kind of a joke—you couldn't really tell where we were supposed to go (and again, asking for directions just makes things even more convoluted), which line to wait in (the only clear sign at one point was a separate security line for women), or when your flight is boarding from the gate. (Essentially it's just a madhouse of crowds in different areas of the terminal and by luck and persistence you will end up in the right place at the right time.) Despite the fact that the security line in Bangalore was similarly ridiculous (you're not allowed to bring any liquids at all in your carry-on, yet when they found a ziplock bag of them in Nathan's luggage they showed it to each other and laughed and let him pass through with it; yet my bottle opener that I've dragged through security checks in LA, London, Paris and Mumbai over the past 2 months was confiscated) our layover was really nice and productive—as Bangalore is the tech capital of India, the terminals were spiffy and provided free wifi (so I used the time to book future train trips and guesthouse reservations).

I was excited to get to Trivandrum, as it is the capital of the southern state Kerala—well known as the most beautiful region in India and monikered “God's own country.” Most tourists go directly to Kovalam, an overdeveloped beach town some 12 km south of Trivandrum, but being kind of tired of beach towns and sunburnt Europeans, we decided to stay in the city for a couple of nights before moving on. It ended up being a disappointment though—it was HOT HOT HOT and there was lots of traffic (human and auto), and the sidewalks are completely torn apart so you have to fight for space to walk on the road next to busses and cars which are constantly honking at you to move. Even the sidewalks in front of these brand new buildings—five star hotels and glistening office towers—were completely unwalkable—just made of mounds of rubble and huge potholes. While we had planned to spend only one full day in Trivandrum to see the city's main attraction (for Nathan's birthday!)—the zoo and neighboring art museum— it ended up being closed for the day (Monday was all of a sudden a holiday) so instead we went out for pizza and stayed on an additional half day to go the next morning (and the zoo was slightly disappointing as well, although seeing hippos in real life was fun, and wouldn't you know it the museum was closed until March too.)

One of the best experiences we had in Trivandrum was surprisingly at...the post office! Because we had some time to kill on Monday we decided to lighten our load by shipping some things back to the US. We arrived at the post office and asked where we could get a box, or large envelope only to be shooed away (this happens all the time) toward an alley on the other side of the building, with the simple directive, “stitching, stitching.” Because asking to elaborate usually ends up getting you even more lost or confused, we just decided to go for it and headed into this trashed alley adjacent to the post office to a doorway with a sign that says....stitching! We looked in and there was a shirtless man, half asleep at a table in a room no larger than a walk-in closet. We approached him with our packages and a quizzical look and he motioned us in and asked us to sit down. Without saying a word, he measured our packages and then some canvas material and proceeded to make pillowcase-like covers on an antique manual sewing machine for our stuff. He then wrapped our our goods in newspaper and stuffed them into the cases, sewed up the last open edges and sealed it with red wax, and handed them to us to bring to the post office. The whole thing was pretty awesome and Nathan got some great pictures. Can you imagine if you had to go to a tailor to have a custom envelope made every single time you wanted to send a package? Insanity!

We left Trivandrum and began to head back north towards Goa, working our way throughout Kerala. The train tide up to our next town, Varkala was a sweet 45 minutes. Varkala is a quiet cliff-side town right on the beach. While the views were amazing (beach, sky, cliffs—a total postcard paradise), there are only so many sunburnt Europeans and yoga snobs one wants to see, and Varkala was full of them. To cater to them (and I guess, us) the only path along the cliff was so packed with same restaurant after same restaurant after tourist shop after tourist shop with the occasional German bakery thrown in to break up the monotony. We went for a long walk down the path, out of the tourist zone to the “black sand beach” that wasn't as pristine, but where we could get away for a bit and see some of the real Indian beach life (ramshackle fishing huts, tired men huddled out front).

