Opportunity Knocks

“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.

“However, if we aren’t learning something from a new experience, it’s usually because we aren’t paying attention.”-Tom Robbins, Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas
Ah, Puri. I guess there’s good and bad in everything–I didn’t get on the train because it was full, so I did have to wait another day…but then I was assured a seat…so that was nice. Also, I met some good people in Puri, so ok if I had to extend a little. One evening I was sitting on the beach and a German girl came up to me and asked me to watch her things while she took a dip in the ocean. Then, she took out a sketchbook and said, “and this is you”. I had seen her out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t realize she was drawing me. We talked a while and then a philosophy teacher I’d met from Singapore, Chau, came and joined us. Chau and I grabbed dinner and spoke for a long time, the most philosophical banter I’ve had on my trip yet, very refreshing. On my way back to my guesthouse that evening, a cycle rickshaw driver came up to me on the street and, laughing maniacally, swatted me with a towel before passing on in to the night. I’m…not really sure what that was about.

My next move was a stopover in Chennai. I’d read there wasn’t much to see or do there, but Biu, a girl on the train who was a student there convinced me to stay overnight. Can’t say it was that exciting, but no harm in looking around. Next morning, I took a bus to Pondicherry. Now here was a place I’d heard was great, so I was expecting a lot. This enthusiasm was quickly dashed upon the hot rocks of the high season–all the guesthouses were full. Drenched in sweat, I carried my home through the streets and finally had to settle on a room that was too expensive, but apparently the last in town. Pondicherry and I were off on a bad foot. I sought in vain a way to plan my next move, but for reasons unknown the train station (which I walked 1-2 km to) wouldn’t sell me a ticket, and the bus station (same distance, other direction) was having technical difficulties. But I’m told the bus to Kochi is rarely full, so I shouldn’t need to reserve. Pooped, I hired an auto rickshaw back to my hotel.

“30 rupees!” the guy tells me.

“No thanks, I walked here for free.”

“No! No! It’s too far, impossible to walk.”

“I’m telling you: I. Just. Did. 20 rupees.”

“No, no. Too far.”

So I go to leave and another man comes up and says quietly, “20 rupees OK.”  I go with him. As we walk to his tuk-tuk, another pulls alongside us and the driver and smiling, yells, “Do not go with him! He is cheating his fellow!”
“Cheating his fellow?” I say, “He agreed to 20 and his fellow wouldn’t. That isn’t cheating, that’s capitalism, baby.” My spirits are suddenly lifted, bringing to full light a certain me-ism that is my inability to really relax in a place unless my exit is absolutely assured.

It should here be noted that I am at present writing this in my notebook (thanks Kerri) in a park, and a bird has just pooped on me.

Onward. Pondicherry has a distinctly French colonial flare to it, which is a welcomed change of pace insofar as that brings with it easily navigable (albeit numerous) streets. I rented a bike for a few hours one day and decided it was not an objectionable way to get around. I was afraid of the lawless, take no prisoners attitude of Indian trafic, but I daresay I fit in well. It gave me a more thorough look at Pondicherry than I would have had otherwise, and finally a better impression of the mid-sized town. Small towns are one thing, peaceful and charmingly personable, and big cities-I love big cities- are vibrant and full of curiosity, but something about a medium sized town, I don’t know, always seems like it’s mocking me.

That said, it’s a nice walk down the promenade with fresh pineapple stands abundant and the wind-thinned waves vaulting themselves onto land and taking you by surprise if you’re not paying attention, standing too close to the rocks. Nearby is a lovely park of the green and clean variety that everyone seems to agree is a nice way to spend the afternoon. Crow excrement aside, I have to concur. In one corner, there’s a slow and heavy wind chime providing a constant undercurrent of melodies as people sit, talk, play, or stare at the curious white girl who refuses to move from her bench even though the sprinklers have come on.

I do manage to catch the bus to Kochi, an overnighter, and it is not a pleasant experience. Initially I was excited because I had two seats to myself, so I thought for sure I would sleep soundly. Turns out, I couldn’t sleep a wink. Another meism, or maybe this is true of people at large, is that it’s easier to get physically comfortable in smaller spaces. Or I guess more specifically, if options are limited.

In fact, I’d like to see a study to that end, maybe, with prison inmates. If the setup is an empty concrete room in both cases, who would fall asleep first: the person in the 15×20 foot room, or the one in the 3×5? And would the person in the bigger room sleep against the wall? These are the questions I keep myself company with. Doesn’t that sound like a good time?

After hours of contorting my body into positions that would put a yoga master to shame, I discover the best way to go is sitting bolt upright with a scarf tied around my eyes like a bandit to keep the light out. When we reach Kochi, I stumble into the light bleary eyed and sleepy like a child in my refusal to bring myself around to full consciousness; I kind of float off the bus and slosh about looking for my sunglasses, batting my hands at the sun. First order of business is to eat followed by bicycle rentary. I got plugged into a homestay by the driver of my rickshaw, and it’s more than I usually shell out for accommodation, but it’s got a homey feel to it and I have full use of a kitchen, so that should help cut costs. Besides that, I’ve spent today napping. Kochi (Conchin) is actually an island only accessible by ferry, so I’m feeling right pleasant and may stay here a few days.

And in other news, my own heart Dominick Mach left for his Peace Corps staging in Morocco yesterday. He’ll be there for two years, and you can keep up with him by following the bouncing blog link here and read all about his travels and how inspiring I am. Furthermore, my other darling daring friend Emily Clyne leaves for her El Salvadorian Peace Corps adventure in 3 days, and she’s got a spiffy website here, complete with travel blog.

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