The Rice Crispy Square of India.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Years Eve everyone from the Ganges River in India. One thing I have been struck by in Asia so far is their different attitude to two things, death, first and foremost, as well as pollution.
Now perhaps it’s only my antiquated western biases, but when I think of a Holy river I don’t think of more trash than water, which, more often than not is what I’ve found in Nepal. The famous cows in the streets in India seem to have a diet based around the massive piles of plastic garbage everywhere you look. Pigs too, and dogs, and well just about everything. Everywhere I go there are massive piles of trash, and he holy rivers are no exception. This doesn’t seem to bother the people here and perhaps their right, though it can’t be healthy for the world in the long run. It’s leaving me with a very interesting dream of having come here before mass produced plastic wrapped commercial goods made it here, before they really excited, because despite the garbage everywhere these place are undeniably beautiful and holy too. What wonders would I see without the trash everywhere? Luckily I get to imagine this for a future book, which is a lot of fun.
Now, onto the attitude to death here I think is a much healthier one than we have in the west. It reminds me of The Aiel for any Robert Jordan readers out there, though ti is of course different. I am now in Varanasi the holy city on the Ganges in India where people from all over the country come to die so that their ashes may be dumped into the river and they may escape the cycle of reincarnation and find nirvana. (In my limiting understanding) This creates a very strange feeling to the place as it is full of old and dying people but they are so happy to have made it here that death is almost not a tragic thing, merely the next stage. Neither is death a private thing, the ghats here are very much public spectacles and fires rage round the clock, burning bodies for the hungry river. It is above all else, unique to anything I have experienced and quite fascinating.
Back to where we left off. I had a fantastic Christmas, though I did miss everyone at home very much, and the snow too, and all the traditions that I missed for the very first time. So it was a strange day, because I was thoroughly happy, but also incredibly melancholic and sad. Quite a potent mixture.
The morning began lounging in Bob Marley Café, chatting with fellow guests and the guesthouse family over breakfast. So far in both India and Nepal one thing holds true, in each city you find, if you look hard enough you’ll find a bob Marley café, the nice thing is Marley is hard to hate so no one really objects.
At any rate, the son of the owner of the guesthouse made a joke about Christmas cake which we turned into a reality of sort, deciding that he an I would go get order a cake for the evening for all the guests. We packed up, went downstairs and I found out we were going on his motorbike, something I undoubtedly should have foreseen. Now, I’m aware that most people think nothing of hopping on a motorcycle, but somehow, in all my life I’ve never done it. Never been on one, and I’d managed to build it up as quite scary, especially in the crowded crazed and maze like streets of old Agra. That said I decided it was long past time, hopped and found it to be a little intimidating but nothing to be scared of. Just a nice little christmas reminder to always try new things, always push the bounds of discomfort. I’ve found doing so only adds to the freedom we all chase in life, it also usually serves to make us more rounded, more interesting, and more enjoyable to be around. The next step is to actually drive one on my own.
So after ordering a cake from a tiny convenient store that has an offsite bakery and employs the street youth to bring sample cakes for the customers perusal, (They all looked amazing by the way) I headed back to the hostel on the motorbike feeling supremely confident and happy. Then I grabbed my day pack and headed off to the Taj Mahal. It was not to be so simple.
I walked the two kilometers to the Taj, through the friendly but never give up army of touts, bought my ticket, even made it through the metal detector, but then foolishly answered yes to the question, “”Is there a laptop in there?” I was planning to do some writing. For some reason Laptop’s are not allowed in the Taj grounds and they forced me back to my hotel to deposit my laptop. A major bummer as I wanted to write there, and they refused to offer any explanation as to why Laptops were not allowed (probably terrorism related.) Anyway, I made the walk back to the hotel and then back to the Taj again, with a doubling back lunch stop. The touts all found it rather amusing, especially since my excuse for not tking the rickshaws was to grab my belly and say I must get smaller. They started joking with me by the end of it. “Soon no belly left. Soon you are too small.”
I made it back to the Taj with ticket in hand at about 3 pm and got in through the long line quickly because I had the high value ticket. A very strange thing in many ways.
In India there is two prices. The indian price, an the foreigner price. This is true in many places for souvenir shops, but in India it’s true for all government museums, monuments, or anything with an admission cost. It’s something a lot of people complain about and while I understand it’s not fair, if it helps locals who might otherwise not be able to afford visits to their own history I’m all for it. Still ti is a strange segregation and the Taj takes it a step farther, with two separate lines, High Value, and Regular tickets. More or less Non Indian vs. Indian.
The Indian ticket holders spent almost an hour in line at the Taj since Christmas is a public holiday in India, I was through in 5 minutes, and that was just to the grounds. To get inside the actual building took me all of 3 minutes of waiting, but there had to be at least 5 thousand people waiting in the non high value line. Seriously, the 4 or 5 wide line wound it’s way all the way around the Taj twice and then out through the sprawling grounds for quite some distance. It felt very strange waltzing in past them, and a part of me hated it. That said put me in that long line and I’m sure I’d be clamouring to skip the line.
Now the Taj itself lives up to the billing. It’s an incredible building and incredible grounds, and honestly it had the same sort of feeling for me as the Vatican city, in that it’s incredibly crowded and chaotic, and yet you are also so alone there. The crowds are forgotten as you gaze up at this incredible building and they suddenly don’t matter. I stuck headphones in my ears and listened to some classic Phil Ochs. Changes, Song of My Returning, and perhaps fittingly, Crucifixion. I stood there and watched the building as people all around me jostled for photo positions. I then took a seat on a bench, wrote a quick rap song and headed into the Taj, leaving the grounds only as the last glimmers of the sun faded from the sky.
