Parasailing Into the Sunset

I have arrived in Goa. The village at which I am staying is a beautiful little place called Benaulim and is full of an eclectic mix of locals, backpackers, hippies, and tourists. Normally, a large number of tourists bothers me, but this place is so damn relaxing and peaceful that I'm not upset. I feel like I'm taking a small vacation from India, away from the hordes of people and away from the pollution of the cities. I plan to stay a few days.

To get to Goa, I rode 2-tier sleeper air-conditioned, and it was significantly nicer than typical sleeper for a few reasons. First, there are fewer people crammed into the cars. Second, the people are wealthier. This makes me sound elitest, but riding regular sleeper class one ends up with real, salt-of-the-earth working class Indians. Consequently, they're somewhat less hygenic and they barely speak any English. One ends up crammed into a tiny space for 12 hours listening to Hindi pop music and screaming babies. It is an interesting experience to have, and I imagine I'll do it again. Still, riding AC sleeper in more comfort and finding Indians fluent in English to converse with is probably worth the 8 extra dollars.

I arrived in Goa around 10 in the morning. As I was leaving the train station a local offered to give me a ride to Benaulim on his motorcycle. My other options were to either pay 180 rupees to have a taxi take me straight to Benaulim, or pay 50 rupees for a taxi to take me to a bus stand where I would wait for 30 minutes on a bus, pay 10 rupees for the bus, and then have to walk from the center of Benaulim to the coast. So, I opted for the motorcycle.

Now, imagine me on a motorcycle, a small Goan man with a Tom Selleck 'stache driving, and my massively large backpack balanced in front. If this weren't India it would have been a comical sight. As it is, Indians regularly carry absurdly precarious loads by motorcycle. It's common to see families of four (I've even seen a family of five) riding through town on motorbikes.

My hotel is decent. It is muggy and not terribly clean, but it's right on the beach. I spent the afternoon reading in the sand and swimming in the ocean. In the evening I was looking for a place to eat along the beach when a couple young guys approached me and asked if I wanted to parasail. After very brief bargaining we agreed on a price of 500 rupees, and they immediately strapped me into a harnass. I expected some sort of discussion about safety, or landing, but when I turned to ask them I was suddenly jerked forward and into the sky.

There are few experiences in my life that can compare with parasailing at sunset above the Arabian Sea. It was not at all frightening. It was liberating, even strangely tranquil. Hanging suspended above the waves of sea made me feel like I was in a different plane... as if I were seeing the world from an entirely different realm, and what I saw was beautiful - local fishermen bringing in their nets for the evening, happy couples strolling along the beach, children playing with coconuts beneath countless palm trees. Methinks I heard Vishnu chuckling delightedly in the clouds.

After landing, I grabbed some fresh prawn curry at one of the restaurants on the beach. I washed this down with some Kingfisher beer and followed it with bebinca - a delicious Goan dessert made primarily with flour, butter, and coconuts... somewhat akin to bread pudding. After eating I decided to take an evening stroll along the beach. The sun had set, and I rolled up my pants and walked in the surf. The strangest thing happened. I sometimes get lost in my thoughts and fail to notice my surroundings, but last night when I finally left my musings I realized I was very far from the village. In what had felt to me like a brief moment I had apparently walked for hours, nearly to the next village. I must have been over 10 km from my hotel. It was rather bizarre, and I began to wonder about my mental state. Anyway, after a tiring walk back I arrived at my hotel shack and went to sleep.

From Ahmedabad to Goa

Above is a photo I snapped inside the Ahmedabad train station. India has the largest, most utilized train system in the world. Millions and millions ride the trains on a daily basis. Consequently, they also have the most rail accidents in the world. Just the other day a train crushed a herd of 30 cows passing through a narrow gorge. Last night, a train derailed outside Calcutta killing over a dozen and injuring hundreds. Still, train travel is safer than automobile travel.

