Doggy Bag
“She stayed long enough only to miss things, not half long enough to deserve them.”
-Henry James, What Maisie Knew
Ah. All anyone ever needs to unlock their full intuitive potential in this lifetime is a little meditation and a little Henry James. You know, I didn’t write for a while because nothing too exciting was going on, and then I became too busy to write at all and before I knew it, what has it been, two weeks? It’s a good sign, believe me. India is opening her arms to me and it’s a nice warm hug…today…
Kochi held up its end of the bargain in being island-like and relaxing and I held up mine in renting a bicycle and gorging myself on Indian sweets. Aside from being severely overcharged for a load of laundry, my time there was positive. I rode all around the area in which I was staying and then up to an area called Jew Town, where the streets are filled with the smell of spices and incense and the architecture is pure Dutch Colonial goodness. After this comes Hampi, arguably my favorite place in India so far. I’ve never seen anything like it, there are boulders everywhere; mountains old and crumbly, now just piles as far as the eye can see like crumbs under the table where God was eating a giant peanut butter cookie. Throughout the last couple of thousand years, people have used the rocks to chisel temples everywhere. The landscape is practically littered with them-some glorious testaments to man’s ability to work and some of man’s ability to realize “There’s no way I’m going to move another boulder for King fancy pants. No way.” I spent a whopping 3 nights here meandering around, mostly captivated by the natural landscape. I’ve got a question: can someone please explain boulders to me? I know as mountains grow old, they crack and deteriorate, but what is it with these groups of just 2 or 3 giant boulders in the middle of a flat plain? How did they get there? This I do not understand. Look at the pictures to see what I’m talking about, it makes absolutely no sense to me. Aside from rocks, Hampi was green and lush and hosts a river to boot. To cross this river, you have to catch a ferry. To catch this ferry you have to hike up your skirt and go into the river. Go figure. My last day there I decide I’ll check out this “Monkey Temple” everyone keeps taking about. I cycle out there, which is hot enough, but when I arrive I am informed that the temple is on the hill, and only accessible through the 600 step pathway. It is the dead of the afternoon heat, I am wearing a long skirt, there is no shade…ah, why not? The temple was unimpressive and the monkeys were scarce, but the view was incredible, so no regrets there. I bought another overnight bus ticket onward to my next destination. I thought this time would be better because it was a “sleeper bus” with bedesque structures. I get on and all situated in my compartment when two guys–one Indian, one traveler–stick their heads in.
“Just one?” Asks the man who runs the bus.
“Yes”.
“Ok. You take one more, no problem.”
Ehh, the compartments might qualify as the size of a small twin bed. It’s not a huge problem, but I wouldn’t call it no problem at all. I look at the other guy who is to be my “roommate” and this is an awkward moment where I
1) Don’t want to seem rude or to imply that he is in any manner indecent
2) Know we have both been sold the ticket and thus have an equal claim of the seat and
3) Don’t want to say “no” only to have no choice and then have to spend the entire time with a person who knows how little I appreciate their presence.
We just stare. For some reason, they go away, and I intuit the other traveler is sitting with someone else in the bunk below mine. I believe I have won, though I am not cerain how or what. Then the bus conductor comes back. He leans in an lowers his voice and offers me the chance to make him a bribe to get the bunk all to myself. His generous offer is too much and I decline.
“Then you will have other person!” he says
“Fine!” I say, “but it has to be a woman.”
“No woman!” he returns. “Indian people coming! It will be man! Indian man!”
“Are you threatening me with an Indian man?”
It’s a ridiculous idea and I pretend that it doesn’t make any difference to me, but we both know it does, a little. He goes. The other traveler poke his head up again and asks if the guy just asked me for a bribe too. Then he says he’ll sit down there, but if more people do get on the bus, he’ll move up, so I feel a little better. Besides, I imagine the conductor was bluffing. It is obviously a tourist oriented sleeper bus, and I can’t imagine them picking up more people. Buuuuut they do.