Varkala is relatively expensive, and since we were'nt really feeling it anyway we left the next morning for a town just an hour north by train, Kollam. We had planned to go just for a day, to take a boat tour of the backwaters and spend the night in a crumbling old mansion-turned-guesthouse 3km north of the city. These old British colonial government houses are legendary amongst travelers—giant, beautiful, aging and inexpensive. The only downside is that usually you cannot book them in advance—just show up in the morning to see if there's availability. I was surprised when I called the day before, to see what protocol was, when they offered to reserve a room for us. We were disappointed to see that when we got there though, the mansion was undergoing total renovation, and a much smaller and more modern house next door was serving as its substitute. We decided to leave Kollam, and luckily our rickshaw driver was still around. He dropped us off at the bus station where we had our first holy-shit-bus experience.

At the prospect of staying in the government mansion, we had cancelled our train tickets that would have let us bypass Kollam straight for Aleppey (which by train would have been only another 45 minutes north). Not wanting to chance that we'd have to wait around too long for another train, or whether we'd even be able to get on it (trains sell out days in advance, making it difficult to have more fly-by-night plans), we decided to take the “Super Fast Express” bus—a 2 hour limited stop journey. The busses are like retro-fitted old school busses—painted insane colors and designs on the outside, with very limited comforts inside. It's hard to describe the bus ride as anything other than madness, and Nathan captured some of it on video. Basically the roads are very narrow, and since this was the main north-south drag, it was croweded with busses (tour and public), taxis, private cars, autorickshaws, work vehicles (like dumptrucks or other grumbling along heavy loads) and of course...cows. There are no road signs, no traffic lights, and in this particular situation, no lines on the road. It's seemingly a free-for-all, yet after watching the traffic patterns for a while you learn there are certain ingrained rules of who gets to pass whom (the bigger and faster are usually at the top of the pecking order). Busses honk and swerve completely into the other lane, driving smaller and slower vehicles off the road. No one seems to mind, and in fact if you are one of those bottom feeder vehicles, you better get out of the way, otherwise you've violated the unwritten rules and you get the snide “head turn” from other drivers. As terriffic as this all was, I was glad we hadn't taken our rickshaw driver up on his offer to take us all the way to Alleppey.

Alleppey isn't much to write home about. It calls itself “the Venice of the East” because the city is divided up by a couple of canals, but it's really just a filthy little town with two trashy, dirty waterways running through it, with the appeal that you can take a nice backwater tour through the waterways to some nicer islands close by. Which is exactly what we did! It was serene yet odd—quite and beautiful but then we would come across these little neighborhoods on these scrawny peninsulas that were far from any real town. People would jump on and off our ferry, we assumed they were going to work in the rice fields, or out to catch fish for the day. We passed people openly bathing, and men would would dive down like birds into the shallow rivers catching fish with their hands. Nathan took some pictures and video footage along our 3 hour journey so hopefully that can be posted soon. Once we got to the town (Kotyam), we took a tour of a nearby bird sanctuary (in nearby Kumarakom, where we heard many, but only say one...and some fruit bats) and then up to “the angry Shiva temple” at dusk in Ettumanur where we heard a chant bellowed to the tune of “OM AHHH YAAA SHIVAAYAAA” loudly over and over again as tons of devotees flocked inside (where, as non-Hindus, we were not allowed), and men “who have problems they need help with” rolled around one next to another, around the temple, like a human conveyor belt of prayer. I felt a little overwhelmed—it was the first time I really felt religion in my face (and ears, and rolling around me) since we've been to India.

