Namaste India

So that’s it!

We’re done. India Chapter over but who knows. I do know that I will be bringing a little something back with me. I won’t get into too many details but just lets say that one of the many Gods of this country took vengeance on me at about 2 p.m.

We will discuss later.

No time for breakfast this morning: things to do people to barter with. First stop was a trip to the tailor for a fitting then off to the Palace Museum.

The cool thing about Udaipur is that it is home to the oldest Dynasty in the World- “The Mewar Dynasty”. We learned that the Monarch is considered as a custodian of the land representing the word of the Gods.

What is really unique about being in Udaipur when we were is that the Custodian is hosting a marriage celebration of his youngest daughter on March 7^th. This is a HUGE deal and there is bustle everywhere as preparations are being made. We timed our trip here perfectly.

The Palace Museum is full of interesting trinkets left over from Mewar lore. Facinating stories of how this family fought off invaders for centuries. How they used tactics like attaching fake elephant trucks to the noses of their horses when going into battle against war elephants.

Why you may ask?

Cause apparently mommy and daddy elephants are highly maternal/paternal and they naturally will not attack a baby elephant or in this case a horse disguised as a baby elephant.

Now tell me that isn’t clever.

We learned of the fate of one of the Custodian’s daughters, “Krishna”, whom by an administrative error was promised to two suitors. When the two future grooms arrived and the error was realized; the only solution was to have Krishna killed.

This would save face and prevent war.

Due to the fact that Krishna was so beautiful no one in the Kingdom would take her life (the audio guides words – not mine); it was decided that she would take poison.

Legend has it that she drank three times and the poison would not work due to divine intervention. The Fourth time was the charm.

Speaking of poison…2 p.m. I got the worst F**kn stomach cramps ever. Figures…on the last day!!

Doing my best “Delhi Shuffle” kind of like a very fast Charley Chaplan walk we sped to the “Whistling Teal” restaurant (great place by the way). Fortunately I got to the washroom on time but I now realize why most Indian washrooms have a “vegetable sprayer” beside the toilet.

I know…ewwwwww.

I had to divert my eyes from a proper English Woman who went in after I did.

Anyways, after the episode we sat in the courtyard of the restaurant and had a bottle of water and an apple flavoured Hookah while we watched monkeys play in the trees above.

I had never had one before and it was quite good.

For the record the hookah was the non-trippy type.

All checked out we waited for our cab and here I sit on a questionable plane heading back to Delhi where we will start our journey home.

Now you may ask me, “Mike, what did you learn about India?” You might ask “Mike can you give me any sage advice about traveling to India?” or you might even try “Mike, what’s it like watching a bunch of Indian Women bathe?”. As most of you know me, I am never short of advice so I will endeavor to answer the first two questions but I’m not going to entertain the third question.

Sorry, what happens in Udaipur, stays in Udaipur.

What I learned about India is that to travel this country takes patience. For every one bad experience you have you will get two back. Keep in mind that you will have a bad experience.

You will see poverty and you will see a lot of it.

Standard of cleanliness isn’t the same as ours but at the same time we don’t have to walk 5 klms for daily water and the people here don’t have the luxury of walking their garbage to the curb.

Accept the people of India for what they are. Our spirits are the same it’s just the measurement of human condition that is different.

If you’re travelling to India consider treating the large metropolises as day trips. Pick a few points of interest, get in and get out. I found the people and remote historical sites outside of the cities are far more beautiful – maybe you will too.

Get yer ass to Rajastan, it is simply amazing and Udiapur (in my opinion so far) is the jewel.

Learn the technique of “Head Bobbling” it goes a long way in the art of negotiation.

India is a deeply spiritual country. Unlike the water, drink it in freely - you will grow.

On the water note…no matter how much they assure you that the ice cubes they serve are from filtered water…give up the illusion of chilled drinks.

Some things that are must packs for a trip to India:

IMODIUM – oh god bring Imodium.

Bring a surgical mask. You might look a liitle silly but wearing one when walking through traffic or riding a tuk tuk through busy streets will save a few brain cells.

Antibiotics if you can.

Bring a bandana for sure; if you have ever read Douglas Adams then consider that the Bandana is to the Indian traveler as the Towel is to the main characters of “ The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy”.

Malarone is essential as is Deet and Sunscreen.

Most importantly is pack your sense of humour and unless you plan on staying at the best hotels and spending wads of cash, leave your “Princess Card” at home.

So that’s my trip.

I must admit that I really am looking forward to getting back to my friends, family and colleagues; working abroad makes you truly appreciate the village that you have left temporarily behind.

I have to admit I didn’t spend a lot of time proof reading or spell checking but hey, I’m on a working vacation and free time is scarse…if that makes any sense.

Besides I have tones of friends who thrive on over-correcting and I’ve just provided them pages of fun filled activity.

That’s just the charitable kind of guy that I am.

Thanks very much for reading

Your Friend,

Mike

-30-

Perving at the Ghat

Woke up this morning and the first order of business was breakfast. Didn’t want to eat at the palace cause it is god awful expensive for the same food that you can get a few blocks away for a few rupees.

Lonely Planet suggested that breakfast be taken at the Sunrise Café. So of we went through the narrow streets to our destination.

No change in the demeanor of the residents as we were greeted by “Good Morning Sirs” and “Good day”. I think we have landed in the “Mayberry of India”

The Sunrise Café is easy to find it you are looking at the top of the building while walking down the street.

But mission accomplished.

What Lonely Planet doesn’t tell you is that you have to walk up the “Impossible Steps” to get there. You have to squeeze through a tight stair case that houses an incline that makes the calf muscles burn.

But we got there and breakfast was good. Thanks Lonely Planet.

After we wiped our grinning faces it was off to explore the city and the first stop was the Ghats.

In India a “Ghat” is basically steps or a landing on a river. Since Udaipur is a city of lakes there are no shortages of Ghats.

Ghats are a huge social centre as the locals come here to do there laundry in the green lake water, take a swim, wash and dry their dirty close and lather their bodies as they bathe.

We sat on the steps and blended in with the locals as best as possible. We had left our soap at home so a bath was out of the question.

