Playing house on a boat

No one can argue with the lazy cruise of a houseboat on a river.

In sharp contrast, there are plenty of objections to be raised concerning crowded, overnight, sleeper class trains.

Anyway, it took one to get the other. And all together, they make a weekend adventure.

This weekend was Konaseema, Andrah Pradesh. Our first trip with companions, Pranav and Pratik, both from Gujarat via Bombay. We were signed up for a 24 hour ride on a houseboat, which turned out to be a 6 hour ride and overnight docking on the river just behind the tourism department's hotel. This change in plans was fought tooth and nail, (but ultimately, unsuccessfully), by Pratik, who displayed a propensity to harass the staff for the rest of the weekend. This includes twice threatening to enter the kitchen and see what the hell they were doing, as they told him chapati would be fried (it isn't) and the pakoras would take half an hour (they shouldn't). We would laugh behind our hands when he started up, seeing the mock incredulity at their incompetence even where I couldn't understand his Hindi. Then he'd smile, shrug, and wait for them to figure it out, anyway.

Friday night, the four of us boarded in Hyderabad. Bartley and I haven't traveled sleeper class yet. This is a 3-tier (6 person) non-A/C arrangement. The windows are barred. The cabin is way dirtier than I've seen one so far, and I soon found out that Pranav was searching for a newspaper not to read, but to clean the vinyl(?) bunks with. I remarked that at least we'd put sheets over it, anyway, and Pranav, smiling sadly at me, realized that I thought we were going to get sheets in sleeper class. Oh. Luckily, dupattas are super-utility.

It's a little louder with the windows (er, barred holes) gaping by your head, and when it starts to rain (first of the season!) around 3am, I figure out pretty quickly how to slide down the wooden shutter. But all is well, it gets us where we're going.

The boat is awesome. We cruise out to an island where a very old, dark and stringy-muscled man squats in the grass and hacks open fresh coconuts for us to drink the water and eat the gelatinous, creamy raw meat-- more like sushi than fruit. Tastes quite unlike any coconut I've had before. Then we all have, like, 5. The water is almost fizzy and a little sweet, a little sour, the meat is so moist and soft. We pet the fuzzy brown calf and feed it grass. Pranav climbs the palm and Pratik tries his hand at the machete, until the old man stops him for fear his try will lose his hand.



The river is filled with gigantic jellyfish with tentacle shaped like carrots. But somehow, there aren't many where the boat is docked so we jump in. From the roof. My nose starts bleeding upon impact and everyone thinks I am dying. We have to insist to the tour guides (who giggled at us swimming) in a mix of English and Hindi that I'm FINE, though even Pranav keeps asking me if it hurts, anyway. Then he makes me swim closer and closer to a jellyfish so he can get a picture of me with it, prompting threats from me of what will happen to him if he should direct me too close (as I can't see the jellyfish while submerged).

If you sit at the edge of the boat's roof, and listen really hard over the Hindi jams the boat tour guys are busting out, you can hear the sounds of the adjacent palm tree forest. Birds and insects. Some of the most comforting sounds in the world, and no matter how weird they are, they always make me think a little of home. Maybe because nothing is more beautifully weird than a chorus of cicadas in the summer evening of the American South.

After dinner, on our way back to the boat, one of our day's tour guides points his flashlight into the water by the barnacled boat's base. He shows us the fish there: "small size", he pointedly indicates as the beam flashes over some tiny nibblers, "big size", as the light swishes to a much bigger biter. He grins hugely, pleased with himself and his tour-guiding.

The next day, we cram into an auto(rickshaw) to go see what's billed as the "river/sea mixing place". Bartley and I swim in the ocean, but the waves are too aggressive and the bystanders too curious for me to enjoy it much. We take a motor boat up the river to the sea, where the water changes color and the waves start. Dolphins are all around, but none come close to the boat, even though Pratik harasses the driver to cut the motor several times so we can wait in silence. We see a beautiful, unfinished temple, and a bigger one built on top of an ancient one. We eat strange spongey dosas in the town dhaba and dry our beach clothes out by hanging them on the rails in the auto.