(A funny sidestory about Alleppey was that there was an older Canadian couple who stayed in the only other room next to ours. This happened to be the same couple that stayed in the palm hut next to us at the Blue Corner in Goa—who heard me (as you could hear EVERYTHING in those huts) not only suffer from my initiating case of Kerala Belly in the hut, but also describe the gross details to my mom one morning as I related all of them to her on the phone (for commisseration). When the husband realized who I was (his wife who I had encountered alone at first didn't), he brought up the Blue Corner, and a knowing and squeamish face came over her. )

Underwhelmed with Alleppey though (and tired of the sweltering heat), we were excited to head further north up to Kochi—a quaint little port city, where we stayed in the Fort area (far from loud Ernkalum, it's major loud city). Kochi was a nice change of pace and scene from what we'd seen so far in Kerala. It was more cosmopolitan that the beaches we'd visited, yet not nearly as noisy as any of the cities. We compared it a bit to Hampi—not too touristy, not too rustic—just the right mix of people and things to do and a place to relax but not get too comfortable. On the night of the day that the bomb went off in the German bakery in Pune, we were having dinner outside near the street when an Islamic group came by, blaring through it's megaphone...something...about something. I know it's nothing to worry about, especially because later we saw some posters for an Islamic community engagement that weekend, but we couldn't help but feel a little tense afterward. Some parts of India feel like Florida or Caribbean resorts, but then sometimes things like Pune happen and you have to remember where you are. But, still, Kochi was nice--there's a beach and market area, 2 blocks of shops and restaurants, a beautiful basilica (that we stayed right next to), another old palace, and shopping area called Jew Town, where one day we saw a head-to-toe Hasidic Jew riding a bike (and suddenly I was really homesick for Brooklyn). We spent most of our nights there cooling off in a spartan beer hall (one of the few to serve beer, as again alcohol is banned in many places or liquor licenses are tough to obtain) where we became familiar with a strange brew called Hayward 5000 STRONG. (Prompting the phrases that would later come: “Hayward strong, Banta weak” and “Heeyyy waaard you like another beer?”)

We spent a long day traveling from Kochi to Ernkalum to Calicut to Mananthavady and finally to Tholpetty where we would spend the next few days far removed from civilization in the Jungle. The 3 hour bus ride to Mananthavady was pretty intense, we went far up into the hills, where our driver had to nimbly make 9 hairpin turns on a narrow road with a cliff on one side. We saw people surrounding one of the cliff areas on our way up, and later learned that a bus had not been so nimble, and had gone off the side of the road, down the cliff. We stayed in a nice guesthouse just across the street from the entrance to the Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary. We took jungle tours twice—once at dawn, and once at dusk—where we saw elephants (one even charged after us), bison, rattlesnakes, monkeys, crazy squirrels and all kinds of birds (including an eagle), visited some beautiful waterfalls, and ate some incredible meals—all cooked by the caretaker of our guesthouse.

We left Kerala to go back to Goa, on an overnight train where we had a bit of a logistical problem. I had moved from the waiting list to an actual seat, but Nathan hadn't. We weren't sure what to do, so we were instructed to just both get on the train. We ended up sharing one of the berths (a metal cot/seat) for the whole 10 hour trip, and neither of us got much sleep. In Goa, this time we stayed in the north region—one night in Arambol, which we found too overrun with Eurotrash, so then down to quiet Candolim Beach for a few nights, where we stayed in an amazing older house, in a room with high ceilings and lots of space.  We explored the old fort, which is right on the cliffs overlooking the sea.  Quite pretty.

We left Goa yesterday and flew up to Lucknow—the capital of Uttar Pradesh. We're done with our month in the South and will spend the next 4 weeks traveling the north of India. More to come soon...

Photos

This computer actually seems halfway "fast" so I want to try to post a couplep photos. (My video won't load, for some reason...) Well, here's a few shots. Think of them as teasers for my longer posts, if I ever get around to them.

Brittany and Lakshmi, the temple elephant.


The view from where we eat breakfast in Hampi.

Who's this guy? And why is he sewing us a pillow?

Taking a ferry into the backwater. Basically just a local bus, but on the water.




Langur monkeys!


We "had" to pass back through Goa on the way north.

Okay, that's all for now. Lot more where these came from. On to Lucknow.

