India - a way of life

April 26, 2006

Val here.

India is, as ever, a land of contrasts. Perhaps Mumbai or Kolkata have changed - and the "growing middle class" the media talks of is evident, but in our experience of India, we still see poor people and more poor people. There are lovely neighbourhoods in Delhi - huge areas in the outskirst of the city are covered with newly built or under construction luxury condos. There are also some good restaurants where some Indians and even more tourist go - but our primary impression is that little has changed in India since we were here 24 years ago except for occasional internet cafes which have been included among he tiny Indian shops that line the streets.

The bazaars here are extraordinary for their variety and colour. Shoemakers, metal workers and motorcycle mechanics work among sari shops and lassi /chai shops . Fruit wallahs sell mangos among the wandering cows and the motorcycle shoppers. Men with bright turbans mingle with women in resplendent saris - in parts of Rajasthan we found women in red and yellow saris with huge rings in their noses and tens of white bangles decorating their arms. A few Muslim women in black with faces covered walk by to shop. There are tuk-tuks, motorcycles, mangy doge, cows, hawkers, young lads that will be happy to take you to the nearest handicraft shop and receive commision for their efforts. The vegetarian, non-alcohol tradition continues in India though you can find meat and alcohol without looking too hard.

And the beggars - little dirty kids usually with the requisite dirty baby carried in arms. Old ladies, the occasional men with no legs, the blind man with his child leading him basket for alms in hand. In Pushkar we even saw the cobra and his charmer. At the Raj's memorial of Jodpur, a young dancer with a terrible singing voice and worse dancing talent collected rupees as her brother with a squeaky primitive stringed instrument played. The picture below is of a fellow making a living by ironing the washing he takes in. The iron is heated by charcoals, heavy and very effective.

Oh yes, and the the traffic! Every kind of transport is used as you travel the roads of Rajasthan: camels, donkeys, ponies, horses, water buffaloes, jeeps, trucks, tractors with huge loads, motorcycles, tuktuks, rickshaws, the Indian made Ambassador car, tourist and local buses , SUVs - it is quite something to see all these modes of transport circulate around each other, they race and honk as they avoid the cows , water buffalos, goats and monkeys that wander the stree

India is truly an assault. It is as intense an experience of travel as anywhere can be. Fascinating and disturbing, beautiful and ugly all at the same time.

More India--by Arieh

Delhi, India
April 23, 2007

Arieh here. We are leaving India this PM and I am of mixed emotions. It has been difficutlt, challenging, and stressful at times. On the other hand, all these difficulties, challenges, and stresses were the events that makes this country so fascinating. The peculiar "yes" movement of the head that almost looks like "No" (and I have to keep reminding myself of this difference); the constant verbal answer of "Yes" to a question or problem that requires a different response; the lack of problem-solving skills that we take for granted--all these will be "cute" challenges once we are away from here.

Our last 24 hours in Delhi have been at a Guest House, a B & B in a fairly quiet up-scale neighbourhood. A very different Delhi than the Main Bazaar tourist street we have stayed on at the beginning and prior to moving to this quiet neighbourhood. The differences are startling, although not unexpected. We have written of the noise, the dust, the heat, the crush of people, the cows (and their poop), the smells and the poorest of the poor in the Main Bazaar (picture).

Hear in south Delhi the street is quiet, it is essentially empty at 6AM (and the rest of the day) and it is somewhat cool (because their is more space for air to flow in this area) in the morning as I sit on the veranda and write. (picture).

Sitting here I have again witnessed a phenomena I have read about--the constant cleaning of everything. There is dust everywhere here and constant and it needs to be constantly moved away. This morning I watched the "car wallahs" (the car men) prepare the cars on the street. The uncovered cars are swept and dry-wiped clean. The covered cars are uncovered, wiped lightly and touched up with a pail of water. As well, the rails of the balcony will be wiped off during the day (they need it); the floors will be wet-wiped (but not really clean, as my bare feet will attest); the carpets will be whipped and beaten; the parks in the neighbourhood (and they exist here) will be swept (not raked); and the streets will be swept by people, not machines. And it will all be repeated tomorrow and the next day. That's what happens in this country of a BILLION people in the dry season where everyone hustles for a living.