Welcome. Welcome to an 8 hour overnight journey with a Russian stranger in a twin sized bed in the bus that never missed a pothole. Welcome to the longest awkward moment of my life.
We’re not going to the same place, so I get off the bus in the morning and bid him adieu. Most of the people on the bus are headed to Goa, but I’m aiming for a place called Gokarna, literally, “cow’s ear”. It’s earlier than the sun, and there are only a few other people now standing on the platform of an abandoned bus stop in the middle of nowhere. There’s a group of Israeli’s traveling together, myself, and two other independents, an Irishman and a Canadian guy with positively the coolest game I’ve ever heard of. He had it on his GPS system/tracker/thingy. Other people who have similar devices can hide treasure all over the world, and anyone with this thing can go and look for it. Mom, Dad: This is what I want for my birthday. The three of us decide to form a merry little band and head down to find a beach and somewhere to sleep. We find it and spend the next three days lounging around the beach, playing guitar, and sipping lassis. All very calming minus the one day we tried to find our way into town over the mountains and ended up missing the track and doing quadruple the distance via climbing up and over jagged rocks and through many thorns. As great as the beach was and as good of a time as I was having, that little voice was nagging me, reminding me my time here is half over, and maybe I’ll find something better even if I keep moving. The boys were more susceptible and stayed behind. I took a tuk tuk and a number of buses and walked down a long dirt road and found myself at a train station in the middle of absolutely nowhere with no train coming for the next 5 hours. I decide to stick it out and wait rather than turn back.
Have I mentioned anything about the Indian dogs? They pretty much run wild around here. They’re everywhere you turn, and not really concerned with humans, but usually in towns because that’s where the food is. They all sort of look the same: thin, bleak-eyed, short haired, kind of mangy looking. It is exceedingly rare here for people to keep pets. Having a dog as a pet is virtually unheard of. I don’t pay them a lot of mind, I just sort of got used to them as I did the cows.
At the train station, I see a puppy. Cute one. Being the ONLY customer at the station, I’ve been bothering the station manager all morning with mundane questions about routes and times and lunch. Still, I think he was at least a little surprised/annoyed when I walked over with a puppy in my arms and asked if I could take it on the train. At the time, I wasn’t all that sure of what I wanted to do with it, just that it had spent the afternoon sleeping on my lap and was small. At least half of me was dedicated to keeping it and bringing it back with me to the US. The other half was allergic. In a spectacularly serendipitous turn of events, another traveler eventually showed up who had also found a dog, but she’d had hers for 3 months and had gone the length of getting it vaccinated and all the paperwork and everything, so she had both supplies and advice. I intended to go to Mumbai that night, but now with the dog in tow, I turned my sights for a region of Goa where the girl gave me the address of the Animal Rescue Center there that could help me and answer my questions. So right now I have a puppy. Her name is Keap and at present she’s asleep in my lap. Last night she slept curled up in my armpit. It was really cute up to the point where she wet the bed and then it was still cute but kinda gross. Again today I took a series of buses, no questions asked. Just hand people the address of the place and they tell me what bus to get on. When the bus lets me off, I am once again in the middle of absolutely nowhere. The bus driver gives me a weird “you’re pretty far from home, aren’t you” look and points me down a dirt road. I walk with my big 20k bag on my back, my smaller 10k on my front, and a little dog in a box. When I finally reach the place, it is closed and isn’t open till monday. A really friendly Swedish girl offers us a ride into town on her scooter, so we’re all set up there for now. Got my own scooter and everything. I made a caller out of some nylon rope I carry around, and I bought a little shoulder bag to carry Keap in, because all the cool kids ride around on motorbikes with dogs in their bags. Monday I’ll have more information and maybe even a decision, but until then I’m pretending I live here and this is my life and my dog. And for now it is.
Tags: Goa, Gokarna, India, Kochi, Travel
Blair
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