Anyhow, I had to wait in line for nearly three hours to get my tickets. India ought to make online ticket reservations more widely available, but to do such a thing would eliminate thousands of jobs in the national rail service. India hates automation. Most Indians seem to view automation, and even efficiency, in unfavorable terms because they eliminate jobs. Why have another bus when 20 auto rickshaw wallahs will do the work for 20 times the cost? Why spend two days digging the ditch for a new sidewalk with a machine when 50 laborers can do it in two months? This seems to be the logic of India. It is Bastiat's broken window parable througout the country. It can be quite maddening. More still, among the 20 ticket counters at the train station, one window was designated for handing out the paper reservation slips. Why? The obvious consequence was that all of the people from the 19 other lines had to queue up at this one window simply to have a man hand us a worthless piece of paper. Why is this man not replaced by a stack of paper? Why was I once asked to pay for one train ticket in rupees and another in dollars, simply because I am a foreign tourist? And yet, despite the madness of its streets and trains, its religions and its massive population, India marches on.

A final, curious thing about getting train tickets is the line for foreign tourists is usually designated "Foreign tourists and freedom fighters." Somehow, the line always appears full of neither.

Tonight I will take a sleeper train to Mumbai. I'll spend tomorrow afternoon hanging out in Mumbai before taking another sleeper train to Goa. I'm trying to work my way over to Hampi.

India is for Lovers

I've observed a few things about tourists in India. First, they do not leave the beaten path. In every city I visit I intentionally wander at least a short distance outside the Lonely Planet's map. Every single time I have done this, the tourists have disappeared. It's like magic - poof! everyone is suddenly brown. In fact, this is one of many reasons why I think a good traveler ought not use Lonely Planet like a bible. One has to be at least a little contrarian to obtain a more authentic taste of the culture.

My second observation is that India is for lovers. This place is full of couples. There are two primary groups - older, retired couples and young, recently wed couples. I've been speculating as to what, if anything, this means. Do thirty somethings and forty somethings lack the time? Do they lack the desire? Is it the children and the career? It must be the kids. Also, spotting a lone backpacker is about as likely as seeing a woolly rhinoceros. I suspect most people have (good) reasons for not wanting to travel India alone.

One final thing I've noticed about tourists is that they seem to be acting out a fantasy. The older, white men all wear travel vests with lots of pockets. They frequently have on a white, safari hat, and they are usually sporting sandals. The young couples usually wear hippie backpacker attire - loose, color faded shirts and capri-like pants. Once adorned, these travelers run from one location to another, snapping pictures. Most of them are not so much enjoying their time or observing their surroundings. Primarily, they seem to be documenting and constructing narratives. "I was here, I saw this, here is my photo evidence." The journey is valued as a story to recapitulate - not as an experience to be enjoyed. What do you think?

I posted some more photos to Facebook. The photo at top is a view of Jodhpur. Currently, I'm in Udaipur, but I will be leaving for Ahmedabad in the morning. After that I might visit the Ellora cave temples, or I might go straight to Goa. Unfortunately, it's likely I'll have to spend at least one day in Mumbai in transit... all roads lead to Rome.

Desert, Bus, Streets

So, I had a nice little excursion in the Thar Desert. The camel ride was fun... even if uncomfortable. I've always found deserts beautiful, and interacting with my driver and his family offered a good glimpse into village life. My guide was named Kamal (he didn't find it so funny that he is a camel guide named Kamal). He has been working with the same driver for 12 years, and they get along very well, but there is a strange distance between them because of their different caste backgrounds. Caste is still very much alive in the village.

To get back from the desert I had to ride a bus. This was my first bus experience in India. Like everthing else in this country, the bus was severely crowded. We had two people in every seat and about a dozen people standing. I was sure the bus was full, but then another dozen people crammed in. I began to wonder at what point a person suffocates in such a situation. It was very awkward. I was practically sitting on some older Hindu lady's shoulder. Still, trains and buses will remain as crowded because India is immensely poor. I might be willing to pay more, on occasion, for a little comfort, but the average Indian cannot. Given the option, they must take the overcrowded bus for 15 rupees rather than pay 25 rupees for more comfort.

I want to share a quick bit about streets in India. I've explored a few cities now, and I think I have witnessed enough to say that Indian cities are impossible. Most streets have no names. The streets that have names often have two completely different names - a colonial era name and nationalist revision. This means that even if one can obtain a map (which itself is a challenge) then the name on the map may not match the name on the street. Hence, one can only rely on landmarks, but even with landmarks navigating twisting, tiny streets in cities larger than Louisville, with no map and no street names, is as daunting as it sounds. Thank God for cheap rickshaws.