Even the commercial/shopping area near here is different. Real shops (not stalls or holes-in-walls), sidewalks one can almost walk on most of the time, not many beggars, no cows, and no more than one or two "hellos" as we walk along. Most of the customers in this area are non-foreigners and they are not beckoned by every store owner to enter every store. I would estimate that less than 20% of the Indians live in neighbourhoods like this and that estimate is probably way too high.

So, just before I tell you about our last evening in Delhi I wanted to show you some pictures of how wheat or other kinds of grains are transported in Rajisthan. These "bags" are filled up as much as possible and then loaded on to a camel or tractor-pulled wagon and taken to market. As you can see they are very full and take up a lot of room. The truck passing the tractor is a good example of how passing is done. Note the car immediately behind the truck. The car is NOT waiting for anyone else and will pass right behind the truck.

And to top off our last evening in Delhi we went out for a sumptuous dinner with two other guests at our guest house, a father and son team from Brazil travelling in India and Nepal for 3 weeks. They were so enthusiastic about South America that we might just show up on their doorstep one day during this trip!! If we don't show up I am sure they would host all or any of our friends instead.

India

Yes we did get to Agra and the Taj Mahal. It is beautiful and this is only one picture.
















April 16, 2007
Pushkar, Rajisthan, India

Arieh here. I am sitting on our hotel's roof-top restaurant here in Pushkar, a small village of about 14,000 people in te state of Rajisthan. You've heard of Rajisthan--state of Maharajas, the blue city of Jodphur, and the Great Thar Desert where India's "atomic device" was tested in 1974. Pushkar, we are told by a very nice young store owner who speaks some Hebrew, has 40% Israeli tourists, 30% French and the rest from elsewhere. It also swells to about 200,000 people in November fro the annual Camel fair.

The view here is fantastic. The restaurant (and our room) overlook a beautiful large commercial rose garden backing on to more cultivated fields and then a range of low mountains in the not-too-distant background.

In the late afternoon we sit on the veranda watching two women pick the rose petals that are then sold outside the temples to be used in offerings to the one-of-more-than 300 million dieties here in India. The two women (picture?) talk non-stop to each other and we can hear every word--it is that quiet.





This peacefulness is in STARK contrast to New Delhi (an any other Indian city). And it is only now (10 days after arriving) that I am capable of writing. India is very chaotic and, to quote Val, "an assualt on one's senses at all times". We were both here 24 years ago--mostly in the south and in the month of March. Different locations, smaller population centres, a little cooler, less people in the whole country, we had not spent 4 months travelling in Asia then, and we were much younger. That trip did not help me (or us) in dealing with New Delhi.

The stuggle is constant here for a visitor (and non-residents). Heat and dust; cows wandering along the streets, pooping anywhere and everywhere; croweded streets; no sidewalks; untold numbers of vehicles; half-limbed beggars (some on purpose); mothers with babes-in-arms begging; hawkers selling everything and anything; heat and dust; crowds of people; "spiritual" people trying to make a buck; no regard for anyone else; heat and dust; and loud noises everywhere. Did I mention "heat and dust"? In short, both of us were asking each other why we came to India at all.



Not to fear. We have found what we need. We are moving around Rajisthan with a car and driver at our beck and call for 2 weeks. This may sound decadent, but it is also somewhat of a struggle--more than one would expect or want. The roads are pretty bad and we need to deal with the driver who is trying to make a living. We were planning to travel to the west part of Rajisthan (near the Great Thar Desert) but have canned that idea as temperatures are in the mid-40s (C.) and the town of Jessalmeer is about 6 hours drive from our western-most point of Jodphur. We have also eliminated anymore large cities in order to focus on nature reserves and small towns until our return to New Delhi on April 23rd.

