Day 9
Laundry List:
- Wake up and pack up
- Check out at 11 am, head to bus station to get situated for 2 pm bus to Madikeri
- Bus and blog
- Check in, book hiking trip, dinner, sleepy time
Story-time and Reflections:
At this point in my trip, traveling from place to place makes me more anxious than just being in a new place. Will I be able to find my bus or train? Will I be able to find the station? Am I going to the correct station? As often times there is little info to be found online about which bus stand in such and such place you particular bus will leave from. In general, all the thoughts of what could go wrong race through my head. Which is kind of funny, because it use to be just the opposite.
My anxieties were found in my days plans. Will I have enough to do? Am I making the most of my time? Will I be able to find my way around? What if I get lost? Beyond the language barrier, why did I come to such an unorganized and confusing place?
It used too be that traveling was the easy part. I had a plan that day, and it was simple to get from point A to point B, and write, read, or sleep along the way. Easy. But now that I have settled in, my worries lie mostly in missing my bus or train. Which when I write it down, really doesn't sound like that big of deal, but regardless of the actual seriousness of the situation, the matter of fact is this is how I experience it. Thus, I always give myself at least a couple hours to get there and find someone who knows where I need to be.
So right after I check out I head down to the bus station. My ticket says I am to board at Mysore Bus Station, however when you look it up on google maps, 3 different bus stations pop up. Excellent. The night before I tried all kinds of various searches to see if I could find more info on which of the three I needed to go to, but nothing solid came up. The closest thing to an answer I found was on some Mysore tourism website. It talked about how one can easily bus into Mysore, as the main bus station was n the heart of the city. So I deduced that of the 3 different bus stations, which ever one was the most central was the one I would be leaving from. Makes sense, no?
I arrive at the bus station which is literally in the heart of the city, nearly dead center. I start asking around only to discover that I was, of course, at the wrong station. This station, was just for local city buses, no buses destine for Madikeri would be leaving from here. A couple of young men give me some directions to the correct bus station, and I begin my trek back the way I came from.
One lovely thing about my experience so far in India, is that almost anyone on the street, whether they speak english or not, will at least try to help you get to where you are going. At this point, whenever I am walking anywhere, if I haven't been there before, I pretty much ask someone at every intersection if I am walking the right way to get to such and such place, even if I am confident in my own directions. It's easy, it's reaffirming, and sometimes it even starts a nice little conversation. However, I have been warned that this may not be the case further north, around Delhi.
After continuously asking people how to reach my destination, I eventually make it. I start looking around for someone who works there to confirm I am in the correct place. Once I am certain I am in the correct spot, I settle down, order some Dosa, relax, and grab specifically a Coca-Cola for the wait. I have nearly 2 hours till my bus leaves, but hey, today my worrying pad off, as I did indeed need some extra time to walk from where I thought I was suppose to be, to where I was actually suppose to be.
Now, I feel like I owe you a bit of an explanation about why I intentionally got a Coca-Cola. In general, I'm really not a soda drinker. Even if I get fast food from time to time, I rarely get soda with my meal. I'd much rather have a beer. However, remember the young student who helped me at the Bangaluru train station when I was heading to Mysore? Well during our chat, he asked if I wanted to try his Coke. I declined, but he mentioned that Indian Coca-Cola tastes different than its American counterpart. Thus, since once upon a time I was the type of avid Coke drinker that would forgo drinking cola if you only had Pepsi, I made a mental note to myself to give it a try. I tried it, and honestly, it taste just as I remember American coke tasting. I checked out the label, and one notable difference was that Indian coke uses good ol' fashion sugar, rather than high-fruitose corn syrup. I won't mention now how America has a ridiculous corn problem that includes archaic subsidies and throwing away food, all to satisfy the people who have stakes in this over-saturated industry.......oh wait, I guess I just did. But all in all, the taste was not that different.