I returned to the guesthouse where we had a really nice dinner followed up with cake and good conversation. It wasn’t Christmas cake, but it was tasty and nice to have some sort of celebration. After eating I went to my room and tried to skype, though the internet had been horrible. We got to a point where my family could hear me, but not I them. It worked well really, since I just got to talk the whole time, none of that silly listening crap. My brother typed messages on facebook for their side of the conversation. IT was nice to connect back with home for a bit, and I’m rally excited for the summer sojourn at home. I booked my flight from New York to Toronto for mid may and can’t wait to come home.
Boxing day passed well, I headed to the Agra fort and had a day losing myself in there as if it was the whole city. I wandered, I read and I even managed to write. Several guards came and saw me with my laptop and told me that’s not allowed. I begged, I pleaded, I got on my knees, I opened my mouth wide… and I convinced them. (Get your minds out of the gutter.) They let me stay and write and I got another good section of my new book out, developing a fun relationship between my protagonist and his mother which I had no idea existed not long ago. I love writing, and one of my resolutions will be to spend more time writing and less time watching T.V. and surfing Facebook.
Sadly, that night I got very sick, and spent the night purging, and the next day too. It was far from pleasant and forced me to cancel my plans to see Lucknow and instead stay in Agra for two extra days as I recovered. Being sick in a nice guesthouse is much better than being sick elsewhere, and I was lucky to have found Friends Paying Guest House another location that qualifies as one of those rare Home away from Home’s. If your ever in Agra, there’s no other choice.
The 27thI just stayed in and it paid off. Sleeping as much as I could and clearing out everything, and I do mean everything, I felt much better by the 28th. In time to go watch High school Girls Basketball.
Wow, that came out a little creepy, allow me to explain. An American friend staying at the guesthouse with me was the assistant coach of a team of girls from a small village in Sikkim, who had made it to the national finals for their school type. I managed to heal up enough o go and cheer them on for the finals where they crushed the opposition and took home the trophy. It was fascinating to visit a well off Indian school and also to see the team spirit and competition in the youth here. It really wasn’t at all different from back home and It’s one thing I’m finding as I travel, around the world people play the same, especially kids. Different language, different games, but same reactions and interactions, and attitudes. It’s pretty damn amazing.
So on the 29th I got on my overnight train to Varanasi, with an indian bought blanket in Tow. Heated cars had been booked and were more expensive anyways, and I figured I’m Canadian, I can handle to cold. It did get cold, perhaps uncomfortably so, but not too bad. Unfortunately I didn’t sleep at all and instead listened to a lot of music and read a few hundred pages of Shantaram. I thought this lack of sleep wouldn’t have been a big deal as I’d arranged to be picked up at the train station. Sadly that pick up fell through and so I managed to negotiate a tuk tuk to the closest point allowed and then wandered through the ancient alleyways of Varanasi (The second oldest constantly inhabited city in central/south asia) with my over flowing backpack as people try to hustle me into their restaurants, Saree shops (really who buys a Saree with all his bags on?) and guesthouses. That said, like everywhere an India, a friendly smile, a quick joke and they help you on your way. I found my guesthouse without incident and realized in those tired moments that I am really going to miss the Life in Indian streets. The cows, dogs and pigs everywhere, their shit everywhere else. The people crowded and friendly, the markets on blankets on the road, the countless touts and guides and rickshaws. Everything. Theirs a sweet chaos to the streets of India and I know I have to make it back to this wondrous country.
The 30thwas a day of rest. I’m in an awesome hostel/intercultural dialogue society, which includes lunch and breakfast in their very reasonable dorm rate. I slept for an hour, had lunch, dozed a bit more, then headed out into the winding alleys and found dinner at a small local restaurant which cooked up delicious vegetarian offerings. I must say I think India’s the one place in the world where I could bear being a vegetarian, the delicious options are endless.
After that I feel into a deep sleep of 15 hours. This morning has been spent chatting with fellow travellers and writing this blog. One highlight came in the sharing of an awesome word, by an Indian guy a few hash joints deep. Sonder. Here’s the definition:
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
That definitely deserves to be in the dictionary and is something I’m experiencing more and more as I travel. Tonight were looking at booking a sunset boat ride along the Ganges to see the ghats burning their seemingly endless supply of bodies. I leave India on the 9th of January, that date is coming all too soon for me, as I feel like I’ve barely nibbled at all that India has to offer. (If India was a rice crispy square, it would be that giant rice crispy square at the Quimby Manor, dense and delicious. Sure the British already took a bite out of it, but I’d still happily live inside it for a time.) That analogy got way too weird.
That said, I’m super thrilled for Thailand. I’ve booked my first place. A week on the southern tip of Koh Chang in a rustic cabin overlooking the ocean. Writing, rapping, snorkelling, waterfalls, and reading await me. I can’t wait.
Happy new year everyone, I’m still working on my resolutions, but also looking back on what I’ve accomplished so far. 2013 has been one of the absolute best years of my life. In Bradford I became a man, and a better teacher, and struggled through my first real set of professional challenges. The last 5 months, well I think the reason they’ve been incredible is pretty damn clear. I’m free. I’m blessed. And I’m a damn lucky man. All the best for 2014!
Reading Log: Shantaram
Just a couple of hundred pages left. It’s still holding my attention, but Im finding less time to read.
Phil Ochs: Crucifixion
The greatest songwriter of all time for me. A damn fine poet who burned out too fast. This is a brilliant song and made my Christmas at the Taj feel a little more like home.
