We see dead people.

Whoo! Feels like an epoch has passed since I was last able to update concerning subcontinental adventures. Since the last good internet connection (Bangalore, mid Feb), we've trekked through some very impressive temples in Trichy, overcome some austere bedding situations (think card table with sheets; an almost ubiquitous challenge in Tamil Nadu), visited Frenchified India in Pondicherry, taken a dip in the Bay of Bengal, laid low during a transit strike in Hyderabad, sat it out in general in charmless Chennai, and discovered a surprisingly refined ( relatively speaking) Kolkata (that's Calcutta, if you're nasty).

We've also watched countless hours of Bollywood films/music videos (some damn impressive), dropped in on a Hindu full moon festival, made a real attempt to understand why anyone likes cricket (World Cup is happening here), slept on a few overnight trains, and in general weathered the improbably diverse sights, smells and sounds that comprise daily life here on the subcontinent.

We no longer possess anything that can be considered "clean" (washing in the sink accomplishes only so much), but our stomachs are nigh-invulnerable (famous last words) and I'm even beginning to know which way to look before I cross a street----(this in itself is like a zen koan; there is no right way to look, you must look all ways at once, including into...the future). I've learned that the sidewalk is not just a sidewalk, it is also the road, the kitchen, the bathhouse, and the saloon (ed note: saloon here is a pervasively used misspelling of "salon", disappointing all those searching for a beer in dry towns.)

We are currently in Varanasi, and have spent the day exploring the ghats (steps) leading down to the Ganges. People wash and do their laundry in uncomfortably close proximity to lounging water buffalo (who send their wash out), and cremations are a regular occurrence on the very same banks. The river is currently very, very low and as you might imagine, the water is dirty. Yet the Ganges remains one of Hinduism's most holy places, and everyone and their shaman is here to pay their respects. The roadways that hover thirty feet above the river bed are labyrinthine affairs full of shops, food stalls, goats, chickens, cows, vipers (trained, of course), puppies, motorcycles, people with drums, newlyweds, and lastly, exhaustingly, a man with a monkey on his head. The only creature I haven't spotted in the alleys is an elephant, and that's probably because it would not fit. It is quite a place indeed.

Have loads of pics and videos to share once good internets pass our way. Stay tuned.

Trichy V-Day

A Smashing Good Time

It's a long, long way to Pondicherry, particularly when your bus driver crashes into the back of a truck. Never fear, no damages were suffered by the GlobalCurious duo, but we do have doubts about the pride/future employment opportunities of our driver (cue slide whistle and/or sad trombone... Now!).



More video coming tomorrow from our adventures in Trichy.

Bangalore Boomerang

Thanks to our audio video guy ( pictured above, perhaps on the verge of nuisance-making), we've got some new video up. Check the previous post for that action.


So our journey has taken a bit of a loop de loop. We've returned to Bangalore, tech support capital of the world, for an unexpected second visit after two days in Mysore, a smaller town about two hours away by train.

Mysore has got one major attraction: the Ambas Vilas Palace (no affiliation with Donald Duck). It was really, really an amazing building, but cameras were absolutely verbotten so we could only snap the exterior. I can't even find any good ones on the internets, but I was most impressed by the main atrium with its peacock-themed stained glass ceiling. Stunning.


The Palace at sunset...


Colorful local, not much of a conversationalist.





Late afternoon commute.


So, that was Mysore. It was worth it to see the palace, but the air quality there was just appalling. Based on how the locals were coughing, it can't be the best place to live long term.


So, Bangalore has been great if not for stellar sights ( there aren't many) but because of the wonderful fast internet connection we've gotten to use at our hotel. With it, I've been able to work with Katie on reviewing the first cut of OFF SEASON, which even at this very early stage and without any of the luxuries of sound effects, music, color, or any polish, already feels like a movie. The fact that I've been able to view the footage from half a world away if a miracle, and being able to talk with some of my favorite people face to face has also been fabulous.

We did take a visit to the local mall here to check out a movie. We peeped 127 Hours, the Danny Boyle flick ( they love Boyle here after Slumdog Millionaire, and the fact that he uses an amazing Indian composer to score his work helps too). The movie experience was much like our own, with popcorn ( but also samosas), but with assigned seats. And I hope this wont serve as much of a spoiler to anyone who's aware of 127 Hours, but right when the fella is about to saw his arm off, the film stopped and the lights came up. Power outtage? Projection difficulties? Nope. Intermission. Yep. For a movie that probably ran about 90 minutes. People did get up to get some snacks, and we got to watch more commercials ( yay!), but a pretty terrible practice for typically brief Hollywood movies. Nuff said.

Next stop...Trichy ( that's the short version of the name. Will attempt to spell out proper name when I have more time. For real.)

Hampi redux!

Hampi!

We’d planned to do most of our travel overland via India’s famed train system, but turns out that when you have one billion people, trains get booked up in advance. Since traveling overnight in “find-a-seat -if you-can (and then share it with three friends) class “ is on my short list of things never to do, we opted instead to take an overnight bus for the eight hour journey to Hampi.