The Mysore bus station quite hectic that day, with major traffic in the station alone. It seemed like every bus was in every other buses way, and god forbid the drivers listen to the station employees trying to direct them so as to make some order in this chaos. Needless to say, and per usual, the bus was late to dock, and late to leave. This untimeliness is something I have grown use to, and really it doesn't bother me. I'm gonna be in India for quite sometime, I pretty much plan as I go, and I'm on vacation.....I have all the time in the world.
We eventually depart, I write, and soon enough, we arrive in Madikeri. I find my hotel, again, mostly by asking people where it is, and begin looking into hiking trips. Madikeri, is a bustling town in the mountainous region of Coorg. It's not as high up as Ooty, but rather it is nestled among the peaks. It has some very beautiful views, however, no wifi.......anywhere. I even asked several of the local travel agents, no one knew of any home-stay or hotel that provided wifi. Not a problem, good chance as any to practice my phone skills and etiquette.
I end up at a little shop called Coorg Trails. They seem to work with all things Coorg related, including, but not limited to, booking home-stays, which are essentially B&B's, booking hiking trips of various lengths, selling local goods, and they even had a real estate office. They seemed like a very professional shop, and they were recommended in my travel guide, so I signed up for one of their treks that included an overnight stay out in the mountains at a guest house.
Next I stopped for dinner at a restaurant called Coorg Cuisine, which was also suggested in my travel guide. India is actually a very diverse country with many different cultures, backgrounds, and heritages. The fact that there are at least 30 different languages spoken in India is a testament to this diversity. Thusly, India has many different kinds of cuisine, all regionally based. Coorg cuisine is well known for there pork curries, bamboo curry, rice ball dumplings, as well as a rice flat bread (think rice tortilla). In many of the standard restaurants in Madikeri you will find the typical generalized southern Indian and northern India food (and funny enough Chinese food is everywhere), but not the traditional dishes of the region, which, if you couldn't tell by the name, is where Coorg Cuisine stands out.
As it was a Sunday, and the last day off after the Diwali break, Madikeri was still flooded with out-of-towners, and Coorg Cuisine was no different. There were probably fewer than 10 tables, all of which were family sized. I saw one man, alone, standing next to a vacant table flipping through the menu. I asked if he was planning to sit there, or get take out. He said he was planning to stay, but with a smile added that I was more than welcome to join him, so I did. I ordered Pork Dry Fry and Rice ball dumplings, just like my travel guide suggested as traditional Coorg food, and we got down to chatting.
He was a young man, maybe in his early 30's, and he too had a bit of an adventuresome spirit, which honestly, is a bit unusual for an Indian. Many of the people who I have met do not travel far from their home town. On countless occasions other have mentioned that by the time I am done with my trip, I will have seen more of India then they probably ever will. It was nice to meet someone from India who has traveled in the country a bit to learn about some of the secret gems that are often left out of guide books.
He was originally from Mumbai, but recently moved to Bangaluru with his wife for work. Being an only child, his parents moved with him. This is usual in India, a whole nuclear family moving together. Family is very important in India, and often times children don't move out until they are married, and even then sometimes the parents end up moving in with the newlyweds.
In some conversations I have had with locals in India, they are surprised to hear that I lived on my own in the Chicago, while my parents lived in the suburbs. Although I guess I was equally surprised the first time I was chatting with a young 30-something year old man who received a call from his mother inquiring about where he had been all day, to realize that he still lived with his parents.
It was a very pleasant meal, and as usual, it was wonderful too learn more about the culture and people here first hand, by talking with a native. He was even particular curious to hear about the things that stood out to me as an foreigner, as he has yet to travel to the developed west. Although out of many of the people I have met so far, he seemed too have many western sensitivities, and would fit right in in any cosmopolitan city.
After dinner, he was back off to Bangaluru, and myself, back to my hotel to rest up for an early morning of hiking.
All and all, another lovely day or exploring new places and meeting new people.
Day 10
Laundry List:
- Wake up bright and early, head to bus station
- Travel by bus to local village for hiking trip
- Arrive, hike up Kotebetta, the 3rd tallest peak in the Coorg
- Back down the mountain, have lunch, wash clothes
- Bum around guest-house
- Dinner, bedtime
Story-Time and Reflection:
I wake up at about 5:30 am to shower up and head down to the bus station to catch a ride out to the village of Mukkodlu for that day's hike. The hotel I stayed at supposedly had hot water, but this did not seem to be the case. Needless to say, I took more of a rinse than a shower that day. But I was going hiking, so I figured it didn't much matter if I was my cleanest.