Once and a while one of the bathers would look up at me with curiosity and perhaps a little apprehension. I couldn’t help think how I would feel, if a large tourist with a floral patterned shirt came into my bathroom to watch me sponge down.

It might bode well with some of my friend, ahem, but not with me.

Then, without warning the swarm came.

Dozens of women wearing brightly coloured sarees came out of nowhere. They were beautifully dressed and most wore large hopes pierced in their noses attached to large chains linked to their ears. The existing “soaped ones” looked at them with the same curiousity they had extended to me. It was an odd site.

By the way that they started to crowd us on the Ghat, I knew we had outstayed our welcome.

One of the women smiled at me to reveal a few teeth against her vacant gums and then started to wave a bar of soap. I got the message and we headed back to the Ambrai patio for a Tuborg and a few veggie pakora.

Oh! And look at that! A clear view of the Ghat.

Beer at my side and camera in hand I started to snap the ballet of sarees as the women started to bathe. I didn’t expect that they would undress – but there they were. Some pulled their sarees mid-drift and started to wash their hair.

The site was almost primal and ritualistic. Beautiful and natural.

I almost started to feel guilty of my intrusion after the 50^th shot. Almost.

My guilt shed away as a local tour boat packed with tourists slowed the motor so everyone could get a shot.

At least I was shooting for arts sake. Phsst – tourists.

Of course Nicole just rolled her eyes but then I noticed that she was taking the same shots. She justifies it by saying that I have a better zoom on my camera…uh huh.

After the perv fest it was off to the Museum where we viewed the world’s largest Turban…BIG ASS TURBAN!

The rest of the day way spent shopping for Pachemas and a stop at the local tailors. Yes, I bought another vest but this one is a Nehru cut and a steal at $70 CDN.

Very unique…hope the folks at the office can take it.

And so ended our last full day in Udaipur. We have a few more adventures ahead of us tomorrow and then it’s the start of the journey home.

One more blog entry to go.

U-dah-Perfect!

Landed outside Udaipur around 3:30 this afternoon.

The first thing you notice is the silence. No honking horns just a few polite cab drivers waiting for you to purchase your pre-paid cab fare into Udaipur.

25 Klms later you enter Udaipur and yes you can still see the poverty but you don’t have people running up to tap on the car window with crying babes in there arms.

Then you approach the Palace Gates…that’s right my friends, I said Palace.

WE ARE STAYING IN A FREAKING PALACE!!!

I’m not talking a 250 rupee enterance fee palace. I’m talking full fledged, royal guard at the gate, mountain shangra-lah.

The cab labours up the steep driveway to the check-in. Cyrsantemum (sp) leis are adorned around our neck.

What? No fruity drink?

A very polite clerk checks us in and escorts us to our marble floored room with a semi private court yard none-the-less.

The room is small for $250/night but the bathroom is HUGE and clean so everything is cool.

Then the turban adorned bell boy walks in with our fruity drink…that’s better.

Some historical facts about the lodgings…Yawn.

“Formerly known as Mewar, Udaipur was founded in 1559 when Maharana Udai Singh II took flight from the final sacking of Chittorgarh by the Mughal emperor Akbar (the same guy I was talking about during the last entry). The city is bounded by the remains of an ancient city wall and is placed on the east side of Lake Pichola.”

It’s also the location where the Bond flick “Octopussy” was filmed – so that’s cool.

First order of business was food.

We took a tuk tuk through the narrow streets, when I say narrow I mean Narrrrr-ow. You don’t see a lot of cabs in this city but motorcycles and bikes are abundant.

During the car ride home last night, our driver recommended that we go to a restaurant with a perfect lake view of our hotel complex called “Ambrai’. This is where I had the opportunity to take the photo above.

We sat, drank cold beer and had a few snacks while the sun went down. I can say with some certainty that this view can’t be beat. And the smell…oh my the smell.

With the sun going down we decided to walk the streets home, cause that’s just the type of city the Udaipur is. We weren’t approached once buy beggars and the shop owners are far less aggressive.

This is definitely and artisans town. Look through the doors of most shops and you can see by the dim light a craftsman with chisel in hand chipping something or sewing something but mainly chiseling something.

The smell! Sure, this is India and you are guaranteed to get a whiff of burning wood or diesel fuel but in Udaipur there are so many small temples and incense dealers that the smell of natural Jasmine rules all.

I think the unique thing about Udaipur is that the pace is slower and the Monarchy is right there.

The night ended with a cocktail over looking the Lake where we were treated to a fireworks display.

So glad that we are going to end our trip here.

Tomorrow it’s trinket shopping and sight seeing.

Night all.

Waiting at Delhi Airport

Sitting in the Delhi Airport waiting for the flight to board: Destination Udaipur. It’s not surprising that the flight is delayed, everything is fashionably late in this country.

But it does give me some time to “make-up blog” for yesterday’s thin entry.

Thanks for the comments and e-mails that have been coming in nice to see that some of you still have the stamina to read through the droning.

Hopefully you have had the time to view the youtube driving videos that I have posted. You may have been amazed by the mayhem but trust me, that was a tame sample.

Yesterday was all about the historical sites of Agra but the real adventure was surviving the 9+ hours we spent in the car.

My God, or Allah, or Ganesh! Whoever was looking out for us, I thank you.

All I could think about when driving was how any of my friends could survive the road rules here. My guess is that even the ones who tout themselves as the “best drivers ever” – you know who I am talking about, would either hemorage from road rage or pull off into a nice quite ditch to sit in their cars and soil themselves.

I’m not exaggerating…it’s that bad.

Talking to Nigel and Clare this morning, I’m told that hundreds of tourists die on the road each year and of this I have no doubt at all. Every once and a while you see a crushed truck or bus or tuk tuk rusting on the meridian in memorial.

But we had a very skilled driver who navigated us through and we made it through safely.

Our first stop in Agra was to meet our guide for The Taj and Agra Fort “Mr. Bobby”. Mr. Bobby was a very slick fellow: Ray Ban aviator glasses, beige check patterned sports coat, tight tan polyester pants and pointing polished dress shoes. Enter ZZ Top as he walked across the road in slow motion “ Evvverrrybody crazy ‘bout a sharp dressssssed man”.