A Morning Monologue

India is surreal. It is intoxicating and sobering, uplifting and depressing - in all places you witness the most bizarre juxtapositions of life's circumstances. There are slums next to luxury apartments, and the cows, camels, and rickshaws move with the traffic flows beside Mercedes and Marutis. You may at one moment find yourself talking to a Muslim about karma, and in the next moment watch a Jain drive past on a scooter - face mask in place - so as not to accidentally swallow an insect. Hindus and Muslims, Sikhs and Jains. This is a land blanketed with religious diversity, held tenuously together by ancient threads of tolerance, then tensely interwoven with prejudice and caste, and patterned with a new consumerism. It is surely the strangest country on Earth.

I spent a very enjoyable three days with Ricky and Ashik. We traveled around Jaipur and we drove to Bundi and Bikaner. Bundi was a fantastic little town. It was Indiana Jones meets Agrabah meets the 21st century. Every twisting little street was lined with quaint shops selling cookware, shoes, and a hundred other trinkets. Interspersed throughout the town were a dozen miniature temples and shrines to Ganesh and Hanuman and Ganesh (he is a very popular god). And, in the evening huge swarms of bats filled the twilight sky over the town.

Our second day in Bundi we traveled to a waterfall (water trickle) 20km north of the town. After a short hike we found ourselves bathing in Varuna's sacred water with an eldery, half naked Hindu priest. All the while the sadhu's assistant was relentlessly grinding some green substance with a morter and pestal. When we were finished bathing we were instructed to drink this green substance - which was apparently bhang. I was expecting, at some point, to be asked for money, but the whole thing was apparently a legitimate religious experience. The sadhu was greatly ammused by my presence and participation and cackled almost non-stop with delight. Other pilgrims were trekking to the waterfall as we left.

The following day was spent mostly back in Jaipur. We drove around the city until we got a flat tire. You see, when I first arrived in India I marveled that there weren't more traffic accidents and flat tires. The road conditions are often terrible. People drive at unnerving speeds. There seem to be practically no traffic laws. Everywhere there are goats, cows, rickshaws, and children weaving in and out of immensely congested streets. I have now come to realize that there are accidents occuring - all the time. The city buses are full of dents from the relentless pounding of auto rickshaws and other vehicles. I saw a woman get clipped by a car the other day. So, our flat tire came as no surprise. Of course, rather than change it ourselves Ricky paid a lower caste/status repair man to do it for about 100 rupees (two dollars). Labor is immensely cheap in India, but that is a topic for another post. The repair man was easy to find because, I've now noticed, there are tire shops all over the place because flat tires must be incredibly common. Indeed, we only had to walk one block.

Yesterday was spent traveling around Bikaner. Ricky, Ashik, and I were supposed to go into the desert in the evening to camp out. However, much to my disgruntlement Ricky and Ashik were apparently not good guys. It was hard for me to accept, but they had apparently been trying to sweeten me up to con me out of money. They wanted to leave me in the desert to wait on a camel and guide that would supposedly come while they went back to Jaipur to fix Ricky's rickshaw. They expected me to "let them borrow" 14,000 rupees. They offered a very emotional and heartfelt story about their financial woes, and told me what a good friend I had become and how I needed to do it for my karma. So, I told them I didn't have any money and that they needed to drive me back to town to the ATM. (They didn't seem to anticipate this. I think everyone here assumes Americans travel everywhere with massive wads of cash.) Once I was back in town I grabbed my pack and hopped out of the car and told them that the money would be impossible. They became rather upset and continued to beseech me, offering entirely new reasons for needing money. The whole experience was very upsetting. I'd spent three days with these guys, and the fact that it was all just a ruse saddened me. I told them I did not want to see their faces again. By this point there was more darkness than light, and they tried to usher me away into the shadows. Somehow, their continuous deceit and increasingly nefarious intentions caused something in me to snap. I told them "take it easy or I'm going to have to take it hard." (This was something Ricky had told a rickshaw driver a couple days ago, so it had a sort of special meaning to him.) Ricky and Ashik tried to laugh this off, but I told them once again to "get lost" or I would contact the police. Knowing that I'm in a better position (financially) to bribe an officer than they are, they finally left. The whole experience has made me a more cynical person.

Alright, I need to go. I'm still in Bikaner, and I'd like to enjoy the city for a day or two. I've posted photos on Facebook, if anyone is interested. Chow.