Insanely Belated Goa Post

We sleep the whole day on the train south, arrive in Margoa by night. We ask for The Blue Corner, and our rickshaw driver drops us off at darkened stretch of sand and grass. There's a dim lone lantern hanging about 100 meters off inside some kind of thatch shed so we lug our bags in that direction. But no need to fear. Beyond a rise, we find a cluster of huts, one of them ours, and beyond that a restaurant and bar stretching out onto the sand.

Goa's a palm tree and sand kind of place where tourists come to burn themselves black and sip beers under umbrellas. Not much to do but eat and read and watch the fishing boats out at sea.

We have our first fresh pineapple juices. We drink it every day afterward as well. Why have we not been drinking these all our lives?

For dinner, I ask about that day's fish and the waiter brings us five dangling fish to inspect, a sea bass, king fish, a small hammer-headed shark--all with that sad fish frown. I pick a pomphret, a local flat fish that I read about. It's cooked whole with butter lemon and garlic. Delicious!

The sari and sarong women descend on you during the day. They all have the same pitch: tell you their name, make you promise to look again later in the day. B finally buys one, and an angry group of other women surround her, "but you promised US."

Later we wonder if there's some confusion when we say, "Sorry, sorry," to them as they show their wares.

The ocean is warm, and mild, and shallow for a long way out.

We stay two nights in the hut, then move to a colorful orange guest house halfway between the beach and the tiny tourist town. Our hosts mostly ignore us. One day we see them setting up seats and decorations in their dirty driveway and they tell us it's a "holy communion." A little gir in a sparkling pink dress, so she must be the one. That night there's singing and machine-gun fireworks.

A rooster wakes us up. LONG before the dawn. Cows wander in street and in the yards between houses. A dog barks and piglets run for cover. B has been scared of dogs since I told her rabies can be spread by a lick from a monkey or dog. At breakfast a small golden dog sneaks up and licks her leg beneath the table, then trots away, quite satisfied with himself.

We rent a motor scooter. I practice in front of the rental shop, a woman's house. B is not impressed. "I'm not getting on that thing." I can't say I blame her. It takes me awhile to get the knack. "Easy," says the scooter woman. "Children drive it." Finally, after a few practice trip up and down the road to the beach, I convince B to climb aboard.

We want to go to Chandor, a nearby town. The scooter rental woman tells us the way: "Straight, straight, just straight down this road. I know. My mother is from Chandor. No left no right, just straight, straight. I know."

Within 500 meters our street run into a larger street. There is no straight. Two girls point us in the right direction. But once we get to Margao we are lost again. People seem to want to help, but a man on a motorcycle with a child sends us one way, and a group of young men at a snack stand send us back. And so it goes. No street signs. Never sure if we're going the right way. Pulling over whenever we see someone to ask for help, but only getting vague waves back. At last we leave the town. The scenery is beautiful. Rice paddies, a winding road like a snake. We DO see children driving scooters, also whole families on scooters, also stacks of boxes on scooters held together somehow by a boy riding on back. "Are we close to Chandor?" we ask again to a woman standing in the shade. She looks confused. "Chandor, Chandor?" we beg. "This is Chandor," she says.

We went to Chandor to see a 400 year old Portuguese mansion that was built divided in half for two brothers long ago. For awhile we can't find anyone and wander in the shadowed outer stairs and walkways. After some knocking, the two massive wooden doors open, and we've given a tour by a portly gassy coughing guide, who, once you get past his accent, actually speaks some of the best English we have encountered. His side of the house is rather shabby. While the ballroom is still impressive with its chandeliers and gleaming tiles, and there are a few interesting antiques, such as a fake-drawer that opens into a chamber pot, the place is also filled with kitsch and trash. The highlight though, inner chapel holding, encased in gold, the fingernail of St. Francis Xavier. Shortly after that, he draws our attention to an old refrigerator that no longer works. Beyond a closed door we hear a child cry, and our guide tells us that is a 16th-generation member of the family.