Nice enough guy and I really appreciated the way he talked berrrrrrry sloowwwwwly and unnnnnunciated evvvverrrrry thing. I really appreciated the photo composition tips he was giving me, asking regularly to judge the quality of my shots.

Given that I had a horrible migraine from the drive in, Bobby had no idea how close he was to getting a smacked bottom.

But he was absolutely lovely to Nicole and treated her like a Bollywood Star.

On that note: I don’t think I have mentioned Nicole’s notoriety in India. I can’t count how many times she’s been stopped by the locals to have photos taken with her.

Nationals of all casts and group sizes with Nicole standing in the middle; an interesting sight.

Funny thing is that not a single rupee is offered for her time.

I mean really, fair is fair, if they can charge me for taking photographs of them…

I’m also a little jealous that no National asks for my photograph. Their loss, they couldn’t afford the cost per frame anyway.

Okay, back to Bobby. He spent a lot of time talking about the craftsmanship of the marble inlay and it was very unique indeed. Tiny threads of colourful jewels (mother of pearl, onxy, malakyte etc.) were ground on stone sanding wheels and imbedded into hard white Indian Marble. Hardest Marble in the world we are told.

We are also told that the craftsman’s decendents are still living and working not to far from here and he can take us there to see the work done. I could smell the court yard of the Taj filling with the smell of the blantant sales pitch.

My nose wasn’t wrong but I won’t bore you with the details.

I will tell you that once we were taken to meet the craftsman, I tipped the workers and bought nothing from the trinket shop. Hrrrrrummph!

Next stop was Fort Agra, to me far more interesting. Tales of wars, drunk Moguls and Concubines – even got to see the Bathtub of the 4^th Mogul Emperor who retrofitted his tub so that his Concubines could blow through tubes into the water and create a hot tub like effect.

Ahhhh ,simpler times.

After the Fort we said goodbye to Bobby and watched as he did his best “John Travolta Strut” across the busy traffic sun glistening against his thick mane of dark hair (parted in the middle of course)

I shouldn’t be so mean.

Next leg of the tour was to Fatepur Sikri (sp) a castle and holy place all wrapped up into one amazing National Monument.

The castle was funded by a Khan by the name of Akbar. He had three wives, one Muslim, one Hindu, one Christian (Brunette, Red Head, Blonde)….OH I’M Kidding, stop being so sensitive!!!!

Akbar believed that all Gods should be viewed in common (no one god is greater than the other) and to this end all faiths were treated equally; very progressive for the 16^th century.

I would argue that the reliefs and architecture was superior to the Taj but I would probably be shouted down simply because their isn’t some romantic tale behind it.

But you know. The carvings of Akbar’s Palace tribute all faiths and that to me shows greater love for all mankind…not just to one woman.

GOD I CAN BE DEEP WHEN I WANNA BE!!

The castle rests atop a small mountain and due to his philosophies: a thriving metropolis for its time.

We are told by our new guide…let’s call him “Not Bobby” that during Akbar’s reign 150,000 lived and worked outside of the castle.

After Akbar was gone religious strife began and there was nothing to support the remaining population. Today only 7,000 remain.

And the 7,000 are poorer than poor and rely on us tourists to support the community

“Not Bobby” gave a most excellent tour and was truly earnest in his approach: except for the part when he was telling me how handsome I was and how I looked like a very famous Bollywood Star…Stop laughing Rajesh…and you too Dale!

He had a few sales angles, just as the other Bobby did but I didn’t really mind “Other Bobby did an excellent job.

The journey back home was a little more exhilarating than the morning journey but I had lots of time to talk to the driver and take a few videos of the drive.

Back at the safety of the British Embassy and comfy bed.

Didn’t sleep well – had night terrors residual from the driving I guess.

Up at 5:30 a.m. and spent a lovely great morning with the Casey Family then it was off to the airport.

Next update from Udaipur, City of Lakes and I’m hoping no car horns.

The Romantic Icon

So the story goes that the Taj Mahal was build by Persian Emperor Shah Jahan in 1653 as a memorial to his second wife Mumtaz Mahal. Mumtaz had died giving birth to their 14^th Child. They were married for 16 years, do the math.

On her death bed Mumtaz made Jahan promise her 3 things. First that Jahan never re-marry. Whaaaaaaa? Second, that he protect their 6 remaining children ( keep in mind that slaughtering heirs to the throne was in fashion during these times). The last request was to have Jahan build something to immortalize her.

My guess was that the last request was designed as an extra insurance policy to request number one.

Jahan was good on his word on all three requests; single, kids intact and 50 Million Rupees later ( quite a some considering an ounce of gold was 2 rupees during the17th Century ) The Taj Mahal stands as a testimonial for his love for Mumtaz.

Crappy thing is that if he had reneged on promise number 2 he probably wouldn’t have spent the last 8 years of his life staring at his creation under house arrest, ordered by his Son, from the Agra Fort.

Had an awesome day but way too much driving and running from monument to monument.

Got the money shot today “Yayyyyyy” zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I’m “nackered”. Enjoy the pic and drive (see YouTube links)

http://www.youtube.com/user/MSheffer1962#p/a/u/0/mGDn-M6QLUc

Open Arms in Delhi

A bit of administration stuff first. For those of you who are interested, I’ve posted a 10 minute walk about of the village on Youtube. Not the most informative documentary you will ever see but it give you a flavour for village life.

http://www.youtube.com/user/MSheffer1962#p/a/u/0/MTsDQRw8FrQ

Now back to the adventure.

We had a Hotel Car arranged at 5:45 a.m. to take us to the Mumbai domestic airport where our plane to Delhi awaited.

The ride was…interesting to say the least. I’m convinced that the driver was on speed as we dashed through the virtually empty streets. Bouncing over potholes taking sharp turns and making the occasional sudden veer tossed us a little bit and my diet Pepsi didn’t fare too well. (an excellent substitute for coffee by the way).

Our destination was Delhi where we are to spend a few days with Nicole’s Cousins Nigel and Clare and the British Embassy Compound in New Delhi.