I didn’t have the highest hopes for this trip, as driving here is something of a death sport, and even these lowest of expectations were barely met. We’d booked a berth, and the seedy looking bus-wallah directed us to a flat, skeevily be-cushioned cubby on the lower level of the double tiered bus interior. It wasn’t the best, yet about two hours into the journey, some tourist ladies suddenly demanded that we switch berths, saying that they had booked a lower berth (although once on the bus they'd evidently opted for the cleaner, less fragrant upper berth), but the less than gentle swaying of the bus was too much for their gentle dispositions. I may have mumbled that this was a total pain in the ass, but we switched without much complaint. The voyage on the top berth was not without moments of abject terror (think rough waters at sea, but with more honking), but the real kicker was when we hit a pothole (or who knows what) and a window in the lower berth which we had not long ago departed broke. Then it was the tourist ladies moment to offer a few choice words to the bus attendant, who from what I gathered, expressed no notable concern.

In the end we arrived three hours behind schedule into one of the strangest landscapes I’ve ever seen. Here's a video (if its shaky, you'll understand why)


Hampi is a temple-loaded desert cow town which was once a beauteous trading post full of unimaginable wonders. Now it's got some great ruins, some other-worldly geography, and still, plenty of cows. It is a major pilgrimage site for Hindus, and we saw many groups of students and families taking in the carvings of Vishnus, Ganeshas, peach-breasted temple dancers and other mystifying insignia. There was a temple elephant who would bless you for the cost of only ten rupees, and she would eat your bananas gratis.





As Hampi is a scared site, there was no booze, everything was vegetarian, and there were lots of very happy (and very lucky) animalitos underfoot everywhere. Cows, dogs, goats, scraggly monkeys, piggies and evidently, some crocodile. It was very hot and very very sunny during the day (which may help explain my bizarre beekeeper on safari ensemble) but there were gorgeous sunsets over the giant boulder piles that surrounded the town.


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Overall, one of the most interesting and unusual places I've visited. I'd say it was even worth the bus ride.

Hampi Teaser

Am currently posting from Bangalore, the world's tele-center, where miracle of miracles, there is decent wifi. Must away now, but here is a taste of where we were yesterday (the music you hear was the natural soundtrack. Is there a film term for this? We can't think of it.)


More to come...

Benalim Beach (eventually)

We decided to take public transport (read: cramped chicken buses) to Benalim Beach. Not so easy, we discovered, when the second leg of our bus rapidly filled to beyond sardine capacity, and we had no hope of wiggling through the crowd to the front exit. Some locals suggested we drop our bags out the window and we'd get out faster that way. Since we didnt make it of the bus for another two miles, that was advice wisely ignored. But! Benalim beach was gorgeous. The sand and the arabian sea were absolutely pristine.

The Goan cuisine was pretty good too. Just about everything was some combination of coconut, curry and rice. And of course, there was seafood. (Yes, there was the option to eat a baby hammerhead shark. Mmmm, walleyed!).



The beach stretched a long way, and while our sandy stretch was populated mostly by older Northern European tourists, Colva beach to the North was packed with daytrippers from all over Goa. Most local men and women would venture into the water only fully clothed, which is a real feat if you are wrapped head to toe in about 6 yards of sari fabric. Hard core.


One unexpected feature of this trip is that I am often a tourist attraction to other Indian tourists. They ask to be photographed with me or with both of us, and weird as it is, we've started to take photos of the photo taking. Bizarre merits more bizarre.

Not far from the beach there are several old Portugese manors that are open for visit. The weird thing is, that the families still inhabit them, so, it felt awkwardly personal to be walked through the faded splendor of someone's own family history.



The estate we visited was split down the middle by one family ( one set of cousins owned each side). One family had clearly done a better job of the upkeep than the other, and the more decrepit household tour occasionally skirted the depressingly creepy.



As our taxi driver drove us back to the beach, he pointed out a huge concrete structure that looked like an overpass or monorail track. "Sky Train" he said. We caught a glimpse of some cable car-like structures dangling in the distance. "That's cool," we said. "Where does it go?" He shook his head. "Failed project. First time they run, cars fall down." And if that doesn't merit a non-committal head wobble, I do not know what does.

Panjim

We fled the smoggy chaos of Mumbai via a short flight to Panjim, the largest city in the beachy state of Goa. It's a pretty place, palm trees, rice paddies and bursting flower stalls, even at the bus station.


Goa was the first place in India that the Portuguese colonized, and one of the only places their influence has really lasted, mainly in the form of a Christian community and a high density of old churches. There's a whole complex full of them, aptly named Old Goa, where you can see (sort of) the corpse of St. Francis Xavier and other mini basilicas and Romanesque prayer castles.




There's also still stands a large gate that Portuguese sailors once marched through on their way to town. Tellingly, it features one man standing upon the prone form of another. Ahh, colonization. Such a tender process.



Panjim didn't have much else to offer but dusty churches and decrepit "casino boats"
so we rolled on to Benalim Beach, just 45 minutes to the south, but not as easy to get to as we'd imagined...