The bus station was only maybe 10 mins away, walking, but as usual I wanted there a little early to figure things out. The bus was to leave at 7:00, so my goal was to get there by 6:30. I arrive, figured out which bus to get on (none of the signs were in english, by the way), and settle in for the trip. Again, luckily I got there early, because the bus ended up taking off at 6:45! This was kind of funny. It's not unusual that things don't go by the schedule in India, but it's very unusual things run early.
On the Mysore sight seeing tour, at our second stop which was Mysore Zoo, the guide told everyone to be back by 10:50. As 10:50 approached, I raced through the last quarter of the Zoo to ensure I was back in time, because if you are too late, they will leave you behind. I get back right in the nick of time at 10:49, and I'm the first one to show up. The guide speaks some english and tells me to have a seat with him while we wait.......because I am 10 minutes early. I asked if he didn't tell us to be back at 10:50, he just smiles and nods yes. For the rest of the day, whenever I was getting off the bus, he always told me the real time we were to meet up to leave, knowing that I would be punctual.
On the hour long bus ride out to the village, I met the other people who would be be going along on the hike as well. A family of four from the Mumbai area, taking a couple extra days of vacation after Diwali. They all spoke very good english, and the mother had even been out to Chicago before. They were very friendly, engaging, and good hiking buddies.
We get to the guest house and meet our guide, Abduhl, and head off on the trek. First part of the trek we are walking a long a narrow little deer-trail with brush overhanding over the path. Once we get through the brush I notice Abduhl knocking and flicking things off his big rubber boats with a stick. He says something in presumably Hindi, and the mother tells me he is getting ride of the leeches. I look down at my boots, and sure enough, it looks like leech city, India! I too begin to squish them, flick them, and knock them off of my boots. I had never seen leeches before in the flesh, and they are pretty creepy looking. They look like little single tentacles, that crawl........and quickly at that.
Once my boots are clear, I lift my pant legs up to find that several leeches had made it to my socks and even a couple actually attached to my leg! I flick them off....no not with my middle finger, with a stick. Leeches release a anti-clotting substance when they attach themselves so it's important to put some pressure on the bit to keep things from turning into a bloody mess. So I do my best to put some added pressure on the bites with a leaf or two and pulling my socks over them to keep them in place. Luckily, I was wearing long socks. I notice others checking their shoes, so I do the same, again to find several more. With great worry, but without hesitation, I reach into the toe of my boots to see if I can find anymore.....the ghost is clear, I am leech free! We continue onward.
It took us about 3 1/2 hours to reach the top of Kotebetta. It was a great hike past a waterfall, through forest, low shin-high brush, and grass, as we ascended to the top. Maybe about half way up there was a fresh spring water stream that you could drink from. It was a nice stopping point, given that the water was ice cold and the stream was shaded. Between the sticky humidity of the forest, and the unhindered direct heat from the sun in the low brush and grassy areas, this was a little slice of heaven.
Toward the top of the peak, you could no longer simply walk along, but rather one had to do some climbing. From boulder to boulder, through little shoots and crevasses, often having to to grab hold of roots, trees, and solidly planted bushes to pull yourself upward. I had a blast.
At the very top of the peak there is an old small temple dedicated to Shiva, which according to India Folklore, was built by a character from one of the India Epics. About a 100 meters from the top, you must remove your shoes if you wish to continue onward to check out the temple. And despite the rocks, the piney brush, the ant hills, and bull crap (but really, there are literally piles of bull crap everywhere, and chances are you'll even see people herding them around on the mountains), I removed my shoes and continued on.
