From the mountains to the sea

Lots of activity in the last few days...
We loved our stay in Ooty.  Getting there was a hassle but getting away was amazing. Back in the day the British government of Madras moved to this hill station during the very hot summer months. We can understand why- the temps are pleasant, the hills are verdant, the air is thin and clean, the people very kind. We stayed with a really nice family in their homestay which is kind of like the English B & B. You get a nice room with an ensuite bathroom and then you join the family in their kitchen for breakfast. Mr. Sanjay and his family were very helpful with advice and in arranging transportation for us. The place was spotless, quiet, and the view was amazing! We hiked up into the mountainside and saw some tea plantations. We were invited into the home of some local folks for tea and conversation. A very pleasant time and a nice relief from crowds and heat.
To get away from Ooty the best way is to take the miniature or toy train to Mettupalayum. It is this beautiful old train (the railway has UNESCO World Heritage status) that travels on a narrow gauge track with a rack and pinion third rail to help pull the train up the mountain and slow it down while descending. The whole trip is only 46km but it takes 3 1/2 hours because the driver is basically braking the whole way. But the scenery is amazing- winding through the mountains from 2500m down to the plains. From there we hopped on another train for one night in Coimbatore and then on to the state of Kerala by train arriving yesterday afternoon.
We are happy to be back at the sea. The weather is really nice- high of 33C (88F) with a nice breeze. This town (Fort Cochin) feels comfortable. It's a bit touristy but the streets seem relatively quiet, not too many touts, the food is delicious. I guess it is grounding for us to stare out at a big body of water although the scene is bit different than we are used to at home. We are staying at another really nice homestay. Spotless, great breakfast, good wifi, hot water if we want/need it and the super friendly Mr. Abu is our host.
We've decided to stay here for a few days and catch our breath. We plan on going to a beach north of here tomorrow to check it out and, also, so Mike can swim (water isn't really swimmable here.) The next day we'll do a backwaters boat tour (more about that later.)
We plan on spending the rest of our time here in Kerala before we move north to Delhi on the 17th. Lots to see- spice plantations, the backwaters, beaches. So excited about eating seafood every day and of course the cold Kingfishers.
Speaking of that- it would seem from Mike's blog entries that the bulk of his time here is spent seeking out the ever elusive wine shop. That is not entirely accurate but I do have to say that at the end of the day yesterday after a few dry days in the mountains it was lovely to sit on a patio looking over the sea sipping on a cold beer and eating prawns curry.

Fort Cochin Photos

The Chinese fishing nets at Fort Cochin- they use these huge rocks as counter weights to haul in the catch. It requires a bunch of guys to haul the nets up. Mike helped haul one up.

Lots of different boats- this I think is a fishing boat. Also ferries, container ships...

It's nice to be back on the sea.

Mike learning how to make milk tea with a friendly chai-wallah.

Mike getting physical.

Mike's becoming very competent at eating with his right hand. Delicious pure veg thali.

Ooty Photos

The SUV they crammed 10 of us (plus a driver) into to take us from Mysore to Ooty. From 700m to 2500m on 56 hairpin turns. Bleh!!!

The view from our lovely Homestay.

Steps up to a terraced tea plantation.

Very kind villagers taking a break from tea farming.

The toy train going into a tunnel.

Mike was so excited- he had his head hanging out of the window the whole time.

Beautiful view from the train.

A hundred monkeys scurried down the track when we made a ten minute stop. Nasty little creatures will try to steal anything from you that looks interesting/edible.

Ye olde grogg shoppe...

