Dream, Plan, Travel, Repeat.

On April 27 (Matteo’s 25th birthday), Matteo and I traveled to Thrissur, a town in central Kerala, for the grand finale of an 8-day pooram. The annual festival is billed as the “most spectacular in Kerala” and features -according to our Lonely Planet guidebook- “an elephant procession to end all elephant processions.” As Matteo had never before celebrated his birthday with an elephant procession, we naturally had to go.

After we arrived in Thrissur, we also learned that there would be a fireworks display from 3AM to 6AM the following morning. (And, after witnessing the event, I can call it “a fireworks display to end all fireworks displays.”)

The festival was thrilling. My emotions were fueled in part by the energetic crowd, the amazing elephants, and the fireworks, but also by the absolutely insane way that Indians host a festival. You know when something crazy/breathtaking happens to you, and you don’t fully realize how dangerous it was until after it ends? That happened to me not once or twice but five times at the pooram. (As I re-read this, I wonder what it says about my sense of judgment- but, hey, I had a great time.)

The elephant procession came first. A small stand was set up in front of the main temple for foreigners to watch the event in comfortable chairs while thousands upon thousands of Indians looked on from the roads below. By the time that Matteo and I arrived at the stand, it was pretty full. We decided to watch the festival from the ground, in an area just next to the stand that had been roped off by the police. There were relatively few people in the area, as most had been pushed away from the road to make room for the procession. At the time, it seemed like a good place to stay.

In front of the temple, about 15 elephants, wearing gold headgear and garlands and carrying two to three saffron-robed men, were standing shoulder-to-shoulder. The men would occasionally raise colorful parasols or images of gods in time with the drums and draw cheers from the dancing crowd. It was a beautiful sight, and a harmless one…until the elephants started to move.

Near-death experience #1 came as the elephants moved forward and all of us standing in the roped off section (including the policemen) realized that there really wasn’t enough room for so many elephants walking shoulder-to-shoulder. I found myself pressed against the stand watching an elephant pass me from no more than a foot away. (Luckily, I captured part of it on video- I’ll show it when I finally get my act together on the photo/video front.)

The moment that the elephant passed, however, was exhilarating (as I imagine some near-death experiences can be) so when the first set of elephants left and some policemen came to Matteo and I and asked if we’d want to sit in the stands for the next set we stupidly said no. We had a great view of the festival and a decent amount of room to move around, unlike the people we saw further down the street as well as in the foreigner stands.

And then, suddenly, there was no room to move around. At the procession, there’s a face-off between the two sets of elephants, where the men on their backs display a sort of one-upmanship with the parasols. The first set of elephants travel a decent distance (an eighth- or quarter-mile?) from the temple for the face-off, so there’s a long wait before the second set of elephants appear from within the temple compound. During that time, the crowd swept into the empty space in front of the temple and the police gave up their attempts to create any sense of order. When the second set of elephants appeared, even more people crowded in.

And here’s where near-death experience #2 comes in: I became wedged between several incredibly sweaty people (keep in mind this is during the day, during southern India’s hot and humid summer), and started to understand how people can get crushed to death. But I was standing next to another woman at the time, and we caught the eyes of some policemen who used their bodies to build a sort of semi-barricade around us to give us a little bit of breathing room. (They were great and super-macho about it- “We’re just doing our duty, ma’am.”) At the end of the procession, when the crowd finally dispersed, I was a sweaty puddle gasping for air and thanking every higher power that I’ve encountered in India for letting me survive. (…to attend another Indian festival, perhaps?)

And in case anyone is wondering, Matteo handled the crowd like a man. I think it didn’t bother him as much because he’s about a foot or so taller than most Indian men. Maybe his lungs were not located at a crushable level? (A side note about his being 6’4″ in Asia- his height is making him miserable. His knees won’t fit between any bus seats, his feet [and ankles and part of his calves] are always hanging off of the beds, and owners at three different stores laughed at him when he asked if they have size 48 sandals.)

Near-death experience #3 occurred when we were walking down a side street around 1AM waiting for the fireworks to begin. An Indian man frantically yelled “Elephant coming!” and the everyone on the street (maybe 20 people or so?) rushed towards the storefronts and pressed themselves against the walls. A police car roared past us, but no runaway elephant.

Near-death experiences #4 and #5 came during the fireworks displays. Indian fireworks. Good god. During the festival, a man told Matteo and I that an Indian court had recently banned future fireworks at the pooram. (I don’t know if this is true, but you’ll soon know why that sounds reasonable.) I think that, as a result, Thrissur decided to use up all of their fireworks that night.

The crowd around the fireworks was so intense that Matteo and I, along with a Canadian, a Frenchman, and an Australian we met during our travels, were brought to the front by some policemen. (Luckily for us, crushed tourists equal bad publicity.) We, as well as the policemen were under a tree, very close to the fireworks (smart, right?).