Then a sleeper home, with little sleep to be had.

Update re: Lakshadweep

We're going, we're going, we're going!!

At least, we've invested in the tickets and permits and such... the plans are set, April 7-13 we should be there!

Que Sera, Sera, But That Doesn't Mean It Will Make Sense

In writing to a friend this afternoon about our travel plans for the coming month, I found myself remarking, "India is not the place to be if you're on a schedule". Thing don't happen on time, as expected or in logical order. (And that is assuming they happen at all.) Normally, I can keep this in mind and go with the flow, but for the 3 weeks between leaving Hyderabad and arriving in Paris, there are 1,000 things we want to do. We have a rigorous schedule to pack as much in as possible. There's even a mutually-edited spreadsheet.

We knew that visiting the Lakshaweep Islands was going to be a trial. And this fact alone added to the allure-- the more obscure and inaccessible they seemed, the more we wanted to go and discover them for ourselves. Very few first-hand accounts are available. However, silly, naive, me, I assumed that somewhere after purchasing plane tickets and speaking with a travel agent (which is mandatory-- there are authorized agents with whom you MUST plan your trip in order to get the necessary permits), the clouds would part and we'd be on our way.

Oh, if only.

In fact, getting in touch with the travel agent has made things far, far, foggier. Mostly because everything she says contradicts or complicates what I've read, and upon further research, I find that no sources are consistent. Meaning, I can't even assume that if 8 websites say the same thing and 2 say something else that the majority must be (closer to) right, because they are all different! The only points upon which they concur are:
A) The island is beautiful
B) The water is clear
C) It is near India
D) You can go diving
E) I am not there

I'm ok with A-D, but am working to rectify E as soon as possible. Unfortunately, no one can seem to tell us if it is best to go by cruise ship, speedboat, plane, or escorted by a gaggle of mermaids ( I am vying for the latter, obvi) and all information we do get comes with a huge, unexpected price tag. I am told (by the same person) that I have to pay today/tomorrow to book my room, and that the boats from the airport to the island where will stay "will be figured out when we get there". But, they also "may not run on your planned travel dates". The slow boat costs more than the fast boat, the ferry can't be bought one way, nothing runs to the island with the airport on the day we're to fly out, and if no one else shows up we have to pay for the whole damn boat.

Basically, the feat of arriving on the island at all should garner us some medals. And if we make it back, too, I'm expecting to be called Dr. Rachel from that point forward, because I will have a PhD in What Just Happened.

Holi!

This is a week late, but last Wednesday was Holi. Holi doesn't have quite the same following in Hyderbad as it does in North India, but it was still celebrated with fervor by our assembled friends. I'm still trying to get the paint off my eyebrows! Check out the photos on my Flickr account for more Holi goodies.

LakshAndaman Islands

Already I am feeling like time is running out on this trip. Our flatmates are leaving next Tuesday and we have to move on to new accommodations. Then, we have only 3 weeks left in Hyderabad, a few weeks of travel, and we're back to New York.

eek.

For the past few days, we've had some hard decisions to make regarding our time in April. There are some small islands off of the west coast called Lakshadweep, (brace yourself for the typically *amazing* web skillz). Lak means, literally, thousand, as it is an archipelago-- but only 2 or 3 of these islands are even legally open to non-Indians! Here, we could experience some awesome snorkeling, diving (for Bartley, as I am not certified) and amazing, uncrowded beaches (I hesitate to say "deserted", as I still think this is an impossibility, even though they actually cap the number or visitors). Unfortunately, cheap accommodation does not exist here.

Or, after our flight to Kochin in Kerala, we could take an overnight train back to Chennai and fly from there to the Adanman Islands. Also beautiful beaches, diving, snorkeling, etc... and a perhaps slightly less hefty price tag. At least, a greater choice of places to stay.

Yeah, yeah, life is hard when you're choosing your own island adventure. Boo-hoo.