A wine shop in Ooty

I’m sitting in room 414 of the Legends Inn hotel in Coimbatore.  The fan is going—no A.C.—and I’m pulling on a lukewarm bottle of Kingfisher premium select beer.  We’re sitting in our underwear, taking turns standing under a wash of cold water; through the flimsy window glass come the sounds of horns, motorcycles, people talking, and dogs fighting.
To the untrained eye, this scene might seem, well, a little sad.  But peel back the tawdry veneer and witness the beauty of small victories.  Which is to say, there’s a story here.
Our train to Cochin leaves in the morning.  This town, dubbed the Manchester of India, is something of a commercial and industrial hub, smack dab between where we were –Ooty--and where we’re headed-Cochin.  Fair enough.  Our time in Ooty was lovely: bracing and cold and pure.  We had a fine homestay, walked through incredible villages where we were welcomed into people’s homes, and simply had an upright and sober time of it.  But now we are back on the plains.  And as the sweat buds on my brow, so, too, buds the taste for a cold lager.  As in beer.  Enter my foray into the streets of Coimbatore.
But first, this:  buying alcohol in India can be a rather clandestine/guilty/seedy experience.  Which is still not quite saying it just right.  Let’s start with this:  to get alcohol to go, one need find a government-sponsored wine shop.  That is, I assume they’re government sponsored.  The thing is, especially in the south, these places are, to put it mildly, rough.  There’s typically a wire mesh through which one passes their money and receives their product (at least here in the state of Tamil Nadu.)  Actually, it’s a bit different in the north, and even in Mumbai there was no wire mesh.   But still, there’s this feel of something naughty going on.  Like you want to hide your purchase in something more substantial than the flimsy clear plastic bag they sometimes provide. And, invariably, there are people—guys—hanging around.  A bit buzzed.  And they’re typically excited to see me enter their world.  The more the merrier.  Plus, this kind of validates their outsider status.  Yeah…I spent money on booze, but all the guys were doing it…even foreigners!  The whole thing brings to mind my mornings spent smoking cigarettes in the woods behind Berkshire junior high school with Mike Babb and Kevin Rice.  Chewing gum when we finished to cover the smell. But back to the story.
We got off the train from Ooty and had no trouble finding our hotel across from the train station.  It was still early-ish, and I thought we might go out for a beer.
“Looks to be a bar next door…”  But Rebecca was having none of it—which is not to say she’s turned anything like a new leaf when it comes to alcohol consumption.  No, indeed.  But she has learned these places, unless very top end, are not places at which one finds women.  Again, especially here in the south.  In short, it would take a lot of beer for her to feel comfortable in such a place.  And we were tired.  So…
“I’ll see if I can find something to take away…bring back to the room.”
“You do that.  I’m taking a shower.” 
On the elevator down to the street I asked the bellhop for advice.  “You wish beer sir?  I can get.  Your room number, sir?”
“Cold?”  This was all feeling entirely too easy.  Cold beer delivered?  C’mon.
“Not cold, sir.  But not warm…”  Ahhh.  I see. 
“How much?” 
“Two-thirty.” (Roughly four dollars the bottle.  Yikes.)
“Big bottle?  Kingfisher?  Seems a bit steep…”
“Beer very expensive in Coimbatore, sir.  Your room number?”
“I think I’ll just have a look around.  I’ll let you know.”
“Maybe I get for one-fifty, sir.”  There it was.  I reckoned if he could get it for one-fifty, I could probably find it for something closer to the manufacturer’s suggested retail price (MSRP)-which in this state comes in at something around one hundred rupees.
“I think I’ll just have a look around.”  I immediately entered the bar next door, which had a plastic red cut-out on the door of a girl sitting provocatively, back arched, bosoms thrown out.  Hard to see why Rebecca might take offense.  I was met on entry to two waiters.
“Yes, sir?  You wish drink?”
“Well, yes.  I do.  But I’d like to take it back to my hotel.  Can I get it to go?”
“No sir.”
“Alright, then.  See you later, I guess.”
“You have back-pack, sir?  To put it in?”  There are many reasons to like this country, not the least of which is how its good people manage to find a way around life’s little difficulties.
“OK.  I bring a pack, you sell me beer.  Fair enough.  How much?”
“Two-thirty, sir.”  I was beginning to feel like a little figure on a game board having a hard time passing GO!
“Is there a wine shop in the neighborhood?  Someplace to buy it for less?”  With this, the fellow led me out the door and pointed down the street.
“Just there, sir.  One hundred meters.”  I squinted in the general direction he indicated.  I saw cows, goats, neon signs, motorcycles neatly slicing through it all; people walking, talking together and laughing, and even one fellow peeing on the side of a building….but no wine shop.
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir!  Just there!”  Again, the forward gesture.  Thirst being the powerful motivator it is, I bent into the fray.
About half a kilometer later, I figured I must have missed it.  Indeed, a group of young men I stopped to ask came to the consensus that it was tucked between two buildings.  Easy to miss. 
“You must be diligent, sir!  Look closely!”  Trust me, boys.  Diligence is a skill I’m honing in your dear country.   I thanked them and set off. 
And sure enough, back two or three hundred meters it sort of shimmered into existence.  Though shimmered is perhaps too strong a word.  A sure tell-tale is the gathering of young souls with a rather conspiratorial air about them.  They immediately recognized me for a drinking man, and welcomed me into their midst.
“Whiskey, sir?  Rum?  Which country, sir?” 
“Cold beer?  Can I get a beer to go here?”  The shop was situated in a crevice between two buildings, set back a good twenty feet from the street.  It couldn’t have been more than six feet wide, and was a simple enclosure with bottles and small paper cartons of various spirits lining the walls.  There was a counter, of sorts, and the obligatory wire mesh.  A gaggle of young men crowded the opening, thrusting crumpled rupee notes and barking out requests.  It was enough to give a fellow a thirst.
Rather miraculously, the group parted, and the man behind the mesh held my gaze.  “Yes?  You wish?”
“Do you have Kingfisher?  In a bottle? Cold?”  Without a word, he turned to a cooler (an entirely too-generous term, I soon learned, for the place where the beer was kept) and pulled forth a bottle.  I flashed on the scene in Pulp Fiction where Samuel Jackson and John Travolta open a briefcase, the contents of which they have just killed a bunch of guys to get.  Tarantino does a nice job of not allowing the camera access to its cargo; only a golden light reflected in our hero’s faces.  The cooler full of Kingfisher might-in an alternate reality-cast just such a light.
“Give me three.”  I paid him three hundred thirty rupees and, beer in tow (he managed to find a small plastic bag) made my way past the various disapproving glances to my hotel castle-home, where the lovely Miss Rebecca welcomed me as a queen might welcome home her warrior husband, bloodied, scarred, and laden with the treasure necessary to replenish the castle stores.

