A Turn in the South (I)

Richard W. Frank

A Turn in the South (I)

"Patches on skin? Could be leprosy." -sign in Siolim, Goa.

New Years 2000 was a momentous affair replete with a German midget jester lighting fireworks into the clear night sky (and more than a few into the crowd), amazing sea food, hypnotic trance music, and more than the usual contingent of long-term Goan freaks groovin' in there own private Idaho. The first rays of the dawn of a new millennium (aren't we glad the hype is finally over!) elicited a cheer from the thousands still going strong in the knowledge that it wasn't the end of the world but the beginning of another day in our own paradise lost.

Days later through an amazing force of will I overcame hammock inertia to thrust myself back into India to see a temple or two (or three, or four....). The south was an easy place to ease into India. It's palatably better off than the north through trade, agriculture, and the pervasive development of IT in the "Silicon Triangle." India has turned its knowledge of English and skills in the sciences to good and profitable use. I was surprised to find that the Indian English-speaking middle class is the size of the entire U.S. population and almost as dedicated to consumerism. Bookstores are filled with ambitious young men browsing such exciting titles as: Estimating and Costing in Civil Engineering, Discrete Time Signal Processing, and Elements of Mercantile Law. Not the kind of reading that would keep me up nights.

"The least laborious occupations are the best." -Montaigne, Essays.

As opposed to my experience with the indifference of the Chinese and the Tibetan language barrier, one billion Indians can be a tad overwhelming with their kindness, deference, curiosity, and eagerness to engage in conversation. From the ubiquitous "One pen!!" of the children to the tedium of the millionth "May I ask your good name?" walking down a street involves endless dialogue (as well as looking out for turds). I still felt lucky to be able to actually connect with the locals more than most countries I've visited.

My new-found energy to seek temples, palaces, and museums gradually waned but the sheer weight of culture, history, and Lonely Planet's "This is a must see!!" propelled me forward. The ebb and flow of the tides of history has left a profusion of relics challenging time and my endurance in a bid for immortality. I'm just glad I had a good pair of sandals, a tub 'o sun block, and lots of film.

No place could contrast more to the harsh austerity of Tibet than the lush overabundance of tropical India. From sleeping in yak hair tents to a bungalow on an Edenic beach-the differences of destinations took a while to adjust to. Food literally fell of trees (if you were a Jain), transport was a breeze (relatively), and I came across a different sort of traveler here (hippy). Many seem to be on an escapist or spiritual trip continuing the seeking for meaning in the East that their parents began three decades ago. The locals look on bemusedly at our eccentricities, pink skin, and ability to walk into things. I find it ironic that in this wired age the West looks east for spiritual meaning while the tigers of the East look west for some sort of 7-11, KFC, central air-con, Baywatch promised land. Which is the more deluded?

Continue on around the South

"Culture shock is the temporary inability to cope with a different culture...is due to an excess of novelty. Those traveling by themselves, and in countries where they do not speak the language, are particularly at risk."

-Dr. Deborah Mills, Traveling Well, p.71.

Color, spice, squalor, cows, crowds, culture, excrement, palm trees, space, friendship, hostility, festivals, incense, cows, temples, mountains, parties, hammocks, fire sticks, beaches, trains, heat, light, dark, the sublime, the absurd, the literate, the abject, bustle, seeking, finding, lazy days, time's arrow, the known, the unknown, the head wiggle, masala dosa, namaste, shanti, cows, cows, cows! Whew...eight weeks, only eight weeks. Seems like a lifetime.

As V.S. Naipaul wrote: "In India the easiest and the most necessary thing to ignore was the most obvious. Which no doubt was why despite of all that I had read about the country, nothing had prepared me for it." All well and good to read others but the real thing defies description. I decided to throw myself into the experience: drink the water, eat at roadside stalls, talk to strangers, and try to get myself into a bit of trouble in the vain attempt to make these rambling missives a tad more interesting.

To most Indian travelers comprehension and immersion are less important than having a good time in the "land of spice and Myne." And I am certainly not the first foreigner to reach the coasts of Malabar. Arab and Chinese traders, the Jewish Diaspora, and even St. Thomas were absorbing and influencing India two millennia before I stepped off the train. And to be honest our pilgrimage to southern India was less to visit early Portuguese churches than to escape the icy fingers of winter in the warm embrace of the Goan sun.

Often in the early morning the streets of Goa would be witness to fleets of foreigners on scooters darting back and forth like a Peter Sellers film calling out: "Where's the party, man?" or "Is this the way to Disco Valley?" As I was to find out, a full moon wasn't necessary to have a full moon party. All you need is an Israeli sound system, black lights, a few thousand whities, some obnoxiously drunk Indian males, and several dozen stoic local women to keep them all going with cups of chai, snacks and bamboo mats to rest weary legs, ears, and minds.

Back to World Trip #2

Back to Tibet

I had a knot in my stomach as we walked over the border and into a land that looms so large in the imagination: of Kim's adventures, Rushdie's jive stream of consciousness, and scary looking gods with too many arms. Even the idea of India is filled with myth and mystery. What would I find? Should I drink the water? What exotic diseases would I catch?

"You felt you weren't going to a country, you were going to a continent."

-Percival Griffiths, Plain Tales from the Raj

Time would mute uncertainty and insecurity, but like the heads of Hydra one question answered led to myriad others. The most important thing to remember was to watch out for the odiferous blobs of excrement that litter every patch of dry red dirt...Sandals do have their drawbacks. Now comfortably sequestered in a Madras guesthouse the last weeks appear like a Bombay masala flick filled with color and energy but lacking cohesion. I find myself writing as disjointedly as the memories that crowd in haphazardly from the last weeks. From Vijayanagar temples, Goan raves, steamy Keralan backwaters, empty Karnataka palaces, and overcrowded buses the contrasts smack one in the face. India is obvious and yet mercurial (and lends one to sweeping generalizations).

Taking the time to read a bit of the history and literature of the country, I was left with the feeling of eating a Quarter Pounder: full but still hungry for more. A nation Gandhi called a "country of nonsense;" so recently formed and yet so calcified by tradition.

I quickly found my niche, my hammock, and my daily routine:

10am - Rise, go for jog, jump in ocean

11am - Brunch of fruit salad, toast, and coffee

1pm - Lie on beach

2pm - Turn over

3pm - Jump in ocean

4pm - Nap

6pm - Dinner with friends and strangers

Repeat.

Gate of India with some Aussies