I was the only person in our group to hike up to he temple, so when I reached the top, it was just me and the temple. It was small, such that only one person could really fit inside of it, and there was a waist-high stone wall built around it, with a little entry way in the front. Off to the side, just several dozen steps away, there was a concrete building, about the size of a room. In the back of my head, I thought I was going to find a yogi or a priest up there, living in solitude, and as I approached the building I was expecting this holy man to stroll on out......I didn't happen, the building was pad-locked from the outside. Clearly, no one was home.
What I did notice as I approached the building, however, was a little trail that lead off into a small patch of trees. So, obviously, I go on to explore. Not very far in there was a small pond. This pond was clearly intentionally constructed, as it had stone walls and an entry way with steps. At this point, I was really hoping that out of nowhere some holy man would appear to tell me all about this place. Just being their alone felt scared, and I wanted to know more about what it was I was in the presence of. But again, this did not occur.
After a while longer of just soaking it all in, I headed back down to meet the rest of my party. We rested for a bit, enjoying the amazing view. I took several pictures, but I don't think any of them do the view justice. Cloud-crowned peaks far off in the distance, rolling hills of green studded with little homes and farms, and deep blue skies. They call the region of Coorg the Scotland of India, and while I have never been to Scotland, have a hard time believing it can compete with these views.
We make our way down the mountain, and thankfully avoid the area with all the leeches.
When we arrive back at the guesthouse, lunch is waiting for us. We waste no time sitting down and digging in. Something about hiking around always energizes and calms me, and it wasn't till I sat down and started eating that I noticed just how hungry and exhausted I was.
We finished lunch, and it was probably about 3 or 3:30. Having not done laundry since I started my trip, I figured I should use this free time to wash my socks and underwear. While backpacking around, laundry has been the last thing on my mind, so underwear and socks are easily used twice. The policy has been, if they don't smell rancid, they're clean.
I get out my spare bar of soap, get the bucket from my bathroom (there are buckets in all Indian bathroom for purposes of cleaning yourself.....I won't go into too much detail here, but if you're curious, look up how to use an India squat toilet), and head outside to clean some clothes. The workers at the guesthouse spotted me and laughingly led me to the very back of the residence, on the edge of the forest, where their own living quarters are, and where the do their own laundry. They had buckets, bars of detergent, scrub brushes, and all.
These employees are actually the residences' servants. They are paid, and get time off, but in India, the cost of basic labor is so cheap, that many affluent households have servants who cook, clean, drive, nanny, etc. This back area is their domain, and once I am back there cleaning my clothes, they treated me as their own guest. We chatted over some tea, and they introduced me to indian hand-rolled cigarettes, which they call bee-dees (I'm sure that's spelled wrong), which taste like Clove cigarettes , if you have ever had one, and if not, it tastes like christmas spices. It was actually a lot of fun to be included in their joking around in the back, as they tend to keep to themselves as they are going about their duties. It was enjoyable to interact with them as simply people, for as a western, sometimes it feels a little weird having someone wait on me hand and foot, and kind of archaic.
I finish up my clothes, hang them up to dry, and as I was the only guest that night, I spent the remainder of the evening reading and writing. It was very nice to just sit on the porch relaxing, with only the sounds of nature to keep me company, however, at a certain point the number of flying bugs being attracted to the lights of the house was insane. This wasn't too much of a bother, except for the occasional haphazard moth that would bump into my head.
It was a great day. Met a delightful and engaging family, did some serious hiking and climbing, hung out with some working-class natives, and finished it off just relaxing to the sounds and sights of undisturbed nature. Definitely one of my most enjoyable days thus far.
Day 11
Laundry-List:
- Wake up, pack up, head back to Madikeri
- Find a hotel, and check-in
- Madikeri sight-seeing
-Dinner, and bed time
Story-Time and Reflection:
I wake up bright and early the next morning in order to catch the 8 am bus back to Madikeri. This guest house is band new, and pretty nice, so one would expect hot water......nope! At this point, however, I'm not too surprised, so I take a quick rinse, and at least get my hair washed. Before this morning I had not seen the master of the estate, nor his family. They were gone most of the day before, and once they did arrive, they just hung out on the top floor, which is presumable their suite, yelling and talking loudly on the phone. So when I made it out of my room the next morning to find him stomping around, I was surprised.