“Not very cold, is it?”

Udhagamandalam

We arrived in Udhagamandalam (also known as Udhagai or even easier- Ooty) this afternoon after quite an ordeal. We were supposed to be traveling in a 20 seater bus and after 2 hours of driving around Mysore ten of us plus a driver crammed in an SUV  for a 5 hour trip on switchback roads climbing to 2500m (over 8000 feet.) My carmates (especially Mike) were very sweet with my motion sickness- rubbing my back and putting cold compresses on my neck. Bleh!! After a shower and a nap I feel much better and this place is beautiful. It is called the Queen of the Hill stations in the heart of the Nilgiri Mountains in the state of Tamil Nadu. Tomorrow we will go hiking in the hills. Internet is a little sketch here but we'll try to update soon.

~Rebecca

Postcards?

One of our evening pastimes is to write postcards. We've sent quite a few. We've stopped in the post office at almost every place we've been in and mailed a few. We also see these mailboxes here and there. It costs one Rs15 stamp to mail a postcard (about 24 cents.) We wonder how long it takes to get back to the states. Let us know if/when you get one. We have a long list and will try to get around to everyone at least once or twice.

Mysore photos

Mysore is known for fine silk, sandalwood and incense. This woman is rolling incense on fine pieces of bamboo.

Now I'm trying it- not so successful.

Mysore Palace.

The steps pilgrims climb to reach the temple at the top of Chamundi Hill. They mark each step with colored powder as they climb. Over 1000 steps. We walked down the steps not up.

Sri Chamundeswari Temple at the top of the hill.

Mike and our wonderful tuk-tuk driver.

Turning a buck.

We're in Mysore.  Beautiful place.  As I sit here in this garden-top restaurant, I look out over a park directly across the street.  Around said park is a walking path, on which I trod this morning for a little jog.  Very nice.  Peaceful.  Perhaps owing to the early hour, I was completely free of human interaction.  Which is to say, no one asked me to avail myself of their goods or services.

On return to our room, I noticed a bathroom scale tucked under a shelf, and decided to weigh myself.
     "What's seventy point eight kilograms?  In pounds?"  Rebecca was on the computer, and rather than think, I thought I'd have google help further render my brain a jelly-filled pie. 
     "One fifty eight point two-nine."

Hmmm...I've slowly been dropping weight.  I'm approximately the weight I was as an eleventh grader, before I discovered the joys of beer.  Which ties in nicely with my reflections while running around the footpath earlier this morning.

The world spins round on the wings of commerce.  That point is made abundantly clear on the streets of any and all places Indian.  ""Rickshaw, sir?  Ma'am?  Sari?"  From the beggar, to the child entrepreneur, to the shopkeeper to lord Tata turning the gears of industry, India knows how to turn a buck.  And me?  I seem to slowly fade away in both mass and money.  Which is to say:  I've just never been very good at turning a buck.  Some people seem to have a nose for the point of ignition, as it were, between the fuel and the flame of commerce.  Sadly, often as not, my little fire sputters and smokes.  Mind, I'm at peace with this, and have learned to celebrate the art of conservation rather than generation.  Which brings me to reflect on a most unique event, at least for me.