On the other side we are greeted by an old woman, surely in her eighties who has lived her whole life in this mansion in the middle of nowhere. It is a treasure trove of china, gorgeous furniture inlaid with pearl, sandelwood chairs, ivory, heirlooms and artifacts. She seems to only want to tell us the age of each in a prerecorded voice "three hundred years old, one hundred fifty, two hundred years old..." but I'm more interested in an old photo of a woman in pearls and a fancy dress. "Who's this?" "My mother," the lady says. The dining room seats eighty, all served with matching tableware from China. "We haven't had big dinners for a long time," she says. "You grew up here?" "Yes, but I was not allowed to play inside."

On the way home we particularly enjoy a long stretch of road surrounded by farms and greenery. After awhile it becomes clear to us that we driving the wrong way again.

We are bored of Goa. It is very nice, but we're restless already to move on, see what else India has got.

Belated Mumbai Post

Our airport taxi driver pulls over inexplicably as we start to leave the airport area, walks away. A woman with a child begins begging at B's window. Out of an upstairs airport facility window, someone throws out a bucketful of brown water and trash. Okay, we're a little freaked out.

On the ride from the Mumbai airport. A man riding a bicycle through the slum with two exquisitely and traditionally dressed boys perched on each handle bar. Our first sight of Brahmin Cows pulling an old man perched on a cart made out of an oil drum.

"Honk please OK" painted on the back of most cars. You can't possibly see where everyone is. You need them to tell you. You can't possibly dodge every vehicle, you have to have to honk and have faith they'll hear you, avoid you.

Groups of boys in flared pants and silk shirts strut among the traffic and madness of the slums. It's a disco look. Everyone has great posture here.

How do these houses not fall down? Three stories high and made out of paper and twigs by all appearances.

The grandeur of the British buildings in Fort. Now there are huts built on massive granite balconies. B: "It's like aliens landed on an abandoned planet."

Our Mumbai hotel, a shabby but clean affair, must have twenty bellhops, from kids to old men. They sleep, read newspapers, eat in the hallways. There's a window in the hall outside our door so they conglomerate there. I've seen some sitting in empty rooms watching cricket on television. We had an "A/C" room so a group of four kids carried in an AC unit for the window. One oversaw the action from the hall. It seems like in India, like they say about ancient Rome, ancient Egypt, the technology that powers the society is human-power, just lots and lots of people.

I'm constantly curious about the economics of things. Who gets paid, how much? At night the staff of restaurants sleep on and under the tables they served food on. Is this their pay?

The book talks about how the Mumbai slums are a massive recycling factory made up of a million single rooms. Melting down tin, saving scrap silicon, turning rocks into gravel.

At times this country seems TOO efficient. A squatting man soaks up extra oil at a gas station to us for... what? There's a leak in a hose outside a museum and ten women gather to use the water for laundry. Everywhere you look is a testament to human resilience and creativity. And also to a population exploded out of control. The planet can support this many people, probably billions more, but do we always need to test that maximum capacity?

From our hotel window we watch the people sleeping on the roof below us waking up. Someone dressed in fancier clothing comes and wakes them rudely up. Most of them go back to sleep after he leaves, but one old starts doing laundry in a bucket. When we get back that night she's still at it.

Just beyond the roof filled with sleeping people is the Gothic and grandiose Victoria Terminal.

Part of the thrill of India is like watching the dynamics of an anthill, except you're an ant yourself. How does it all work? How do people know where to go? What to eat? What to pay? What to carry? How do I fit into all this?

First night out, while B sleeps. No street signs. Too scared for now to venture off the main roads into the teeming back alleys. A kitten tries to cross the street, walking first under a temporarily stopped taxi. There must be seven more vehicles to pass to get to the other side. It seems like certain death. I can't watch.

Everywhere you see people squatting flatfooted. Working on something, resting, brushing their teeth. It's very hard to do. Try it. Your legs and ankles start to hurt.