Now when I say stomping around, I literally mean he was just stomping around his plot of land. At first I thought he was inspecting the place but I quickly realized he was just walking around, or rather marching. One look at this guy and you just instantly know he is douche-bag, caught up in his material wealth, and if he doesn't want something from you, he sees no reason to interact with you. I sat on the porch, just hanging out, watching him march in pointless circles, and the only thing he said to me was, "We'll leave at 7:50 for the bus." Not even a, "Good morning," or "How was your stay." Given that there was a hot water faucet in the brand-new shower, and how much of tool this guys was, I can only presume he just didn't turn the hot water on in the guesthouse. After all, he already had my money, and clearly had no interest in being hospitable, which is VERY unusual for what I have experienced of India so far.
Eventually, it's time to go, and after another hour long bus ride, I am back in Madikeri. Normally, I like to make my arrangements for accommodations in advance, but when I was out in the mountains, I had neither wifi, nor signal on my phone, so I went to the first place my guide book suggested as a good basic and cheap hotel. I show up, and they literally have one room left, and only for that night. Perfect! That's all I needed as I planned to travel back to Bangaluru the next day.
I book the room, drop my stuff off in it, and head for the streets. Before I make it out of the hotel however, I meet a man who seems to work there. He not only speaks english very well, but he has a very fun and flamboyant energy. He tells me that he runs a morning walk out to one of the mountain villages, starting at 7:30 and back before 12:30. Figuring I wouldn't be doing much that morning anyways, given my plans to travel back to Bangaluru, I tell him I'm down and we part ways.
I head over to the bus stand to purchase a map of the area and a little booklet that details some of the sights. The random gentleman I had dinner with the first night I was in Madikeri told me about this one Buddhist temple in the area called Golden Temple. During the Chinese occupation of Tibet, a large community of Tibetan refugees settled down in the Corrg region of India. This particular community of refugees in one of the largest outside of Tibet. So to switch things up a bit, I thought I would go check it out.
I ask one of the local Coorg tourism offices how I can get there and they wrote down the name of a bus that would take me out in that direction, as well as the stop/town I would need to get off at. The buses in Madikeri, as I mentioned before, do not have english signs, so to me the signs literally look like a bunch of scribbles.
Even though I had taken the bus out to the village and back for my hiking trip, I was given very detailed instructions of how to go about it, plus, in that case I boarded where the bus started and exited at the last stop....pretty simple. This time I had to find the bus, make sure I got off at the right stop, and get a rickshaw to the temple and back to the same bus stop, and board a bus that would take me back to Madikeri. But it was still morning, and I had all day to figure things out, if worse came to worst. So I set off.
I made it out there just fine, and found someone who got off at the same stop as me to get a rickshaw driver to take me to the temple, wait while I looked around, then take me back to the same bus stand. Again, so far, Indians have been nothing but wonderful it helping me get where I am going.
As noted before, the Golden Temple is in the middle of a Tibetan refugee settlement. It's really funny as you get close to the settlement given that India is pretty homogenous and you begin to see a decent number of east asian folks, and most notably, a lot of monks and monks in training, who wear the traditional standard maroon and gold outfits. The temple is also home to monastery, so once you're in the little compound, its like you're in a whole new country. It's named Golden Temple for the 3 giant gold Buddha statues they have there. The whole place is very detailed, and quite decadent.
I spend about a hour, roaming around and then hop back in the rickshaw to go back to the bus stand. I flag the first bus that comes by and simply show the bus attendant the name of the bus that takes me back to Madikeri, he nods yes, an I jump aboard. After a short drive and we stop at a bus terminal. Everyone begins to get off, and this not being Madikeri I am a tad confused. As I exit the bus attendant pulls me aside and points to another bus, and simply says Madikeri. Again, this guy speaks virtually no english and is going above an beyond to get me back. And honestly, even though I had a lot of help along the way, I'm pretty proud of myself for successfully navigating the local buses. SUCCESS.