The fireworks, like the elephant procession, are a sort of competition between groups, with each trying to outdo the other. Except, in India, the “best” fireworks are not the ones that shoot up into the sky and burst into glittering colored lights. No, the best are ones that explode near the earth, giving you the impression that you have suddenly been transported to downtown Baghdad. Imagine glaring white lights, sounds that pump into your chest (bam, Bam, BAM!!!), and a semi-blinded, fully deaf crowd that -as tens of explosions accelerate over a 30 second period or so- suddenly begins running for safety. This happened TWO times before the “normal” (and apparently boring, as many people began to leave, having already enjoyed the main event) fireworks began. (I was dumbstruck the whole time, so I forgot to videotape the fireworks, but the Canadian we were with did and he promised to send us the clip.)

And that, my friends, is how I almost came to an end (five times!) in Thrissur, Kerala.

Really, though, the festival was great. I’d do it again if I could…but maybe from a distance.

I know that this post is very long, but I should end with a tip for female travelers at Indian festivals:

When I first entered the crowd, I was shocked to instantly (and I mean INSTANTLY) find that MANY men felt it was ok to grab my butt, breasts, and crotch. I’ve been in crowds before where a man or two does a sleezy brush-by, but these men were ridiculous. I told the three men I was traveling with, as well as some great Indian guys we met along the way, and they were sure to create a buffer zone around me (and the Australian girl we were with) and smack anyone they saw making a move on us (and the jerks would skulk away with a guilty look on their face). It was effective, and similar to what I saw Indian women doing with their husbands and brothers. For my own part, I kept my hands at my sides, and dug my nails into any hands that tried to get through. But, had I been alone, or only with other girls, there is no way I’d attend these events. The groping is too out of control and, if you are the only one looking out for yourself, you’ll be too distracted to enjoy all of the wonderful festivities.

India. My first impression of India was that it is madness. Total, absolute chaos reigns on the streets- drivers ignore what painted lines the roads may offer, cows and sheep join colorful, tinsel-laden autorickshaws and scooters in the lanes, and veiled or sari-clad women and men in trousers or lungis dodge the animals and vehicles. Pedestrians compete with fruit, vegetable, and spice vendors and beggers for “sidewalk” space. Honking is substituted for turn signals (or, I think, simply to express the joy of driving), and stereos and televisions blast the latest film songs over and over again. You can smell jasmine and sandalwood and smoke and trash. Tucked between all of this are colorful temples for Vishnu, Lakshmi, Ganesh, and hundreds of other Hindu gods, mosques for Allah, churches for Jesus, and a massive stone Buddha looking at the city from the middle of a central lake. So many people and animals and plants and gods.

But for my first 9 days here, I was in a city -Hyderabad, nicknamed “Cyberabad” for its advances in the IT field- so I could also see Emerging India. There are posh looking shopping malls, an IMAX theater, lots of billboard advertisements for investment opportunities in the country’s infrastructure, Baskin Robbins and Dominos, and even a Ramoji Film City that offers a type of Universal Studios-like experience. Cleanliness, structure, and order are as present in these locations as they are at home in the U.S. It reminds me a little of Malaysia- not quite “developed” world, not quite “developing.” India is in some ways like parts of Europe that I have seen and in other ways like the African countries I have been to. But it is foremost Indian.

I adore India.

During those first days, Matteo and I stayed with the family of an Indian-American friend, who were dream hosts. They made sure that we both ate enough to ensure our survival through the rest of our round-the-world trip (besides HUGE and delicious breakfasts, lunches, teas, and dinners, there were plenty of new snacks and sweets presented to us almost on an hourly basis), took us to Hyderabad’s best sights (amazing forts, temples, museums, and the Ramoji Film City), initiated our first autorickshaw ride (so much fun!), taught us a few words in their language, Telugu (I was called “Akka,” or “older sister,” by our friend Shipra’s adorable 7 year-old cousin), and generally shared tidbits of past and present Indian life.

On the ninth day, Matteo and I left Shipra’s family in Hyderabad for Alleppey, a town on the backwaters of Kerala, India’s most southwestern state. After our easy life in Hyderabad, where we were graciously chauffered around town and all of our needs were cared for, we were a bit worried about setting out on our own. When we were dropped off at the airport for our domestic flight ($90 for ticket purchased only 3 days before and with lunch served on the one and a half hour long trip!), Matteo and I looked at one another and said, half-seriously/half-jokingly, “Do you think we’ll make it alone in India?”

But so far, we have made it. We got ourselves through the security line at the airport (35 minutes before the plane was scheduled to depart, and about an hour before it actually did), figured out what the heavily accented English voice amid the Hindi and Telugu ones over the loudspeakers was saying, boarded our flight, exited the flight when it landed in the nearby city of Kochi, paid a reasonable price for a taxi (success!) to the town’s bus station, ran after a bus from Kochi to Alleppey just as it was leaving, squeezed ourselves into the bus and sat wedged between people with our backpacks in our laps for the hour and a half long ride, and found our hotel. (Breath.) And then, we rented a houseboat for several days (and our own crew!) to cruise through the most beautiful palm tree-lined landscape I have (and may) ever see. But more on that later…

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