We were greeted by Duchand, the house driver and I knew, just by his warm smile, that this was going to be a very different experience than Mumbai.

My first impression of Delhi was that it was that it seemed more spacious and cleaner; perhaps a little more cosmopolitan. Hell, even the construction workers that we passed on the highway were wearing Hard Helmets and Safety boots.

To be fair the first impressions of Delhi could have been skewed by the fact that this city had just been host to the Commonwealth games and things may be a bit tidier than usual.

There was poverty no doubt and when you stop your car beggars will come up to your window and tap the glass for offerings. It’s sounds awful but I have already be conditioned to look straight ahead and ignore the little palms against the glass. I feel like a Bastard but rolling down the window to give a few rupees would be problematic at best.

We are staying in the area of the Diplomatic Enclave. We pass embassy after embassy with high walls and well manicured lawns. Once at the gate of the British Compound we passed through a large gate: where we were greeted by retired British soldiers. The driver stops and unlatches the hood of the car and the bottom of the vehicle is expected. Once completed, the barrier is lifted and we pass to Clare and Nigel’s home.

I’m going to start to gush, so if you would like to pass the next few paragraphs I totally understand.

Despite the beautiful home, the house staff and the gated community; Nigel and Clare lack all pretention that you might expect when being hosted by professional Diplomats (as seen on Television).

Clare greeted us with a warm smile and you felt that at the time you were the most interesting person in the room. She politely informed us that she had to leave us for a while as she had a scheduled Serbian lesson.

Nigel, Nicole’s Cousin, will be posted in Bosnia, leaving his post in India during the month of June and Diplomats are expected to be able to converse in the native language.

We were served lemon fizz drinks as we sat in the back yard. The loud sounds of drivers fighting with rickshaws who were fighting with motorcyclists who were dodging pedestrians; was replaced by the tranquil sounds of nature.

We watched as chipmunks dodged about the yard neighbouring with various and abundant birds while parakeets skirted from tree to tree.

We were half expecting Snow White to pop out from behind one of the Palms and start singing. She must have been in the Pub.

With her lesson over Clare gave us a quick tour of the compound with abundant energy all the while entertaining us with her ability to mimic other foreigners – her Canadian is quite good.

Next were introductions to Nigel; a career diplomat with a great sense of humour and a quirky little grin not too dissimilar to Nicole’s – it must be genetic.

I am amazed that despite his busy schedule he still has time to host.

We meet the children, Connor and Katya, smart and whimsical with their Mother’s ability to mimic. It’s hard not to laugh when a 7 and 5 year old count with Hindi accents: “Forrrrteee Wonn, Forrrteee Toooo, Forrrrrteee Treeeee”

Nigel goes back to work while Clare and the Kids take us to the Red Fort and a Rickshaw ride through the streets of Old Delhi.

The Fort was vast and rich in history to vast for me to describe in words but the way the light bounced through the architecture lead to some amazing photo opportunities that can’t be beat. Well, not exactly true because the journey we took next through the thin and packed streets of Old Delhi topped the day.

Imagine driving through streets no wider than 8 feet. Driven by a pedal powered rickshaw. Packed with Merchants moving their wares.

The Wedding Market, the Electronic Market, the Silk Market and finally the Spice Market was an assault on every sense and worth every rupee we paid (approximately $20 Canadian Dollars).

Once the ride was finished I was light headed from all the exhaust fumes, from the heavy traffic, not our rickshaw driver.

I wanted to do it again!

There is nothing so exotic as driving down a busy Old Delhi street , the smell of fresh spices permeating your nostrils while monkey play on the swaying power lines above.

More sights tomorrow, can’t wait. This leg of the trip is a perfect mix of luxury and deep culture; thanks to Clare and Nigel.

Mum-Bye!

No no no, the guy in the pic is not assaulting the man he has gripped by the throat. That sharp razor he is holding in his hand? What this? “I was just about to give my good friend a street shave”, he says.

Truth be told that is exactly what is occurring. The streets of Mumbai define the meaning of a “Cottage Industry”.

What an awesome day.

The team met at 8 a.m. this morning and walked to a local Barista that Anita had found. It was our last breakfast together and it was nice to start the day with a pseudo black coffee and a surprisingly good croissant.

We had planned on heading to the Gandhi Museum but later decided to opt for a walk to Victoria Train Station ( a UNESCO monument). It was an awesome walk!

We seemed to be a little lost but it allowed us to walk through the busy merchant streets of Mumbai. This section of town was narrow and there was no shortage of wonderment.

Merchants mingled with businessmen, schoolgirls rushed off to class and street merchants peddled their wears. No beggars approached.

This was the Mumbai that I wanted to see.

We stopped every couple of blocks to ask friendly citizens the way and everyone was willing to help without the mention of a single Rupee in payment for their services.

One woman told us that she had spent time in Winnipeg “But I had to come back to this damn country”, she said.

Victoria Station, now called “Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus” (let call it Victoria Station), is the busiest station in Asia.

To say that this place is packed would be a serious understatement but it’s not the droves of people you notice, it’s the architecture.

Domes, Turrets, Arches, Animal Sculptures, Stained Glass, Wrought Iron – absolute opulence! But not a garbage can to be found. I just had to throw that one in.

Got some great shots that I will bore you all with when I get home.

We continued to walk passed the station to a local merchant market and It was a little uncomfortable. We clearly looked like tourists stopping to look at maps taking photos when we shouldn’t be.

There was a little drama when one of the team members had, by total accident, stepped on the corner of some freshly laid cement.

There was an old man who had laid the cement and was very upset flailing his arms and then grabbing the team member by the pocket and holding on.

With a quick and appropriate knuckle wrap on the hand, we then continued to walk at a quickened pace.

It was shortly after this that we decided that it was time to leave. It was also about the time that my stomach started to gurgle. OH GOD NO!

I knew that coffee tasted a little funny this morning.

Luck would have it that I took a pro-active Imodium after breakfast but there was no way in hell I was going to get in a cab with the team. I was not about to play “Bowel Roulette” in a hot cab through snails paced Mumbai traffic with people whom I had come to truly respect.