Val can tell you about the National Parks, the birds and the tigers. I will tell you about PPP and camel riding. Some of you may think that PPP stands for "Post-Pesach Party" in reference to our "Placenta Planting Party" of 1989 (Friends of Eitan and Avidan--ask them). Wrong. PPP stand for "piles of Poop Patties". I am not referring to the piles of poop on all streets here everywhere in India nor to the piles of poop that one hears from someone trying to sell us something. No, I am referring to actual "PPP" that are dried, stored and used as fuel. The pictures here show piles of PP that are quite common throughout India and are a major source of cooking fuel. They are created by hand. Need I say more?







CAMEL RIDING

Instead of going at 5 PM yesterday, I did somthing smarter. I went at 6 AM this morning and avoided the heat. Two hours and that should do me for a long time. It was nice and cool, quiet in the village and very quiet outside in the adjoining countryside (other than one instrument player who ruined the tranquility for 5 minutes). The light was good for photos. The ride was not uncomfortable and it was a pleasant change to be riding 3 metres above ground. Not quite a "bird's-eye view", but definitely different than my usually 168 cm. However, I cannot quite see why some people want to do this sort of thing for 4 days and nights out near Jasselmer in the desert in the scorching heat. This shadow picture here is actually me on the top of my camel. If you really want to see what it is like from a camel, watch the movie that I have not YET put on the site!

Pesach in Burma

Inle Lake, Burma
April 1, 2007

Arieh here. I am afraid there is nothing to tell you that touches on the title. We will not be in Yangon where there is a seder at the Israeli embassy. We will not be in a little town in northern Burma (north of Myitkyina) where we had the possibility of being at a seder conducted by the Church of God. And, as far as I can tell, we will not be in the company of any Jews in order to Break Matzah together (which we don't have anyway). However, we will be celebrating Val's birthday tomorrow on April 2nd.

Burma has been more difficult to get around in than I remember from 24 years ago. The we flew everywhere we wanted to and it seemed to work pretty efficiently. In and out in the one week allowed. This time no one seems to be able to get us tickets to leave anywhere until we actually get to the city we want to leave. Thankfully, it is now working out and we are finding the tickets (with persistence on my anal part) and today we actually have a ticket leaving Inle Lake 3 days before we are scheduled to leave.

We left Myitkyina today and I'll let Val tell you about our visit there. I want to tell you about Mandalay International Airport where we waited in between flights for 2 hours. The flight from Myitkyina to Mandalay is one hour and was uneventful, other than clearing customs before we left. Yes, that's correct. It was as if we left a foreign country before we flew to Manadaly. At Mandalay airport, 45 KM from Mandalay, we saw one other airplane on the tarmac at this INTERNATIONAL airport. ONE. Our plane (and the one other) was a propeller plane with seats for 72 and we were driven by bus to the terminal. Inside was this gleaming new, potentially air-conditioned, large cavernous arrival area. 6 or 7 conveyor belts for luggage the same as any modern airport we have been to this last 7 months. At other airports in Burma we have picked our own luggage out of the carts. Here, by golly, it was coming off of one of the conveyor belts. The lights were mostly off (to reduce the heat and eliminate any need for A/C). The 6 conveyor belts currently are there to handle the 10 scheduled airplanes (of which 2 were cancelled today) that arrive every day.

We had a two-hour stopover. We collected our luggage and then had to carry it upstairs to the Departure area. Fortunately we did have tickets for the second flight. If not, there was nowhere to buy them at this International airport. We would have had to drive into Mandalay (remember those 45 KM?) and fly the next morning, even though there were empty seats today on our 30-minute flight to Inle Lake!

So, now you know about Mandalay airport and our getting there. Let me tell you about the trip we did not take to get to Mandalay. We had wanted to take a 6-hour boat ride from Myitkyina down the Irrawaddy river and then fly from Bhamo to Mandalay. There is a flight one day per week. The timing would have been good, except the government airline (Myanma Air) doesn't tell the customers if they will actually fly until ONE day before the flight is supposed to leave. So, we canned that and also discovered in Myitkyina that no one would take us down the river now in the dry season. So, no trip down the great Irrawaddy river.