The trip out to Golden Temple, took a little longer than I expecting and by this time it's well into the afternoon. I grab some lunch, see a couple more sights, and finish off my day at Raja's Seat, which means Royal Seat. Situated up on a peak not far from the city of town, it has an incredible view of the land. With clear shots of valleys, hills, mountains, and sky, this is where the old rulers would lounge in the evening time an watch the sun set into the distance, and this is just what I did as well. They have constructed a nice little park area with plenty of benches and overlooks, so I posted up on a bench, read, and soaked in the view as the sun disappeared behind distant clouds, and its glow was extinguished as it crossed over the horizon.
I again, grabbed some food from Coorg Cuisine, making sure to try more local specialties, and head back to the hotel.
Day 12
Laundry List:
- Wake up, pack up, check-out
- Morning Walk to village in mountains
- Bus back to Bangaluru
- Check-in
- Dinner, bedtime
Story-Time and Reflection:
Originally, I hadn't planned to do much today except to travel back to Banaluru. I signed up for a 6-day trip through Kerala, a tiny coastal state in the south, which leaves on Tuesday by bus, so I wanted to give myself one full nights rest in a hotel between my bus trip from Madikeri and the bus tour. However, one of the joys of traveling for a long time is having the flexibility in your schedule to take up opportunities as they arise, such as this morning walk into the mountains.
I meet the "guide, " at 7:30 and we hit the streets. He is a delightfully flamboyant man and over the course of our walk, I learned a lot about him. He loves to sing, dance, and remark on how beautiful things are. He has a taste for the city life and fancy things. If he could have it his way, he'd be a socialite, not that he said that, but from what I gathered, he'd love to be part of the high-class social scene, with all the movie stars, music artists, and parties. He's never beeen in a skyscraper, but his dream is to live in one, and he's never been in a plane, but he'd kiss one if he had the opportunity.
As we get into the mountains, he starts pulling off flowers and tearing leaves, crumpling them in his hand, in order to release the fragrance. Then we'd play, "what's that smell," having me guess what the plant was, or rather what spice or food came from that plant. It was actually pretty interesting. He showed me a whole variety of plants along the way, including ones that you can eat, or have fruits you can eat. It's amazing how many different items you can find to snack on that are just randomly growing nature if you know what to look for.
One such plant is the plant that we get black pepper from. It fruit itself grows on vines that crawl up trees, forming almost grape-like clumps. They are green, when on the plant, turning black once they are dried, and they make for a nice little bite as you are walking around. Freshly picked, they taste kind of like a jalapeños, but perhaps less spicy, and have more of a kick to them. After eating a few, your mouth feels fresh and clean.
Another was a flower that literally spelled and tasted like a fruit salad. Another, a firm green, wrinkly looking thing, that tasted much like a crab apple. The list goes on.
Eventually we get to our destination, which is someones house. At first I didn't realize that this was our stop, since he said we'll trek up to a village, which I imagine to mean a little village center with little local shops and stalls, in general, a centre for socializing and commerce.
It was really interesting to see someone's home. Very basic, only a few electrical lights, a couple of rooms, a little garden farm, a few animals, including a kitten, a dog, and a couple of cows, and while the residence, a young woman and an elderly women spoke zero english, this did not keep them from being hospitable, nor did it keep them from continuously talking to me in their own language, as if I was catching any of it. They put some spicy ginger-chai tea on, and we sat out on the front stoop, them talking, and me just looking around and taking it all in.
The elderly lady looks at me and points to a plant in her garden, and I recognize the long slender stalks from people squeezing juice of them on the street. It's sugarcane. However, over the course of the 15 minutes I had been there, I had still not learned to speak their language, so I still had no idea what she said. I only knew that sugarcane was the topic. I look to my "guide" and he tells me that she is asking if I want some. If you have ever had sugarcane juice touch your lips even once, the answer will always be yes, if someone asks if you want any. I nod excitedly, yes.