So Nicole and I decided to walk back. It would be quicker and although I may have walked a little funny at times, I felt in control and made it back safely.

Back at the hotel we had one last drink together and then it was good byes and good wishes.

I spent the afternoon on the roof top patio looking over Mumbai Harbor, drinking Diet Coke and smoking. Nicole and I took the time to plan the last leg of our Indian journey and I wanted to stay as close to the room as possible. Just in case.

It will be an early night tonight as the flight to Delhi is at 8:10 a.m. and we have to be up at 5.

I’m not going to say that I will miss Mumbai but I am truly glad that I experienced it and I think today made it all worth while.

Talk to you in Delhi.

Searching for the Elephants

I’m sure that you are tired of hearing about the dirt in Mumbai so let’s move on to some deep “Touristy” stuff.

Today it’s been arranged for us to travel out across Mumbai Harbor to the Island of Elephanta Island to explore the Elephanta Caves. I love saying Elephanta.

We embark from the Gateway to India aboard a two storey tour boat that chugs for about 45 minutes to the small Island. All manner of tourists are on board but the crowd is sparse mainly due to the fact that we have left on the first boats out.

After watching the city vanish out of view I spend some time people watching and most of my attention is focused on a group of women from Saudi eating potato chips and sipping orange Fanta under their Burkas.

As confining as their Burkas are I do find some humour with their “La Vie en Rose” tote bags. Way to go ladies.

The rest of my focus is placed on another of the team members – Beata.

Beata is also a photographer and a good one too. But I jokingly call her “Bad Beata” as here photography philosophy is just do it and ask for forgiveness later.

We aren’t permitted to go up on to the second deck of the tour boat but we both know that it’s the best vantage for photographs.

I can’t help chuckling as I see her first standing at the base of the ladder to the second floor.

Two minutes later she is half way up the ladder looking casual.

Two minutes after that all I can see is her ankles, the rest of her body through the portal.

Then poof! Beata is gone. That is until the driver starts shouting.

Elephanta Island, originally called Gharapuri (place of Caves), was so named by the Portuguese (Yayyyy Lee) do to the fact that there was originally a large stone Elephant on the shore of the Island. The Elephant collapsed at the beginning of the 19^th century and was moved by the British…can you tell that I’m reading from a guide book?

On the Island there are a series of caves that have been sculpted into the rock between 450 and 750 AD. The caves are dedicated to various Indian deities the most impressive being dedicated to Shiva “the destroyer, but without whom creation couldn’t occur” – wouldn’t that title be cool on your business card.

I searched and searched but alas no Elephants but there were some rather aggressive Monkeys.

A highlight of the tour was watching a Monkey attack two unsuspecting male 20 somethings.

The Monkey was after their bag of Lays Chips and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud as they dropped the bag and ran back down the stairs screaming like little girls.

Monkey got his bag-o-chips.

Back on the boat and to the hotel where I went to pick up my first order of shirts…nice. They had screwed up on the cuff but were happy to take the shirt back and promised to deliver at my hotel room by 6 that night.

Awesome service.

Dinner and drinks at the Taj Hotel – very nice but no different from any luxury hotel we have at home. The only real difference was that they check your bags through an x-ray machine when you enter.

Oh! And the parged over bullet holes left behind from the terrorist attack.

Ernie was the first to leave the group tonight and it was sad to see him go. I really enjoyed his company.

Tomorrow the rest of the group will part ways after lunch and then the vacation truly begins.

One more Mumbai blog entry to go and then we are off to Delhi. Mmmmmm love a city that sounds like a great place to eat. I wonder if they serve a good smoke meat on rye? A little coleslaw on the side?

Back to e-Coli…I mean Mumbai

Bags all packed, we said our good byes to our host Rajesh and boarded the bus and left the Riverside resort bound for Mumbai.

I had intended on catching up on some blogging but the roads proved way to bumpy to type and my cursor was jumping all over the place. So if you were scratching your head over a misplaced sentence during my last entries; now you know why.

I finally gave up and closed my laptop to settle with the view outside.

I could tell that we were getting closer to the Metropolis simply by the frequency of tent cities by the roadside. Blue tarps and stained canvases shading dirty blankets and improvised cook stoves hug the shoulder of the highway. Residents sit dangerous close to traffic as they prepare their breakfast.

Shame is redefined as I count a multitude of men relieving themselves on the dry grass beyond the expressway. Maybe they were just taking in the view…who knows.

We arrive at the city and our first stop is a Dhobi Ghat.

A Dhobi Ghat is basically a laundry community. Reams upon reams of cement tubs filled with soapy water line the streets. Above the tubs are countless clothes lines with all manners of colourful clothing flapping in the warm wind.

Despite the sound of honking cars all around us (and trust me, the honking never stops) you hear the residents of the Dhobi Ghat below flailing wet laundry, beating the dirty out against the concrete tubs. It’s an impressive site.

One common element of Mumbai is that you can never escape the outstretched palms of beggars all around you. Imagine walking down Queen Street in Toronto and every third person you meet motions hand to mouth as a gesture for a few pennies to get something to eat. Now imagine that when you look at them you realize that they sincerely need the contribution. How would you deal with it?

It’s very hard to deal with and the first time that it really bothers me is when a small girl hangs off my arm, her hands strangely moist against my plump tourist skin and asks me for some rupees. At one point it feels as if she is going to climb onto the air-conditioned bus with me.

But she doesn’t, the door closes and we drive off to our next destination.

I really like the way Sasha has planned our journey into the city. It’s almost like he has carefully planned our voyage so that we can slowly become accustom to Mumbai.

We stop at a temple briefly, then a spot of lunch and then to our hotel; “The Harbor View”.

Now here is an interesting concept in hotels: stacked hotels. When you enter the lobby of the Hotel you aren’t actually in the Harbor View. You are in the Bay View Hotel. The Harbor View Hotel check in is on the 3^rd floor. Following? I’m not but it is cool none the less.

Our hotel is just a short walk to the Taj Hotel which got international attention when it was attacked by terrorists at the beginning of the decade. The Taj is one of, if not the most exclusive hotels in Mumbai.