Potato chips flavored after different Indian meals. Yum.

Jet lag. We can't seem to stay up late enough for the sunset. We We wake up in the middle of the night. "You awake?" "You awake?" The honking has miraculously died down. Where are we?

Kids playing cricket across a Mumbai street. They have to play around buses and dogs and cows. I feel like this is a good example of the life-stacked-upon-life quality found everywhere in India. If there's an extra seat on your scooter than someone will be sitting on it, if there's a patch of earth between the railroad tracks than someone will plant some banana trees there. (This is from our first few days in India...)

Hampi

We are now in Hampi (that's the view from our rooftop cafe), an ancient royal and religious town known for it's bazaar and many temples (and as far as I can tell, monkeys!), in the Karnataka region. We arrived here by train from Goa after a relatively short 6 hour eastbound ride. It's pretty amazing--the landscape is gorgeous--it's in the desert and there are boulders and temples and tropical plants and trees (including large mango ones and banana forests), and then there are these amazing temples sticking out all over the place. The bazaar is really impressive too--it lines the main street and you can still buy all kinds of fine jewelry, silver, and gems there. We haven't done any shopping yet, but I think we're going to make our rounds today to see if we can pick up some genuinely nice things to bring home. The streets around the bazaar are very small and winding, making it easy and fun to get lost without going very far. We' are staying in a nice guesthouse (called Vicky's if you want to google it) on one of the side-streets that has a restaurant on the roof with some of the best views of the city (and hot showers!). At night, the goats come in from pasture and it's quite a little parade, with the two baby goats being carried by their shepherd (?) at the caboose (it's quite a sight and really adorable). Every morning we have breakfast up on the roof and it's pretty amazing to see the temples in the distance, and monkeys climbing all over the rooftops of neighboring buildings. There's a terrace with some chairs and a swing just outside of our room that affords us the opportunity to be total voyeurs of the people all over the street, and it's where Nathan has been able to get some writing done in the mornings while it's not too hot outside. We are right near the river too (I can't remember what it's called--everything here has an impossibly long name) so we've had a nice breeze and some cool nights as well. Although the days here are hot and dry, we've been exploring much of our surroundings. We've visited several temples, where Hanuman seems to be pretty popular (he is the monkey god!) and there are of course several statues and carvings of Krishna, Vishnu and his wife Lakshmi. Shiva's image can be found everywhere (including a paper mask of him perched on our neighbor's roof), and we've noticed several people in town with 3 white line markings on their foreheads which indicates they are of a particular sect that honors Shiva (while apparently a white V means you are a loyal follower of Krisha and Vishnu). One night we climbed some boulders behind a temple to watch the sunset--we've tried to take some pictures of this one and the sun over the Arabian Sea, but I don't think we were able to capture just how incredible it is here. We also visited some ancient baths, watchtowers, and royal elephant stables. Today (our last day here) we are going to explore the Virupaksha temple right in the center of the city and hopefully see its resident elephant (also called Lakshmi) who will kiss you for a coin.

Because of Hampi's religious significance, it is illegal to consume meat and alcohol within the city's borders. After a long day of touring temples with our guide Sado and his trusty auto-rickshaw (more on him later), Nathan and I were craving a cold beer pretty badly, so we paid 15 Rupees (about 30 cents) to cross the river in a motorboat to the city on the other side (known for it's more laid back atmosphere and several ashrams) where we could have one (although they are not listed on the menu). We also found out that some of the restaurants in Hampi do serve beer, but are extremely secretive about it. Last night our waiter made a special run out for a 6 pack of Kingfisher for Nathan and I and a table of 4 seated near us. He was gone for a while, so I assume he either crossed the river or went into Hospet (the closest train station town) to pick some up. They ended up costing about twice as much as they should, and we had to hide them under our table during dinner which made things interesting.