Three days ago, while in Hampi, Rebecca and I took in a pay-per-view historical site known as the Lotus Mahal.  As foreign tourists, we were asked to pay 250 rupees each for entry (as opposed to 10 rupees for Indian nationals.)  It was all very up and up, with a fancy ticket issued which could be used at a number of other sites, provided we used it on the same day.  I joked with the man behind the wire mesh selling the ticket that I would like the child's discount, as it more aptly suited my intellect.  I then commented on the fact that I had already seen the other sites, and so this little bonus would go un-used.  When we proceeded through the gate, the young man tearing the ticket gave a furtive glance left and right, then sotto voce suggested I might wish to sell him my ticket stub on exit for two hundred rupees.  Again, I may qualify for a child's ticket, but it didn't take long to realize this man had a bit of a game going on.  Probably he was in cahoots with the ticket seller, who would issue my (used) ticket to some unsuspecting foreigner (at a fee of five-hundred rupees total) with no record of this extra sale, and the two of them would waltz away with a three hundred rupee gain when one discounts the two hundred he had promised me.  Rebecca had her doubts.
     "What if they have a deal with the local police?  Who will then arrest you and ask for serious baksheesh?"  Hmmm.  The girl has a way of raining on one's parade.  Almost to the point of ruining my pleasure of the Lotus Mahal and attendant elephant stables.  Almost.  The point is, herein lay my chance to actually hand over a bit of goods to an Indian...a veritable God of commerce, and to have that deity anoint me with the coin of the realm, as it were.  As they say in the Bible, a buck's a buck.
     "I'm doing it."

And so it came to pass.  On exit of the site, our man (who had discretely covered his official uniform with a sweater)  stepped away from the gate, gave a quick glance left and right, and handed me two crisp hundred rupee notes.  I reciprocated with the promised product.  And went my merry way. 

It should be noted:  As I write this (and shared with Rebecca the content of my blog) she shared where she is in a book she is reading, in which the protagonist has been in an Indian jail for some unknown deed and languishes in a tick/lice/blood-sucker infested prison cell.
     "You should think about that..."
 
 Indeed.  But even that can't change the feeling of victory--admittedly small--I felt when I stood just that much closer to the flame.  And breathed in the rare air of the Gods.

 

Thali and Dosa

Typical Thali

Delicious Dosa

This is the food that I have eaten every single day since we arrived. It's not always the same- a different variation on the basic theme. I've been sticking to veg mostly. I've had a little meat here and there but I love the veg choices and figure it is safer for the most part.

Thali comes on a stainless steel compartmentalized tray or a round stainless tray with separate little metal bowls. This one has rice, a pappad (thin crispy wafer) and some chapatti along with an assortment of different dhal, spicy sauces, mixed veg, chutneys, curd or dahi (yogurt) and some sort of pickle (spicy mango or lime.) It is so freaking good. Sometimes it is bottomless- they'll come around and refill. Every one is a little different but I haven't had one I didn't like. Our lunch today was amazing for Rs70 (just over a buck.)

Dosa is what I've had for breakfast every morning. It is large rice flour crepe stuffed with a mixture of onions or veg. My favorite is the masala dosa which is stuffed with spicy potatoes and onions. It is served with a bowl of dhal, spicy tomato sauce and coconut chutney.  So yummy and cheap- about Rs45 or 75 cents. I like mine with masala chai which is a milky spicy sweet tea. The right amount of spice. I love a savory breakfast.

Both of these are meant to be eaten with your hands ( or should I say hand- the right one- which is a challenge for a lefty like Mike.) I'm pretty skilled at eating dosa with my hand but I haven't gotten the hang of scooping the rice of the thali with the sauces. Usually just use a spoon.

We are now in Mysore. The overnight train was good. 2 Tier AC is a brilliant way to travel. We each had our own little bed. They give you a neat little package with clean sheets, a blanket and pillow. You make up your little bed and pull the curtain for privacy. People just sprawled out all over but got a pretty decent nights sleep all considered.  The 12+ hour trip went very quickly. We walked around a bit today exploring the markets. We'll go explore the Mysore Palace tomorrow.

