Reflections of the lone "Tomb Raider"

Beloved --
Somewhere in the past several months I saw and copied down the following: "Whenever he was en route from one place to another, he was able to look at hs life with a little more objectivity than usual. It was often on trips that he thought most clearly, and made the decisions he could not reach when he was stationary." -- Paul Bowles, "The Shattering Sky"
I've spent the last week, after returning from Ooty, reflecting on this "walkabout." So far I've written down 51 "Lessons Learned" and I expect to come up with a few more on the two 9+ hour legs of flying back to Seattle beginning in about 12 hours. I won't torture you with all of them. Here are a few:
1) I am currently healthy enough to enjoy roughing it.
6) I can travel lightly
7) I enjoy my own company and am never bored
20) I have a good story to tell my fellow travellers (think "Canterbury Tales")
24) I'd rather be a traveller than a tourist
32) I have enjoyed balancing experience with reflection during this trip
45) At any given moment, I'm content to be where I am
49-50) I am saddened by grinding poverty and amazed at how little removed we are from a primitive/animal-like existence.
I will now have the opportunity to do some "post-journalling/post-blogging" and I hope you will tolerate and participate in my reflections I've loved all your comments. Thank you.
Anyone up for a beer?
I love you and miss you all,
Jim

Indian Train to "Snooty Ooty"

Beloved --

After the overnight "sleeper" from Chennai to Mettupalayam, Anna and I arrived in time (in the dark) to queue up to get in line to get on the standby list to be waitlisted, etc., etc., for the steam train gog railway up to the Nilgiri hill station of Oooty. We got on to a very overcrowded coach and spent the next 5 1/2 hours getting a "free massage" as the tired old engine hissed and clawed its way up to almost the 6,000 foot level. In each tunnel we traversed, I had visions of Dante's Hell as the steam, smoke, and noise filled the space inside and outside the coach. It's a trip I'm happy to have done (note the past tense). The monkeys at the half-way station were thievin' rascals. We watched them grab snacks and tea from travellers who mistakenly put them down for a second.

By 1:30 on Sunday the 9th, we got ourselves booked into a nice guest house--called Reflections--with a view out over the lake (actually a reservoir built by the Brits). Starving, we headed for a 'western style" restaurant and downed a pizza and salad each. Then back to the guest house for a rest. Anna zizzed out for a couple of hours, but I managed to squeeze in a little explore, this time around the artificial lake.

The young men who rented paddle boats at the west end of the lake were like young men everywhere. They made sport of ramming each other in the middle of the lake. . . .no sign of life-jackets or a rescue boat. I was hoping that they know how to swim. What a joy it must be to feel so invincible. (I have retained some of that feeling on this trip, although I have learned to recognize an unstable path, a bridge near collapse, an unsafe bicycle, and the beginnings of my own mistakes and mis-steps in the heat of the day when I haven't hydrated well enough. I also recognize how important it is to "rest-up" every few days and not make this walkabout into a marathon!)

In the evening we took an autorickshaw up to the highest point in town for an excellent Chinese meal at Shinkow. We finished at 8:30 or so and it was cold outside. The "auto" ride back to the guest house left us both shivering, despite sweaters and socks. Anna said it was the first time she had worn socks in three months. Our "auto" driver was wisely wearing a heavy sweater, but I still didn't envy him his night's work.

Before heading back to Chennai on this too short side trip--Ooty is a good place to launch into treks into the surrounding hill country--we visited St. Stephen's (Anglican) church. Both of us noted how similar it is to St. Mary's in Swanage (U.K.) where Anna was christened. The gravestones we could read dated back to the early 18th century. We spent some time speculating that some of these members of the Raj probably knew Anna's ancestors who were living in this tea growing area, before moving on to Sri Lanka.

I really liked one of the stained glass windows which dated from 1864. A very non-representational geometric pattern that could have been modern or Muslim.

We also visited the Botanical Garden--along with Indians from all over the country and members of the Indian diaspora from the States. Beautiful collection of smaller gardens.

We bussed back to Mettupalayam and caught the sleeper back to Chennai, disembarking in Perambur at 4:45am and making a dash for Anna's flat, where we slept until 11:00am.