The view from our small room is amazing. There is a clear view of the Gateway to India. The Gateway was erected to commemorate the visit of from Queen Victoria and is seen in today’s photo.

After check in I searched out a tailor and had some made to measure shirts and yes, suit vests made to measure. 2 Vests and 4 shirts for about $320 Canadian, ready the next day – whoooo hoo! Screw you Moores Suits for men! Hey Brad, they export!

Sasha takes us to the Leopold Café for dinner. The Leopold is a landmark restaurant that has been serving tourists and natives alike since the mid 1800s. Food is awesome, service is crap but I get to have my first real taste of protein since we arrived in India.

Mmmmmmmm Chilli Beef. A huge dish of soft and succulent beef with enough heat to burn the trunk of Ghanesh but man is it ever good.

After the Leopold it is back to the hotel and to bed. My stomach gurgles from the shock of spicy beef to my system but my brain tells it to shut up and thank the Leopold for giving me a little taste of home.

A Death in the Family

Today was the last full day of labour at the build site. We were saddened to find out that one of the villagers had passed away the night before.

One of the matriarchs had slipped away of natural causes but attributed to the fact that she had lost her husband to an alcohol related death a few years ago.

The work pace was considerably slower today as funeral plans were being made. Our villagers don’t have the luxury of funeral homes so the body had to be disposed of as quickly as possible and we learned that the burial was to occur just a few short hours after our arrival.

I was curious when told that the body was to be buried.

In India, as most of you would be aware, the ritualistic method of body disposal is cremation. It was explained to me that cremation is used in order to destroy all corporal evidence of the body so that the spirit can pass to it’s next life.

However, there is a cast system in India and not all casts have the “right” to go through a reincarnation ceremony.

In the case of our villagers, they belong to the Takur cast, which is considered the lowest form of cast next to the “Untouchables”.

The Takur and Untouchables alike do the work that nobody else wants to do and for this they are considered a low form and unworthy. The ignorant side of me likens it to a method of cast cleansing.

We are told that once someone dies in the village everyone fasts for the day and that every households water stocks are purged.

Around 11 a.m. a funeral procession was formed and the body carried by pal bearers was taken to the village limits.

The body was adorned with flowers as they walked toward a crudely dug whole approximately 5 feet deep. Most of the mourners wore white , which is the shade that the Indian people wear to signify death.

At the head of the procession the Matriarchs son carried a bowl of smoldering incense and was shrouded in a dark cloth.

It was a stirring site against the backdrop of dry fields and dust and broken straw.

After a quick ceremony the villagers broke up and went back to their daily routines and work on the houses started up again.

After lunch the women in our group where treated to Henna applications by the local women. Nicole was the only exception as she was determined to get back to work and went to her build site where she scraped and painted roof shingles.

Ernie and myself sat and watched the henna being applied until the owner of the house came by and said that the women could stay and have their Henna completed. Ernie and I were told to get back to slinging mud. Damn!

We only had about an hour left in the day after we were kicked out of the tent so we help lay a couple of courses of brick and then it was time to go.

After we piled into the bus I looked out of my window and noticed the mound the dirt where the woman had been laid to rest earlier that day.

We have been very fortunate on this build to witness two of the phases of the cycle of life; a colourful wedding a few nights ago and today the passing of one of the village members.

It makes me hungry for more.

I think tomorrow I’m going to try to get Robert, our team member and Doctor, to induce labour of one of the pregnant villagers…is that too greedy?

Ohhhhhhhmmmmmmm

I just happened to be up at 6 a.m. yesterday morning following my usual routine, sipping a diet coke and drawing from my first Benson & Hedges Deluxe of the day; slightly amused by the sight of giant crows eating the husks of dead wasps burnt by the globe lights at the edge of my balcony. Mmmmmm life is good.

When from beyond the reach of my bungalo I could hear the suffling of feet and the slap of yoga mats being tossed to the ground.

I got up from my chair to see what all the commotion was about and much to my surprise about 50 Nationals had assembled poolside along with there guru and stood motionalist.

“GOOD MORNING!” the Guru shouted. “GOOD MORNING” the disiples shouted back. The sound of their salutation resonated throughout the compound; so loud that it almost made me drop my cigarette – almost.

I was unaware that the resort was playing host to a group going through a leadership program and the beginning of there day started with a rigorous Yoga class.

It was poetry watching them go through their poses instructed by their leader but after about a ½ hour I had to get back to my photo editing. That was about the time they started their primal screaming exercises. Oh Lordy.

It was the start of a great day.

We were joined by 3 Rotary exchange students on the build yesterday; one from the U.S. another from Denmark and a fellow Canadian.

After a brief introduction we climbed on our bus and it was off to the build.

We were blessed with a few clouds in the sky so the sun didn’t feel as cruel and it gave the body a bit of a reprieve.

The houses are coming along quite nicely and every day we are feeling more and more like family both within the team and with the locals.

At 1 p.m. we broke for lunch and were then piled on to the bus for a trip to the local town XXXX.

The town consisted of two unpaved main streets and was packed with small shops, the largest being about 7 feet wide by 12 feet deep.

Lots of tailors, fruit stands and dry good sales men and three barbershops. Apparently Indian men take their grooming quite important here.

Honestly that can be said off most of the Indian people. Despite the garbage in the streets, the disrepair of the buildings and shit everywhere great attention is kept to the quality and texture of luxurious hair and oral hygiene. I have seen very few toothless mouths in this ruale community.

I have tried to be respectful when photographing the people of this region, getting our guide to ask permission to take a photo of my subjects; I’m happy that most agree.

The thing that amazes me is the amount of people who approach me to have their photo taken. It’s shocking to have a local run up and motion at my camera and then back to then with the gesture “take my picture”.

They know that they are never going to see a printed result and the only payment I have to give them is to show the result of the image capture on the back of my view screen.

I would like to think that they believe that it is a way to capture an image of them that will be eternal. The truth is that they just see it as a quick thrill.

After about an hour of shopping we headed back to the site for a little more mudding and a team photo.

We quit work at about 4 p.m. and were then taken to a site where the bricks that we are using to build the house are fired.