Mary asked if we are sticking to our $100/day budget and the answer is yes! We have managed to average about $50-55/day. We stay at pretty nice midrange hotels, eat, drink and travel well. Things just don't cost much- today we are having our laundry done (can't wait for clean clothes!) for about $4. A newspaper is Rs4- 6 cents, Chai is Rs10 on the street or the train- 15 cents. A big beer is Rs85- $1.40. Hotels are Rs600-2000- $10-30. The most expensive room we had was in Mumbai for Rs 2500 about $45. An autorickshaw ride anywhere in this town costs Rs50 or 80 cents.

We are next to a mosque and just heard the call to prayer. Going to play some cribbage then have dinner. Life is good!

Travel Days

Taking an overnight train can be a little problematic. The train doesn't leave until evening and you have to vacate your room in the morning. They'll always let you store your bags but by the middle of the afternoon it just gets tiring waiting for the time to go to the train station. Also, we have become big fans of resting during the middle of the day as do most of the locals.
To solve this problem you can try to extend your check out time or simply book another night if it's cheap enough. We decided to move from Hampi to Hopset which is the town where the train station is and found a hotel that is a short tuk-tuk ride to the station. We got a basic room at a nice resort for just Rs450 or about $7.50. It is very basic- no AC, about the size of a dorm room but clean with hot water and a TV. Also 3 onsite restaurants and a pool. So we wiled away the afternoon here- big lunch with meat and beer (because Hampi is a holy place it was all veg and no beer for the last few days.) A swim in the pool, nap, shower, free wifi, rearranged our packs. All refreshed for the 12 hour train trip to Mysore.
We are traveling 2AC sleeper car this time. Much nicer than chair class. Each section of the car has two tiers of bunks that flip down so much roomier. There are vendors that come around selling all sorts of things- full meals, water, juice, soda, snacks. Still a long time to travel but I find train travel the easiest. The motion of the train is the least likely to get me sick and you can get up and move about. Mike likes to stand in the area between the trains and hang out the door and watch the scenery go by. I'm not quite that adventurous. Next stop Mysore in the heart of Karnataka. We splurged for a hotel in the middle of the city next to the Royal Palace. Nice place with a pool- I could get used to this!
~Rebecca

India critters

A cow that nearly knocked me off my feet trying to get to some fruit that Mike was trying to feed it in Goa.

Horrifically huge bats- Hundreds and hundreds in a tree down the road from our guesthouse in Goa. Their bodies were the size of a small cat. Never saw them in flight- thanks goodness- but was worried about one flying into our beach hut.

Tons of monkeys in Hampi. They are mostly well behaved but we saw one steal a jar of sugar off a table at a rooftop café where we had dinner last night.

Laxmi the temple elephant at the Shiva temple in Hampi. Ate bananas from our hands- skin and all.

A huge (dead) millipede that Mike found.

Hampi photos

Hampi is a holy place with temple ruins built in the 1300's and destroyed in the mid 1500's by a confederacy of Deccan sultans. It's a World Heritage site and it covers over 36 sq km. We're taking a couple of days to taken in as much as we can. Really cool landscape with huge boulders.

Sunset in Goa

One last shot of the sunset from our beach hut in Goa- nice!!!

A public place

We're sitting in our (new) hotel room.  It's three-twenty five in the afternoon.  There is the feathering sound of the ceiling fan competing with the sound of voices from the neighbor's TV.  It's not a soap opera, but there are a number of angry women talking rapidly, followed by a deep-voiced man who seems rational.  But somehow wrong--as in guilty.  The language?  Dunno.  Marathi?  Hindi?  Tamil?  It's not English.  I can't understand a word, yet it's oddly distracting.  I find myself leaning into it, waiting to hear the tenor of the dude's voice.  I picture him as slightly grey.  The girl half his age--a babe. 

 Some things, you don't need specific information.  We walked up to Vittala Temple today.  Went along the river, which was fairly quiet on the way up.  Then, on the way back, it's close to lunch and there are a number of Pilgrims in bright orange saris and wrap-around skirts-like things, the men with their chests exposed.  One couple were standing perpendicular to the breeze, letting a colorful sheet flap between them, and I thought it must be some religious offering.  A holy act.  Until she started barking at him to grab a hold, pull it tight so they could fold it.  Again, I didn't understand word one of her directives, but pretty much knew the drill.