I love you and miss you all,

Jim

Wednesday in Anjuna

Beloved --
Having been warned off the early morning visit to the Wednesday flea market in Anjuna ("the prices are too high in the morning. Wait until they're packing up," said the concierge), I walk several kms north to the hippie enclaves of Vagator and Chapora.
A red dusty road winding north past the local school, several Israeli guest houses and a few "hotels" with signage in Russian. (I always knew that my three years of college 'ruskii yazik' would come in handy, but I never thought I would be deciphering "ayurveda" and "massage" from Cyrilic.
The twin villages ar a pleasant down-shift from Anjuna--no hustling taxis, which BTW are motorcycles here, or shops full of trinkets and "OM" logo fabrics.
Overlooking the two towns is an abandoned Portugese fort dating back to 1517 or so. I climb up to the hilltop from the Vagator (SW) side and soak up the view. The decent down the east side is more treacherous. I do take a stumble which later requires a trip to the pharmacy for hydrogen peroxide and mercurechrome. I have now had my three requisite "Well, I almost died" stories from this trip to SW/SE Asia.
I miss you and love you all,
Jim

Anjuna, Vagator and Chapora

Beloved --

Okay. I know how to beat this heat game. I get up at 5:30am, shower and pack. I down a canned Nescafe Latte that I bought last night. I hit the bus stand before 8:00am and catch the local bus (7 rupees) to Mapusa. All goes well until the transfer to Anjuna Beach. The bus is sardines all the way, with school kids and resort workers (I guess) heading west to the Arabian Sea. I feel guilty for my backpack, but I can't move it out of anyone's way. I'm anxious, but no one seems annoyed. The bus empties as we reach Anjuna town. I hop off at the first place I recognize from the "Lonely Planet" guide book and book a room at the Villa Anjuna about 200 meters from the beach. I have a delicious breakfast of yoghurt, muesli, honey and hot chocolate. By 9:30am I figure I've beat the odds, but it's starting to get hot. I take a guiltless nap, figuring I've done a good day's work just getting here.

After waking up around noon, I head for the beach. I'm dripping sweat after 20 meters and in a daze from the airless heat. That's probably why I'm vulnerable to one of the slicker con artists I've met on this trip.

He walks up to me at the end of my climb up from the beach. He starts talking about my right ear. Thinking he was being helpful and knowing that I typically have gobs of SPF 40 in my ear lobes, I start to rub it off, thanking him. Before I could say "What the hell?!?" he's going at my ear with a couple of ivory colored probes. He's pulling out enough "ear wax" to make a votive candle. In the middle of the wax there is a "stone." (I know that none of the wax or stones are mine, having just showered and thouroughly Q-tipped myself.) He then produces his credentials--a card in rough English. He is a "Certified Ear Stone Remover!" Further, according to his card, he expects payment of 250 rupees for each "ear stone" he removes. Before I can think twice he as four--count 'em--four earstones for a total "treatment" cost of 1,000 rupees (that's $20 at today's exchange rate). I give him 100 rupees for his magic, but he is unhappy and stalks me for about an hour. He finally disappears when I pull out my cell phone and start "dialing the tourist police." A lucky ploy. It's worth carrying a dummy cell phone for!

(Picture above is Anjuna Beach with a sun-bathing bovine.)

I love you and miss you all,

Jim

Goa (Panjim and Anjuna)

Beloved --
It's hot! Even the grandfatherly proprietor of the Park Lane Guest House in Panjim admits that the hot weather has arrived at least two weeks early this year.
To beat the heat, I hop the early morning--8:30am--bus to Old Goa. Cost 7 ruppees. I could see living in Old Goa. Clean, tree-lined lanes and more cathedrals per sq. km. than Chiang Mai has Wats. At one point in history, Old Goa rivaled Lisbon for its grandeur.
But by noon it's too damn hot again. I linger over lunch in an elevated, shady but airless open restaurant. I watch the late awakening tour groups pour out of their AC busses. And wish them the best of luck for the heat.

I catch the 1:00pm bus back to Panjim and stagger, sweating to my guest house. I drink a liter of water, turn the AC to full on and let the cool air wash away my sweat. I sleep 'til five.

By six it is a bit cooler. . .at least the sun's angle doesn't sear any more. But it is still unpleasantly hot. I go for an explore in this smallest and tidiest of Indian State capitals. There are fewer sidewalk hustlers here. Panjim seems to stand on its own w/o tourists.

By 7:30pm I'm explored out and head for the Hotel Venite--one of the very few places to get a drink in this conservative part of India. I order a Kingfisher "Strong" and a shot of feni (cashew moonshine) and squeeze myself into one of the half-dozen tiny balconies overlooking the street scene. A sweaty hour passes--even the backs of my hands are covered with drops and I seem to be exuding every bit of DEET that I've used in the past couple of months--and then back to the AC. I hit the bed by 9:00pm and suck up the cool.

At 1:30am I'm awake, too hot, and puzzling about the past three months. What's changed? What have I learned? beyond the "You can't run away from yourself!" and that each day is a "Get up! Stand up! Dust yourself off and start all over again!" (These are what I call the eternal reggae verities.)
(Picture above is at the Viceroy's Gate in Old Goa. It was built by Vasco de Gama's grandson.)
I miss you and love you all,
Jim