We leave tomorrow morning--back to Goa (staying right near the Vasco de Gama train station and close to the Dabolim airport) for one night before flying down to Trivandrum on Sunday. Trivandrum is right near the southernmost point of India and is the capital of the region of Kerala--supposedly one of the most beautiful places on earth-- jungles, beaches, wildlife preserves, and old british hill train stations.. We will spend two weeks making our way north through Kerala before arriving in Goa (again, but this time in the northern part) to see our friend from New York for a few days.

I planned on uploading some pictures today, but apparently, despite bringing 8 million different cords, the one that connects my camera to the computer was not one of them. Nathan's taken some pictures on another camera, but he uses it mostly for short videos (which I also tried to upload, but this particular computer will not accept). Hopefully he can try to put them up later, and I'll just have to wait until we get home to put up mine!

Goa

From Mumbai we took the train down to South Goa. The ride was about 12 hours, and we opted for a day train because it's supposedly one of the most scenic rides in India (although I passed out cold around noon for the rest of the trip, missing the best views). Figuring out the train system has been one of the most stressful things about India. There are 7 different classes of cars, and other than their prices, we couldn't really decipher the differences when we were booking our first seats. We ended up riding in 3AC for this trip, which is the 3rd class from the top and is air conditioned. This means there were 8 people total in our "berth" (which is like a section of a train car you share), six people in the main area, with 2 rows of 3 bunk beds that the seats fold out into at night, and then one set of two seats/bunks on the side. For a long day trip, it was rather pleasant and we made conversation with one of the Indian women traveling to see her friends in Goa. Men walk up and down the aisles, selling chai tea, coffee, samosas and dosas, but we instead ate the lunch that was provided by the Indian Rail (Chinese food, which is as ubiquitous here as it is in New York.) You have to book train seats well in advance or risk being put on the wait list, where you don't find out if you're guaranteed a seat until a few hours before departure. This is a bit frustrating since we wanted to have more leeway in deciding how long to remain in one region before traveling on, yet we found out you can always book multiple tickets on different days and cancel them for just pennies (and a refund) if your waitlisted seat ends up becoming available.

That night when we arrived in Goa, a taxi took us to the town of Benaulim Beach in the south region where we stayed for the next week. When the driver dropped us off on this remote road late at night and just motioned toward a light in the distance as our destination, we felt a little unsure about it, but after a just a couple of minutes walk toward the beach we saw the sign for our place, their nice restaurant, and the warm Arabian Sea. For our first two nights, we slept in palm huts right on the beach (called the Blue Corner, if you want to google it). It's as rustic as it soundsc (but had eletricity, a mosquito net-covered bed and nice slate floor shower). I read that every monsoon season they wash away into the sea and are rebuilt for the next tourist season.

Goa is a popular vacation destination for Europeans, Russians, and north Indians. (In some ways it reminded me of the Florida Keys, except in Goa there are cows, pigs, dogs and chickens running amok). We knew this coming in, but we thought it might be nice to have a softer entry into India where we could get our bearings before moving on (and it was). Although the locals on the beach and main streets are constantly beckoning you to come in and buy their goods, Goa is almost TOO relaxed: beaching, eating fresh fish (Nathan had a pomphret that was freshly caught one day), napping, drinking fresh fruit drinks, so we felt a little bored rather quickly. We decided to move from the remote huts into a much cheaper guesthouse (essentially a furnished room in a house, like in a bed and breakfast-$7.50/night as opposed to $25 at the hut) that was down the road between the beach and the main town. We slept long hours, but every morning around 4am the neighboring rooster would begin crowing this insane version of cock-a-doodle-do, and we'd be up til 6am or so before crashing again til 7:30 or 8. Most days we got up early, ate breakfast (the eggs here are some of the freshest and best I've ever had, and a cold fresh pineapple juice has become standard fare), walked on the beach, swam in the sea, and returned to the restaurant at the Blue Corner for dinner since they had the best food and atmosphere of all the local restaurants. We rented a motorscooter one day, and after Nathan spent a couple of hours driving up and down the main road to get the feel for it, we took a trip out to this old Portugese mansion in a middle-of-nowhere town called Chandor (where we got lost coming to and going from, but had some great serendipitous scenic views along the way). The house was built by two brothers, each lived in one side, and now their descendants (14th and 15th generations) still live there. We were given a tour of both sides of the house-- each has aged differently over time, but both have grand ballrooms full of Chinese porcelain, silk love seats, and crystal chandeliers. The woman who gave us a tour of her family's side must have been 80+ years old, and had lived in the house her whole life. (There's Nathan + scooter + mansion on the left...)