When we got closer to the bazaar (where our hotel and various restaurants, businesses, etc. are located) an Aussie dude had strung a strap between two trees.  It was heavy webbing, with a ratcheting device which allowed him to draw it super tight.  I saw the same set-up in Mumbai, along Marine Drive, with kids lined up to try their skill at tight-rope walking on the webbing.  Here, too there were a bunch of locals gathered around, trying their best to walk the twenty-odd feet between the two massive tree trunks.  One guy was amazing.  He'd get into this zone--with a dead stare--and just grip that webbing with his toes, an invisible force holding him from above.  I asked the Aussie about it.
     "I string it up whenever I get a chance.  Nothing like it for drawing a crowd."
     "You carry this whole set-up around with you?"
     "Yeah,"  He flashed a white smile.  "Real pain in the ass.  It's heavy, but I reckon it's worth it.  You want to give it a go?"
     Of course I did.  The Indian dudes politely watched me suck at it, and made encouraging comment.  Again, didn't understand a word.

I don't really have a theme here.  But I'm feeling a sense of pleasure from the give and take, as well as the familiar dynamic of people interacting with each other.  Mind, it can be exhausting.  Up at the temple, Rebecca was surrounded by thirty or forty young school girls in their little brown school uniforms.  They ask her name, and all laugh and repeat it when she tells them.  The boys filing past me, offering their hands to shake and, "Good morning, sir."  The tuk-tuk drivers asking if you need a lift, the touts selling you hotel rooms, tours, etc.  But it's amazingly buoyant as well.  We're used to a culture which is necessarily more divided and somehow more private.  There's glass in the windows lest we let the heat out.  We drive everywhere and always. We don't sit on our porches much.  And certainly a large part of the Indian world is lived behind closed doors and A.C.-preserving glass.  But a huge part hangs out and says hello.  I shall do my best to respond in kind.
~Mike










 

Hampi

We've arrived in Hampi late this afternoon. Our day started after a sleepless night (for me.) I woke at about 2am after feeling something at my feet on the end of the bed. I turned on the light and saw a sweet little kitten purring away. Not sure how she got in but she scared me to death until I figured out what it was that was nuzzling my toes. After I shrieked (waking Mike up who was very unconcerned) I decided to share the bed with them both knowing that kitty would be on the watch should any other creatures try to sneak in. I dozed off for another hour or so until kitty put her face next to mine and meowed loudly. I let her out and after that didn't sleep much at all. We were up at 5:30am to catch a taxi to the train station for a 7 hour train trip followed by a half hour autorickshaw ride. I'm too tired to write much more but google image Hampi to get an idea of where we are. Tomorrow we'll rent a scooter and go exploring. I'll take some real pictures and post them later.
~Rebecca

Smell this...

From Mike, on the deck of the coco hut:

I can't remember if we mentioned this someplace before, but a couple of days ago I negotiated with a guy to rent a little scooter for three days.  Actually, it's not so little at 125 cc's.  Anyway, I pretty much use it to scoot down to the wine shop to buy beer. It's  a crazy bumpy road for like the first km or so which requires real concentration.  If you don't focus on missing big rocks, they can actually throw you off balance.  Things get a bit better when the pavement starts, but still there's the cows, the cars, and the pilgrims on foot, all vying for a very narrow lane.  I will make my final trip in about twenty minutes, when I finish this blog, and will then--regretfully--hand back the keys to its rightful owner.

Today we went in search of a post office, and ended up getting out on the main road and opening it up a bit.  I found myself marveling at the range of landscapes and views.  One minute you're taking in a craggy rock cliff, then whiz past a perfectly manicured football (as in soccer) field with a squad of young men arranging themselves for a cricket match.  All punctuated by the obligatory cows, trash, pigs, and fish drying on burlap mats in the sun.  And each part of the scenery is rich with a myriad of attendant smells.

Just now, as I look out over the railing at the sea and the other huts, I'm smelling wood smoke.  This is the smell of evening.  Cooking fires primarily.  Probably clearing slash for crops as well.  Later, it will be the smell of the salt air, coupled with the damp of the night and the burning of incense.

Over lunch today--a simple bowl of seafood noodles for me, veg thali for Rebecca--I realized I was leaning into my bowl and sucking the smell of it into my face.  Really hoovering it in.   I did the same thing with bites of Rebecca's dal and pumpkin curry.  We've kind of taken to eating in silence, too.  At first I thought we were just , you know, stupid.  Not able to come up with a coherent thought.  Then, while eating, it occurred to me we were both engrossed in the flavor, feel, and smell of the food.  And let's be frank: we know what each other look like, have to say, and, typically, are thinking.  Which might help us to better get a bite of our experience. 