She hobbles over to the plant, and with a swift slash of her machete, a stalk falls. She skins it with the same machete, and slices it long-ways into quarters. I reach for one, and she hands me all off them. No complaints here. I tear of a bite with my teeth, chew it up for a bit, spit out the fibers, and repeat. Before I am finished with the sugarcane, she is pointing to other fruits in her garden. Before I can respond, she's walking toward the grapefruit tree, plucks one, tears it open, and begins passing out pieces of it. Delicious.
By now, the tea is ready, we all return to the stoop, and drink large hearty glasses of this mocha colored greatness. I know I have mentioned it before, but I'll say it again. I love chia here. They only serve it one way, brewed with milk, and probably plenty of sugar. Every once and a while they might throw ginger in there, or other spices, but its never by request, they just make it how they make it, and it's always delicious.
Funny story. Coffee is big in the mountain regions, and they prepare it more or less the same as chia. With milk and sugar. I have only seen black coffee once in India, and that was in Bangaluru. Anyways, I was in a town called Munnar, and I walk into a little cafe, I look at their menu, and they have espresso! Not having had this in weeks, I order one. Several minutes later they bring me what looks like a normal coffee (normal as in the way they make it). I smile and tell them I ordered an espresso. They look at me confused. They say this is an espresso. After some chatting I figure out that this is a cappuccino. What they call espresso is just how they make their usual coffee but with a shot of espresso rather than brewed or filtered coffee. I tell them, I'd just like the shot of espresso without the milk and sugar added. They think this is the strangest request in the world, but they oblige. They bring me the espresso shot, and literally stand there, watching me take the first sip. They found this to be highly entertaining, and I was glad to share something new with them. Anyways, long story short, if you order coffee in India, except at a trendy place in a major city, it will come with milk and sugar in it. Actual, even if you are in a major city and ask for black coffee, they still might ask if you want sugar. It's a funny, although usual delicious difference.
After our tea, it was time to head back to town. I thanked the residence for having me, and we hit the trails.
On the way back I was asking the "guide" about how frequently he takes me out here, how many people he usual takes, etc. I was really curious because obviously these people we visited were just friends of his, and this was not a strictly professional tour. Don't get me wrong, this has been one of the most valuable tours I have taken, given that he shared a lot about various plants in the area, and that I got to meet real rural Indians, check-out where they lived, and saw how they lived. It was one of the most unadulterated things I have experienced so far. But again, this seemed like some random thing he offers to tourist that come through the hotel.
I learned that he doesn't strictly work for the hotel either. He does odd jobs for the hotel such as laundry and cleaning, getting paid cash for whenever their is work for him to do. Similarly he does odd jobs around town, again for cash. These tours, are indeed, something he offers to tourist when he sees them in town, in order to make extra money. When we got back to town, he even had to run off straight away to do chores somewhere. And when I paid him the 600 rupees we agreed upon for the nearly 5 hour tour, he kissed the cash, smiled, and waved goodbye as he went off.
I didn't really know how to process this, and I still don't, or not completely. Most of the Indians I have interacted with as extensively as I did with him are upper or middle class, or at the very least have regular and stable jobs. This guy didn't. Obviously when I paid him, and when he had to run off right away to go do odd jobs, he was thinking about making ends meet, but honestly, the restt of the time I was with him, he was engaging, talkative, eager to learn more english from me, and in general, had a very light spirit.
Like I said, I still don't entirely know what to do with all this information, but I have realized that my worrying about money is just silly in comparison. My worrying about money has to do with feeling like I should be worth more, or being concerned about living at a standard I have grown accustom to and still being able to put some away to save. His concern about money is nearly day to day survival. It's eating, it's washing his one or two pair of nice clothes so that he can continue to work, it's helping his family, it's just entirely more basic for his continued survival than my high-maintenance concerns.
I've also come to the realization that I need to regularly reflect on this fact, for it to really sink in. It's easy to realize how incredibly well off I am when I am here, because I see it when a couple hundred rupees is that much easier for me to spend than my social class equals here. I did the math. What I was making at my entry level job when I left, is basically as much as what upper management make here. When I get back, I will need to regularly take some quite time to revive these memories, to relive these experiences, and remember just how well off I am, to remember that I make enough money, remember that my standard of living, if not always as easy and ideal as I'd like, is way better off then a large population of people. If I don't make a point to always reflect back on this, I will assuredly fall back into my own silly high-maintenance mindset, which now seems like some sick delusion, or really, a sickness in general.