Interesting site.

All bricks are hand made and it is back breaking work. Bricks are formed from the soil and rice is added to the clay to assist in the Kiln process which takes about 21 days to cure.

Take note that the average worker completes about 700 brick forms per day and is paid about 130 Rupees or $3 CDN a day. As my team member Ernie said “No wonder nobody smokes around here, a pack of smokes costs a days wage” wise words Ernie, wise words.

Mass Entry

If you were sitting beside me right now and asked me what day it was I would have to say “ I have no idea” I think it’s Tuesday, I know that yesterday was Valentine’s Day and the time in Karjak is approximately 7 p.m.

The fact of the matter is that time is blending for me marked only by the time that we have to get on the bus to get to the work site, lunch (I p.m) and back on the bus to the resort by 4 p.m.

The days are spent in the hot Indian sun shoveling copious amounts of dirt into an ox driven cart, stacking bricks or slinging mud to the local masons as we watch the homes we are working on reach skyward.

Sound miserable? Well it ain’t.

I’m having yet another time of my life working with Habitat for Humanity and making the world just a little bit better.

Let me tell you a little bit about the journey so far and I sincerely hope that the length of this entry doesn’t make you nod off.

As usual I have a lot to say.

We touched down in Mumbai at approximately 4:30 a.m. the funny thing was that as soon as the plan landed and the plane started to recycle air from the outside all I got the faint whiff of incense and mildew. At first I thought it was my imagination but as we disembarked from the plan the aroma just got stronger.

We were met at the departure gate by our team leader , Sasha Gupta a Chemical Engineer from Oakville. It was comforting to see Sasha’s smiling face who greeted us warmly and escorted us to the rest of the team who had been waiting for us since 1 a.m.

Despite the fact that everyone was obvious fighting serious cases of jet lag there was still a glimmer of excitement in everyone’s eyes. I immediately flashed back to our introduction to the Thailand Team last year and the experience, to quote a famous Thai saying, was “Same same but different”.

I quickly learned that Mumbai time is not measured the same way as it is back home as we waited for our bus to arrive to take us to our temporary home “The Riverside Resort”

We finally left the airport at approximately 6 and drove the Mumbai highway to Karjak which was about a 2 hour drive east.

We didn’t see a lot of Mumbai on the drive but I was able to get a taste of the thriving Metropolis – and the first taste was McDonald’s for breakfast.

That’s right I said McDonald’s.

Now consider that the Hindu people hold cattle as most sacred. What could you possibly eat at a fast food outlet where beef is at the centre of it’s corporate brand. Add to the mystery that when you approach the door there is a sign in the window that claims that beef and/or pork are not served.

Then you look at the menu board and the first things you see are Sausage McMuffin and Sausage McMuffin with Egg.

I don’t know about you but the last time I was at home chomping down on a greasy sausage McMuffin I could taste all that porky goodness. So what was I about to sink my teeth into during my first meal in India?

The verdict is still out on that one but my best guess is that it was made from a processed pork flavoured chicken….I hope.

For the record: Hash browns taste the same in India as they do in Canada. They also have the same effect on the digestive track.

I was amazed by the amount of garbage strewn about the parking lot. Garbage everywhere. I observed locals finishing off there tasty treats and tossing their wrappers to the pavement as if they were bi-degradable. I also noticed that there were no garbage receptacles to be found.

This was curious to me at first but after a few days into the journey I figured out the logic of it. I will explain later.

The journey to the resort was full of pleasantries as the team got to know each other a little better.

As we exchanged bios I occasionally took the time to glance out the window to catch a glimpse of the architecture and natives going about their daily routines. It isn’t hard to understand the extent of poverty in this country and the pestilence that is everywhere.

I was shocked during one of my glimpses as I observed a ravenous dog tear the flesh of a dead calf that had been left in a dusty field; a image that will stay with me always.

It was a hard site to take in and I wondered what else was ahead of me. I have always regarded myself as a person with a strong constitution – but I had my doubts.

As the urban life evolved to the suburban I started to wonder about our accommodations. How could a resort exist in the farm lands that we were whisking by? Paved roads turned to dirt and to say it was a bumpy ride would be an understatement. But soon enough here we were at the “Riverside Resort”.

The Riverside could probably be best described as a “White Elephant”. Out in the middle of nowhere and I am sure at one time was conceived as a place where Mumbai’s elite could come and be “farm folk” for the weekend.

My guess is that these plans were left behind along with the expectation of droves of Mumbai’s Princess and Generals.

In the foyer there is a scale model of the resort but at best guest ¼ of the plan has actually been completed.

When I asked the desk clerk when they expected to have the rest of the compound completed her answer was within the year. That answer had as much credibility as the contents of the Sausage McMuffin I had ingested in Mumbai.

Each of us were given room keys and we were escorted to our respective bungalos.. The rooms are simple, yet clean and bug free. Air conditioning was the big bonus.

Bags unpacked, we were invited to attend a dedication ceremony at the farming community where we would be spending the duration of our build.

Kautewadi consists of 70 families with a population of approximately 900 people. The sole crop farmed in Kautewadi is rice and the success of the season is largely dependant on the monsoon season. Heavy rains fill rice paddies that surround the main village.

There was quite a buzz at the dedication ceremony as the Regional Govener was to be in attendance as well as some key executives from the Habitat for Humanity organization.

It was interesting hearing the Govenor speak from the perspective that he had to have a translator who spoke the local dialect.

Speeches completed National Anthems sung we had a quick lunch and taken back to our resort in anticipation of orientation.

At orientation we were introduced to our HFH hosts Rajesh and Benny. Rajesh took the lead in explaining the objectives of our build as well as the financial model behind our work.

Our goal is to complete 3 brick homes which seemed daunting but what I didn’t expect was the community participation. There is no shortage of labour on the site and it is amazing how fast the houses stretch up to the sky.

The funding for the homes are divided into three parts. The first is HFH who provides funding through our donations as well as labour (us). The second funding is provided by the NGO (Non Government Organization) who also provides funding. The last part is the home owners themselves who, rather than finance their homes through HFH are responsible for making and saving enough bricks to build their homes. Once a villager has saved up enough bricks construction and supplemental labour is provided.