OK.  I'm off to buy cold Kingfisher and potato chips.  Take my last bumpy ride on the scooter.  Then we will watch the sun set into the Arabian Sea.  I imagine we will be quiet. 

Coco hut

Our little love hut

Bed and bath

Sea view from the porch

 

We're moving on tomorrow to Hampi which is a World Heritage Site in central Karnataka- the state just below Goa. We're taking the train in the morning and should arrive by mid afternoon.  We decided to spend our last night on the beach in one of the Coco Huts. They are temporary huts (constructed in October torn down when the monsoon hits in the spring.) They are constructed on cement posts out of bamboo, plywood, twine and woven mats. Each one has room with it's own bathroom with sink, shower, flush toilet... It feels a little shoddy but you can't beat the view. The price is pretty decent too at 1500Rs ($25)/ night.
~Rebecca

The things I carry

This is my stuff

And this is how I carry it

 

A couple of people were curious about what we were bringing for such a long trip. Already after carrying the pack around it seems like too much. We are scheming ways to get rid of a few things- in particular some clothes for colder weather that we might need next week when we visit a hill station.
Here's the rundown...

2 pairs of sandals
1 pair sneakers and a couple of pair socks
A few shirts- long and short sleeve
A fleece- came in handy on the flight over and in the AC train but will definitely go before SE Asia
2 skirts
1 pair crop pants
1 pair long pant (also will go)
A few scarves
A shell/raincoat
A hat
5 pairs panties/ 2 bras
A bathing suit
Sunglasses, reading glasses, contacts and solution plus spares
Female hygiene products
Shampoo, toothpaste. toothbrush, hair care stuff etc.
Small knife and cutting board
Sewing kit
First aid kit
Big bag 'o meds
Bug dope
Batteries
Snorkel and mask
Guidebooks and language guides
Headlamp
Travel alarm clock
Kindle e-reader
Small computer for blogging
Shoulder bag for daytrips

I think that is about it. Mike has much less (one pair shorts, one pair long pants, a few t-shirts and button up shirts.) We both feel like we have too much and will  probably ship some things home from Delhi. I was able to borrow this amazing pack from my niece (Thanks Sam!!) It still has room even after I put all of that stuff in.
We also have acquired a few things- a piece of printed cloth for the beach, a nifty element for heating water, a book and Mike bought a pair of fake Crocs (it is the custom to take shoes off when entering a store or other business here and it was too much of a pain with lace up shoes plus they're good for the beach.)
So there it is- all my earthly belongings for the next five months. It will feel good to simplify further.

 

Agonda Beach

Lots of cows on the beach

Porch of our little cottage

Beautiful beach- view to the south

View to the north

Panaji Pictures

Enjoying a cold Kingfisher

Tiny Temple

Church of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception

Mike's dream car

Good days, bad days

I’m sitting in the shade. To my right is an older Russian woman singing a song to her infant granddaughter. It’s repetitive and oddly soothing. Somehow not knowing the words’ meaning makes for a more peaceful tune. Just across a little break made up of palm fronds and woven mats is the sound of the Arabian Sea. There’s a breeze. The shade is from a grove of palms; I’m also working my toes into a very fine sand. Not hungry. Not thirsty. Already had a short nap. Thinking about a swim, but not just yet. Saw via the Office of Retirement Services website that my pension is finalized. And so, I’m retired. And I wonder: How can it possibly get any better? Woops, wait a minute! A young woman just came through the beak from the beach in a bikini with a sheer sarong draped around her waist. I wave; she smiles. OK. NOW how can it get much better? This place is pretty alright. It’s a small village in the state of Goa called Agonda. This whole state was settled by the Portuguese way back when, and has held a number of European traditions. Like drinking booze, eating red meat, and praying to a Christian God. Mind, it still feels like India—there’s still cows walking the beach—but the vibe is a bit more chill. We’re here for a couple more days before heading off to Hampi. So, I gotta give it up for Rebecca. She’s been a proper trooper. Yesterday she agreed to take a bus here from Panaji, in the north. It turned out to be three buses. The third one scooped us up off the side of the road, had us toss our packs to the open spot next to the driver, and proceeded to pack up into the standing-room-only bus. I protested that we’d wait; catch the next bus. But the dude running the show was insistent, so we shrugged and climbed on in. Then it got really interesting. In the next half hour, we must have stopped another four times, each of which loaded on another six or seven souls. No one got off. No way would you have convinced me that bus could have held another twenty people. It was tight. Around that time, I look back at Rebecca, and there’s a pale green shade creeping up her cheeks. “You OK?” “No!” “You gonna throw up? Cause, you know…that would be bad.” “Shut up.” And then a miracle happened. Not like a parting of the seas, but almost. A young girl stood and made her way to the bus’ door. It was like she just blended into the wall of flesh and re-emerged at the door, and there was her empty seat, right in front of Rebecca. “Go. Quick!” She gave a sideways glance at the grandma to her left, and lunged for the seat, snagging it by the cheek of her ass. The prospect of vomiting in tight quarters can make the most generous soul into a real asshole. She caught a bit of a breeze from the window while ignoring the crooked look from granny, and managed to keep herself intact until we were dropped at a lonely intersection and found ourselves walking the last five kilometers to our guesthouse. There was some grumbling, but for the most part, like I say, a trooper. But one needs days like that to fully feel days like this. I’m just about ready for that swim. After the swim, a cold shower and a walk. Then take the scooter into town for a couple of cold beers which we’ll enjoy over a game of cribbage. The place next door makes a good tandoori chicken over charcoal; I’m thinking that will be about right as a way to end the day. And that is enough gloating for now. Actually, that’s enough gloating forever. ~Mike