And now that I have made things all heavy, back to the rest of my day!
As traveled by bus back to Bangaluru, I met yet another friend. He was the one who I mentioned was reading over my shoulder a little way back. The guy who wanted to inform me that Mysore will soon officially be spelt, Mysuru. Similar to how Bangalore is now spelt both "Bangalore" and "Bangaluru." But anyways......
After a while of typing on the bus, I began to get a little sick of looking at a screen so I close my iPad, and strike up some conversation with the guy next to me. He was traveling to Bangaluru on business. He explained that he was a goldsmith, and he needed to pick up some silver chain for a custom order he was working on. He came from a long lineage of precious metal workers, and his father and grandfather were royal artisans, and worked for the royal family in Mysore, doing much of the metal work on Maharaja Palace, the same palace that I have described as being beyond words given its level of detail and decadence. Having family that worked for the royalty there, and particularly leaving their mark by having contributed to the design of the palace is a major deal. He was very proud of this.
We got to chatting more and more. We chatted about my trip, the motivation behind it, and what I have learned thus far. We chatted about his line of work, and particularly some of his own projects. We had a really great chat. We both connected over the feeling that what we have to do to survive in todays way of life just doesn't fuel the fire in our hearts, doesn't get us excited, doesn't seem to fulfill us. Ultimately, again, this was one of the prime reasons for my trip.....I felt I was getting boring, and needed to do something worthwhile. Similarly, he finds that the jobs his father and grandfather did, is different from what he does, even though it's the same profession. Back in the day, the goldsmith was treated as an artist, and the when you approached him, you solicited his vision, you asked him to make something great and trusted that the artisan knew best. Time-tables and price were secondary concerns. Now of days he finds that his cliental are consumers. They want their vision, and they want it on this day, and for this price. He finds that a lot of the creative freedom his forefathers had is dwindling within the profession, so he comes up with his own projects.
Him and his brother, who is also a goldsmith, make wooden watches. It takes both of them 3 full days to make one. Unlike a watch made of metal, you cannot simple create molds for the gears, but shave and carve each gear by hand. Think about that for a moment. Think about how very specific each gear must be, and how precisely they must fit together in order for the watch to keep good time. Incredible. Once the inner workings are crafted and arranged, they incase them in a water proof glass casing, so that you can see and appreciate the fine wood and detail inside. They have shopped this to various companies, and in each case, the company loves the idea, but expects them to turn them out in mass quantities to make the product viable and profitable. Again, it takes two men, 3 days, to make one. What they make is not meant to be a cool trinket that is consumed, but a fine craft meant to be appreciated and valued.
While he wishes he could make some money with the projects that he puts his heart and soul into, he is not down-trodden by the fact that his personal projects haven't lifted off in a business sense, because ultimately he is still making something that he feel incredibly proud of, something that he feels fulfilled by, but we all have to pay the bills at the end of the day too.
Eventually we reached Bangalore, and we part ways. It was wonderful to meet someone who also strives to find some outlet for their own personal fulfillment, once they have gone about the daily grind to get the daily bread. He gave me his business card, and I shot him an email from my phone to get him my contact info. I doubt I'll ever hear from him, and I doubt he'll ever write, but one thing I have enjoyed about my travels is connecting with random people. I have certainly found that I have one thing or another in common with a lot of people out there, and all it takes to find these connections is to simply take the time to talk with a stranger.
This is something another thing I need to bring home with me......talking to strangers. I am no longer 8 years old, where talking to random strangers when your parents aren't around is supposedly dangerous. More often then not, people are not out to cause others harm. And should remember, on my train ride home from work, when I'm exhausted and dead, and feeling like a zombie, that maybe chatting with a stranger isn't just another common curtsey, and it's not another chore, but rather, it's a chance to connect with another human, as a human, a chance to actually feel a little more alive.