Building started the next morning at 9 a.m.

After a short ride to the build side we were taken to a area where one of the home owners painted our foreheads with a bindy (sp) and blessed us with incense. Funny thing was that once we started working on the homes the red paste on our foreheads started to mix with our sweat making it look like we took a pellet between the eyes.

Work consisted of carrying bricks or mud to the local masons who would construct the homes . It’s hard work but lots of fun as the locals giggled at us carrying piles of bricks on our heads to the required destination.

There is a real sense of community at the build and every body, regardless of age , chips in.

Imagine handing a 3 by 6 brick to a child who is taunting you to pile one more stone into their little hands. Their energy put me to shame as they would yell out something that sounded like “Halla Halla Halla”. They may have been saying “give me another brick pasty white tourist!” but I am sure that they we being far more polite than that.

At first the adults treated us with some apprehension but after the 3^rd day on the build we seemed to be gelling into the community.

The children look at me with wonderment and I’m guessing that it has a lot to do with my size. It’s far more likely that I’m taking the time to sing their songs and dance with them as often as I can.

Big Bonus!

There is a wedding that is being staged in the village. A tradition Indian wedding can go on for days.

The village is full of the sounds of traditional and contemporary music peppered with melodic chants pushed on mega speakers.

The smell of incense and wood burning ovens weaves through the narrow streets of the village and provides a rustic distraction as you watch villagers string lights and sweep cow dung covered paths in preparation for the wedding march.

We are invited into the home of the groom to observe a Mother crying over the pending loss of her son’s innoscense .

The Groom we are told is 18 years old and he reveals himself, his face covered with a yellow powder and a little bit of fear in his eyes. Hmmmm I wonder why.

The Bride is no where to be found and we are told that she is from another village. This is a very common practice as I am told that marriage with the village is considered a “low marriage”. This makes sense from the perspective that it keeps the gene pool fresh. No banjos in this village.

Sasha makes arrangements for the group to return to the village later that night to witness the Wedding March and what a sight it was!

The Bride and Groom fully adorned are hoisted on to the shoulders of wedding guests and they are marched around the outside of the village and then brought back in to the sound of thundering drums.

Villagers dance about the newly married in a fever pitch shouting and waiving their arms. The activity is so aggressive that the ground beneath their feet stirs the ground to a cloud of dust and ash. It’s a site that is hard to describe but I was lucky enough to catch some of it on my iPhone. Hope I can post it on this epic blog (sorry for the length).

It’s hard to describe the sights and sounds of the wedding celebration and I could go on for pages.

A few of the group had decided to attempt to walk to the job site in the morning. The main objective (for me) was to take a few snapshots of the women who congregate at the riverside to wash their daily laundry. Alas we were walking too early.

The bonus was that we were able to walk through a small village just outside the resort. I know this was a very odd site for the locals as we walked through. Heads were popping out of windows and children were running down the street to get a view of the aliens. Nicole’s response was to give them all her best “Queen Elizabeth wave” as we felt that we were on parade.

Arriving at the site the morning after the wedding we could see that it was business as usual. The workers were waiting for our arrival and anxious to start the days work.

On this day I was given a new task which was to dig the top soil from a nearby rice paddy and load it on to an ox driven cart. It’s hard work and I was assisted by a few local giggling teenage girls. Once the cart was loaded the driver would take the cart back to the job site where the dirt was mixed with cow dung and water and then applied as mortar for the clay bricks.

Each time the driver would return he would exchange a few words with the girls who would look at me and start to giggle. My guess is that he was teasing them about me and the prospect of them returning to Canada as my bride obviously he has no idea on my track record as a married man..

And so comes an end to the catch up entry of this blog. I promise to make the next ones a lot shorter and thank you for your patients. This no internet access thing is crippling. I long for home, youtube and quick access to e-mail but my hankering for technology is easily shadowed by the experience that we are having.

Well, Sun is coming up time for breakfast and a new day of cow dung and dusty rice paddies.

The Flight to Turkish Delight

Friday, 9:30 a.m. Toronto time. 4p.m. Istanbul time.

That’s right! We are in Istanbul, Turkey. How cool is that?

To date my only exposure to this country has been the soft jelly like candy my Grand Mother used to give me “Turkish Delight and of course the 1978 Allan Parker film “ Midnight Express”

I know, what a sheltered life I lead.

Well, I’m still sheltered since we are only here for a couple of hours and the best I can do is press my face to the glass (not unlike Midnight Express) at look out at the Minarets with the tarmac in the foreground.

Got to get back here for a full visit.

“Turkish Air” – Best airline ever! So impressed with the service and the onboard technology. Frankly any airline that gives me a travel kit, which includes minty smelling comfort socks is okay by me.

I still can’t figure out why there was a guy dressed as a Chef when we got on board. I guess he was the catering guy and his outfit was to assure quality on all of the in-flight meals. With the exception of the powdered eggs everything was fantastic.

Next stop Mumbai.

The next leg of our journey begins in about 30 minutes. We will board an airbus and travel 8 hours to Mumbai. We arrive at 4 a.m. Once there we will be greeted by our team leader and then a 90 klm trip East to our build.

While the build will be shorter than Thailand, I am sure that this one is going to be just as rich.

The team is composed of 9 participants all unique with different skill sets. A Doctor, a Chemical Engineer, a couple of Accountants, a Radio Personality, Librarian and Me.

We have been told that there won’t be any internet connection at our lodgings but that won’t stop me from combing the streets for a small internet café. Perhaps somewhere that you can blog and get a straight razor shave at the same time.

I have been told that a shave is a must experience here.

If I’m unable to find internet access at the build location , I assure you all that I will catch up with all of you after we leave the team and head up to Delhi.

I have no doubt there will be lots of pics and reflections.

Til then….

Bollywood Calls

Apologies for the brief nature of this entry.

Just when you sit down to write a silky smooth entry to introduce your newest adventure, the flight attendant tells you that you have to board the plane.

Damn you "Duty Free Shop"! Damn your sweet and tempting deals.

Hope to catch up with you all in Istanbul.