HOWEVER, we met some Belgian kids who actually did manage to sail down to Bhamo and beyond, almost to Mandalay. And with one set of parents and a guide, no less. The river trip down to Bhamo should be 6 hours. It took them 2 days. Engine problems, I believe. From Bhamo to Mandalay it was very slow on the river and they spent 2 days instead of one getting to the next town of Katha. (This is the town upon which George Orwell based his novel "Burmese Days". I just finished reading it again and some things never change in some parts of the world.) From there is was another day to Mandalay by bus. Not a trip for Val and I.

Temples and Synagogues of Yangon, Myanmar

Yangon, Myanmar or Rangoon, Burma
April 5, 2007

Val here.

This is my third time to Burma - now Myanmar.The vision of the temples gloriously beautiful with their gold stupas and beautiful processions have always remained with me. Let me explain.

The Shwedagon Temple in Yangon (Rangoon).

There is no place like it on earth. The Shwedagon is the most extraordinary and beautiful living temple in the world. It is a Buddhist temple, revered by the people that surround it. Our taxi driver bows as he drives up to its entrance. Some families who come to pray, dress up for the day, bring lunches to picnic on the marble floor among the small temples facing the large golden stupa. That way they can spend many hours chanting and meditating, their children and extended family in tow.

We walk up the 40 or 50 stairs that lead to the temple. The stairway is covered with an ornate carved teakwood canopy. On either side of the stairs small shops display sparkling small paper umbrellas, strings of fragrant jasmine, flower wreaths, baskets of fruit, incense sticks, metal bells, and other treasures to give to Buddha in respect.

Once you ascend, you arrive at a huge and gorgeous marble stage, at its centre a golden stupa. All around you - left, right, up, down, is a holy statue of Buddha, a small temple, a raised platform with Buddha statues surrounded by an electronic aura of lights. And everywhere - devotees. People walking, talking, praying, chanting, kneeling, meditating. Processions of men and women dressed in colourful garb hold princes on their shoulders - the young men who will be monks.. Family and friends holding golden chalices walk in front and behind the young men. The soon-to-be monk is dressed and crowned in goldand carried on the shoulders of his relatives, protected from the sun by a colourful paper umbrella. This mirrors the life of Buddha: the young man was a prince who saw the poverty around him and left his home to ultimately give up all material things and reach enlightenment. So these young boys will give up all material posessions - at least for a while - and go to a monestary to meditate and study.

Look in another direction and you see families dressed in longyis and shirts or blouses arranging themselves for a family photo in front of their favorite stupa or statue. As you walk in a clockwise direction (your right side faces the most auspicious part of the temple) you hear voices and hear men and women chanting; they are gathered on a raised floor near a golden Buddha. Continue walking and try to keep up with an old monk doing his seemingly endless walk around the golden stupa. We watch groups of people washing the god-statue of their Buddha - the one in the part of the temple that corresponds to the day of their birth. They hope to gain a long life.

The sound is muted - perhaps because of the temple's size or its marble floor, - or maybe because Buddha would not hear if there is too much noise. A young monk befriends us on our second journey through the Shwedagon - this time at sunset. He takes us to see how the diamond at the top of the stupa has a different colour depending where you stand. He explains how some Buddha statues have more power than others to protect and ensure good health.

As we move through the temple people greet us, but mostly they are intent on praying, bowing to Buddha, meditating and celebrating this wonderful, festive spiritual retreat. The Shwedagon is the place where spirituality is palpable, where people's faces soften and look younger despite their difficult lives. A wonderful place! The fellow below is trying to blind himself out of devotion by staring at the sun.




The Botataung Paya. This temple has the gold stupa as well - but has been rebuilt after being destroyed by the British during W. W. 2. Inside the hollow stupa the corridors are lined with tiny mirrored tiles and display cases filled with statues of Buddha as well as other treasures. The highlight is the relic of Buddhas's hair at its centre. Every so often there is a mirror of about 2 metres near the floor and a devotee is meditating there.