We spent quite a bit of time in the internet cafe, planning our next moves before we left Goa (on Tuesday) for a town 6 hours east (that I will write about tomorrow before we leave). Nathan has been busy working, but I hope he will have some time to write his thoughts on Mumbai and South Goa and fill in some gaps that I've missed.

First India Post!

First off, sorry for the delay in writing this first post.  We've only been here one week, but it's been hectic and crazy (in a good way).  We arrived in Mumbai last Monday, and as the plane descended we could see all of the slums surrounding the airport.  It was a really incredible way to enter the country, and we were both pretty astonished to find out that it is the largest slum in India.  (I think 8 million people live there.)  Despite the horror stories we heard about trying to leave the airport and get a taxi to our hotel, everything went rather smoothly.  Our cab driver wasn't a talker, and Nathan and I were both too stunned by the freeway and the sights along it to carry on typical post-flight chatter.  Cars, auto-rickshaws, mopeds and cows crowd the highway, each vehicle blaring it's horn to warn the one in front of it that it's coming up behind.  The slums along the edges are such a sight too, it's just one ramshackle hut after another, and they go on and on and on but everyone seems so industrious.  Everyone is doing something--embroidering shirts, sewing soft shoes, selling goods, or more likely, picking up trash and carrying tons of it in bags on their heads.  (We figure the reason that so many people here have great posture is that they carry loads of things on their heads--we saw men leaving the train station with giant baskets of flowers on their heads one early morning, and the women selling saris on the beach typically carry them that way too.)

After a bit of miscommunication with our driver and the fact that street names are hard to come by, we got a bit lost but ultimately made it to our hotel in the Fort area of Mumbai which is near the giant Victoria Terminus central train station (where we departed for Goa two days later).  Fort is a very commercial area, and so after sleeping off our jet lag, the next day (our only full one in Mumbai) we walked through the wide streets and beautiful old colonial buildings (including the university) down to Colaba, the southernmost part of Mumbai.  We saw the few sights there are to be seen there (the Gateway to India port, the Taj Mahal hotel that was attacked last year) and then headed to a lackluster lunch.  Later we wandered up to Chowpatty Beach, where I thought the stench of trash was rather unbearable and we didn't stay long before heading to a really nice dinner near our hotel. 

We left early the next morning for Goa, so we didn't get to experience too much of Mumbai.  There are a million things more I want to write about it, but I'm already feeling foggy and the internet cafe is closing in a few minutes, so I will just tell you my favorite thing about India so far--the head bobble.  Nathan's friend Gabe introduced us to this concept, but it's really awesome to see it in real life.  When the people here are telling you "yes" or that "something is fine" or "thank you" or "your welcome" they don't often say those words (although they all speak English VERY well), instead they do this loose-neck head bobble while staring at you.  I had to stifle a laugh the first few times because it's pretty adorable, but now I look forward to getting that gesture.  The only problem is that whenever we try to tell a salesperson NO (which happens quite often), Nathan and I tend  to shake our heads in the negative, which is then confusing to them since it means the opposite.

OK gotta run.  I promise another update soon!

And if you're worried (parents!), we're both doing fine, sleeping plenty and eating healthy.