In other news, at least we've found places to stay for our gap weeks in Hyderabad. Uma Banjara was starting to feel like home, so it was a bit sad when we came home last week to find furniture already disappearing as Emily and Andre prepare. This week they are voyaging through the north on camels and such, coming back just in time for their blowout bon voyage on Monday. By the way, the breadth and size of fireworks one can legally purchase in India is astounding. Good thing we're moving out the next day.

Don't Stop

Ahh, Suryalanka Beach, you are my new favorite. This weekend was the most-- wait, only?-- relaxing break we've had.

We got in at 5am Saturday to the thickest fog I have ever seen in my life-- like swimming. We couldn't see oncoming headlights until they were way too close, and the rickshaw ride from the train station down a long, un-lit country road to the beach left our clothes damp.

Coastal Andrah Pradesh is not known for its beaches-- if you want an Indian beach, you'll go to Goa or Kerela. Suryalanka is still fairly underdeveloped, even though we were lodging in an Andrah Pradesh Tourism run facility. There were few tourists, and those who were there were all Indian. Not that we were in solitude-- that doesn't exist here. There are simply too many people, so there is always someone around/underfoot/overhead. (In this case, it was huge visiting families, snack-wallahs, fishermen, hotel staff, ice-cream wallah with his cart bell ringing as it rolls down the sand...)

Just to the left of the hotel (actually, individual rooms, painted bright blue and elevated 10 feet from the sand), there is a tiny wooden fence running into the surf, over which is the fishing village and their rows of brightly painted boats. (we tried to get in on a fishing boat expedition, to no avail).

We spent the rest of Saturday swimming in the Indian Ocean (newly acquainted, as we were) and making kissy noises at our favorite stray dogs. The top number one pup would wag his tail heartily every time we made the noise at him without fail-- even when he was sleeping. I have no idea why this noise is so universally loved by domesticated dogs and cats, but now I suspect it is nature and not nurture.

Sunday involved further adventures in extreme hospitality (this time, friends of our Hyderabadi Hindi tutor). We were fed, and fed, and fed, and reminded that "More Subji?", "No, thank you", results in more subji on your plate. We had lunch and dinner at two different houses, and at each we were the only ones eating, at each we were given more upon each refusal, and in spite of stuffing ourselves silly, at each house they remarked that we must not like the food (!). It was possibly the most outrageous statement I have ever heard, and all we could do was laugh and swear otherwise, pointing at our huge, empty thalis.

We're getting very good at sleeping on trains, and I can even make my bed on the top bunk while I am sitting on it pretty fast. This is taking into account that I can't even sit up straight without smacking the ceiling with my head.

---

Something occurred to me this morning:
-When the power goes out in the office (as it does several times a day), we keep working
-When crossing the street with oncoming traffic, you must keep walking (you just have to figure out the flow and bob and weave)
-When your thali is filled repeatedly, you just keep eating.
-Buses and trains are boarded and disembarked while moving (not always, of course, but it is very very common, and even Bartley and I have jumped from a [slowly] moving bus)

India does not stop, for anyone. You just dive in.

See/saw

Sorry to be so behind on updates!

We've been working all week, taking Hindi lessons, crashing weddings, eatingeatingeating, and traveling all weekend only to return to work dusty and deflated, straight from the overnight train.

Last weekend was Anaka's wedding in Chennai with one night in Pondicherry. Both awesome, of course. We rented a motorcycle south of Chennai in Mamalapuram and drove (2 hrs) to Pondi, and stayed in the Sri Aurobindo ashram (same founders as Auroville), which we did not get to visit. Pondicherry has a delicious French colonial influence and is the cutest thing I have seen in India (after Bartley, and the baby monkeys).

Photos are finally posted! Some taken by me, some by Bartley.

I'm at work now, trying to do 1,000 things, and will be on a train in a few hours to go to Suryalanka beach, coastal Andrah Pradesh, where we'll occupy a beach hut for the weekend. Train, hut, train, work!

Have a good weekend, you.