There are several side statues and small temples and rooms in the compound. Most exciting for me, though, was a pool of turtles. A vendor sells food and leaves for people to buy to feed the turtles. quite a surprise in a temple!

There is one other Yangon temple well worth mentioning. In the centre of a traffic circle is the Sule Pagoda. It is lovely inside - but the fact that it is in the middle of the town and the traffic and dusty buildings surround it makes it quite outstanding. Another tribute to Buddha set where any traffic going by will be aware of its stature.

Yangon Synagogue

Built about 150 years ago. I need to find out more information, including the name! Still about 50 Jews in Yangon but getting smaller all the time. The "Trustee" of the synagogue is a nice man with a son in Yeshiva in NY and two daughters of marrying age. Anyone interested? He also runs a tour company from Yangon and NY.

Burma, Billions of $, and the Bay of Bengal

Yangon, Myanmar (Rangoon, Burma)
March 28, 2007

Arieh here. BURMA: The beginning of our trip to Myanmar has not been auspicious. The government website said we could receive a "visa upon arrival" at the Yangon International Airport. NOT!! We arrived at the Bangkok international airport on March 20th all ready to check in at 5:15 AM. Air Asia were very polite and even suggested we could use our ticket to "fly somewhere else" where we did not need a visa. We lost that argument but not the price of the ticket. In fact, no penalty; just a "date change" fee of $15. Back to Bangkok city we go to get a visa from the Myanmar embassy. We had been told it is possible to get it on the same day. NOT!! We arrive at the embassy at 9 AM, have all the necessary documents, pictures and money. Despite a notice (with costing posted) of same-day visa service, they can only issue it the next day. That's 2 extra nights in a dreadful city.

We do arrive here finally on Thursday, March 22nd at 8 AM. Go to the hotel and immediately to the Indian embassy for their visa. It takes 4 working days and costs US$65. (In our case, 5, because of "Armed Forces Day" on Tuesday, March 27th--now you know.) We then find out that Indian Air has cancelled its Friday flights. It now flies only once per week to Calcutta and is booked way past our visa time limit. Finally, we are stymied about a flight to North Burma as it is full on March 29th, the day after our Indian visa will be ready. Val is ready to return to Bangkok immediately. Not a good first day, to say the least.

Our second day improves. We get a flight to North Burma. We are waitlisted to Delhi (and can pay with Visa, which allows us to use our U.S. $ cash here in Burma for other things) and we book a lovely beachside resort for 3 days on the Bay of Bengal, while we wait for our visa to India.

BILLIONS OF DOLLARS: I am sitting in the lobby of the renovated Strand hotel. Val is "window shopping" and I am enjoying lives local instrumental music played on a Burmese harp. Quite soothing after a hot day of "working" as a tourist. The title of this sub-section reflects my thoughts on the sad state of this city (and, I expect, the rest of the country). The existing architecture of Yangon is stunning, if only Billions of $ could be poured in and everything cleaned up and repaired. Old British colonial buildings rivalling anything one sees in Britain, New Zealand, or Australia--places where many buildings have been restored. The Port Authority, the Telegraph building, Internal Revenue building--all of them with beautiful tall Greek-style columns and stone carving at the top (no flying buttresses, Sue and Yaron). This lobby, for example, has paintings of the Strand (and the street upon which it is situated) through the years. Each painting shows quite a nice building (as it is today in its most recent renovation of less than 8 years). However, there is no painting of the current building, as the street would be nothing wonderful to look at. Broken sidewalks, pot-holed streets, the former green space across the street is non-existent, and the "pedestrian" area is chock-full of people selling food, postcards or plastic junk imported from China.