Agonda Beach

We made it to the beach. Don’t want to rub it in but this place is amazing! We came from Panaji this morning to the beach town of Agonda in the south. We took three separate buses and then walked for about 5km off the main road. The buses were local- stopping every now and then for people coming on or off. Cheap (Mike’s favorite word)- 130 Rs- a little over 2 bucks for both of us to go over 60km. The last bus was the most challenging- standing room only. Just when you thought they couldn’t cram any more people on they shove in 3 or 4 more. Luckily that ride was only the last 20 minutes or so and I scored a seat when someone got off. After our hike we arrived at the very tranquil Secret Garden Guesthouse. We’re staying in a cottage but they also have Coco Huts which are constructed in October on stilts for the season and taken down in the spring once the rainy season starts. The beach here is beautiful. Looking forward to sitting on a sunbed tomorrow. Goa is a Christian state that was originally colonized by the Portuguese. It has a much different feel then the other places we’ve been in India. Very laid back. The architecture is Portuguese colonial and many of the people who grew up here speak English and Portuguese. The food is very different too. Beef is an option here but the seafood is the best. The owner of our guesthouse said he goes down to the beach every morning to pick out the days catch. We’ve eaten lots of prawns, pomfret, mackerel- all of it delicious and washed down with a cold Kingfisher beer. We chose to stay here Agonda specifically because it is quiet and so far it seems to be. The beaches in the north are notorious party beaches. They were part of the hippie trail back in the 60’s so were known for drugs and parties. In the past they have been popular with the English, Aussies, Kiwis and Continental Euros. Now it seems to be inundated with Russians. One of the newspapers I read yesterday had a whole section in Russian. Speaking of our fellow travelers… We have hardly seen any Americans- really the only ones I can recall were on the plane. Most of the foreigners we meet are Euros- I would say mostly English, Aussies and Kiwis. We have seen some Japanese, met some kids from Israel and a couple travelling with twin baby boys from England. In this guesthouse the neighbors on either side are Russian. At first glance most people think we are Dutch. When we tell them we’re from America they get very excited. They love the USA. Then they ask to have their picture taken with us. We always say we’re from Michigan but most people haven’t heard of that so we say that from “near Chicago.” Close enough… They all know New York and Hollywood but not the Great Lakes. ~Rebecca

Panaji

From Rebecca- We have found ourselves in a place with no wifi (gasp!) so I'll keep this short. I'm currently at an old fashioned internet cafe. Complete with a sticky keyboard that most of the letters are rubbed off. Just like the old days of travel. We have arrived in Goa. We'll stay tonight in Panaji which is the capital and then move on to the beach for a few days. The last time we were here was in October which was before the busy season. It is a whole different vibe now. High season (not peak- that was over the holidays.) Tons of tourists- Indian and foreign. But things are very familiar too. We're hoping to recreate one of the best meals we ever had at a cafe close by. Hope it lives up to our memory. About 10 hours in chair class on the train. Quite the experience. We came in a couple of hours late but in one piece. Can't wait to see how sleeper compares. Only slept for a few hours so a nap is in order. Tomorrow we'll update from the beach.

Random photos from Mumbai

Juice wallah

Gateway of India

Street performer

Sunset at Chowpatty