This description of the Strand street holds for much of downtown. Some sidewalks are not so broken up; some are worse. One piece of sidewalk used to house differently coloured hexagonal paving stones. Some are still there, but most are not--not sure where they went, why and when. In place of the stone is just a hole or indentation. Night lighting in some areas is only provided by the flourescent lights of the street vendors. Some smaller streets (actually named or numbered) do not have sidewalks at all and are completely broken up pieces of former pavement. That doesn't stop cars from driving on these roads. The cars, btw, are mostly old (way older than our Previa van) and rickety, often without window handles. (Today, I saw a "Familia" model of Mazda--probably at least 40 years old). These cars are always an adventure to ride.

If you have read anything about Myanmar lately you know there is a fairly repressive right-wing military dictatorship in power. This is different than our last trip here in 1983 when it was a fairly benign left-wing dictatorship. The major differences seem to be in the level of repressiveness and the degree of economic freedom. Today it is "capitalist". This means, as one ex-pat teacher here put it "the generals and the drug lords have the dollars to buy and sell lots of things". There are many shops in Yangon selling all sorts of electronics from all over the world (just like in Vietnam). Most of those products are brought in through China (another bastion of respect for human rights and individual freedoms). No health care, public education is abysmal, and, as I wrote, Yangon is falling apart. Notwithstanding the above, most of the people we meet here are very friendly, welcoming and pleasant to interact with (I will write about the exceptions later). Most are just trying to feed themselves and make a better life. The staff at our Yangon hotel speak English pretty well and are very helpful (unlike the bastards in Bangkok in both the $25/night hotel and the $70/night hotel). They seem pleased to have us here, even without the extra bonus of our changing money with them. Eyes of people we have met light up when we say we are from Canada.

BAY OF BENGAL: There is only one little problem with our resort at Ngwe Saung on the Bay of Bengal. It is a 6 or 7 hour bus ride to get there, the bus leaves once per day at 6:30 AM and no a/c. Val is not happy with another of one of my bright ideas. However, we don't cancel and have reserved seats near the front. It is a "private" bus and "seats" 34 passengers. Each row has 4 seats (2 x 2) and a folding seat in the aisle. Of course there is also standing room and sitting room that one cannot imagine. This bus contrasts to a "public" bus that is similar to our Bromo, Indonesia experience where hanging from the sides is the norm.

We arrive safely and after only 6 hours with a 45 minute eating break. Not so bad. The resort is lovely. We upgrade to a bungalow (almost at seaside) and jump into the pool. The good thing abut the Bay of Bengal is that we are facing west and that means I don't have to wake up early to see the sunrise over the sea (as in New Zealand in November). The Bay of Bengal is quite beautiful from here. Nice blue sky, clean white-sand beach with swaying palm trees for a great distance, gentle surf, and plenty of places for us to lay about reading and writing in the shade. Hot during the day and a cooling breeze around 6 PM, just in time for drinks and dinner at poolside.


This resort is not the "real" Burma for a couple of reasons. The first is that it is a resort for mostly Westerners. The second is that it is also a resort for Burmese. There are different prices here in Burma for locals and foreigners. I am not talking about prices on the street or in a market. I am talking about internal flights, hotels, and tourist sites. Our bungalow at this hotel, for example, costs a foreigner $110 per night. A Burmese pays the equivalent of $50. We went through a travel agency and paid only $70. I think the travel agency "does a deal" and we pay the local rate plus a bit. I mention these prices as a lead in to the Burmese I don't like (for purely irrational reasons, as I have not spoken to any of the ones I don't like). Even at $50 per night this resort is a fortune for most Burmese--a teacher earns around $30 per month. Therefore, the Burmese guests here are not the poor or middle-class. Here I speculate--they must be the "generals or drug lords" our ex-pat referred to. That wouldn't be sooooo bad if it wasn't for their custom of horking and spitting that goes on even here and where I might be walking. I am indignant but fearful for my life--they could deport me, throw me in jail or cut off my little pinkie finger (or other parts I am fond of). Some of the other guests (French) reacted even funnier than me--they actually make indignant noises (not too much, though). That is as ineffective as my grumbling to Val.

Val can add more if she wants to.