First of all, the flight was pretty insane. A total of about 26 hours spent in the air is bad enough as it is, but if you just so happen to have caught a cold a few days before taking off (both my parents got it from me, too) doesn't really make the flight more pleasant.
However, all things considered, it wasn't that bad. The airline we were flying on was quite nice, and there weren't that many people on the plane, so we had some breathing space.
And then there's India... This place is amazing, but just a little bit crazy.
It's a land of opposites. Poverty and luxury are sometimes one in the same, high technology lives side-by-side with what can only be described as "non-technology", and there's a general sense of chaotic order in everything.
Namely, the traffic. Oh Armok, the traffic...
I have no idea how much Indians spend on horns every year, but it must be some massive amount. People use horns as a statement of frustration, a turning indicator, a going straight indicator, a way of getting attention, or even just a simple greeting. Some people apparently just get addicted to hearing that horn blare, and never really kick the habit of honking.
The general driving can be easily summed up in two words; "Me first".
Lane indicators are sometimes considered as rough guidelines, but are mostly just ignored. Traffic can sometimes stack up to five or six cars wide, and that's just on the two-lane.
Intersections provide a perfect place for all the motorized rickshaws, motorcycles, cars and simple bicycles to line up next to each other while waiting for their turn, which may or may not have anything to do with the traffic signals.
The pedestrians act just about the same way, except they tend to travel across the road rather than down it, and they don't have horns (yet).
No crosswalks, no designated areas, just start walking and get out of the way of the buses, because they don't like stopping very much. Most other people will.
Generally.
It's really quite amazing there aren't more accidents, but everything seems to flow together in some spectacular way. As has been stated by a few of the locals, it's probably because nobody goes very fast (which is only because there's someone in front of them).
I have to admit, coming here I was thinking almost entirely about the food. So far I've only had one meal here, but it has not in any way been found lacking.
And getting a pile of great food that you can't quite bring yourself to finish (with three people) for just five bucks is a perk.
The apartment we're staying in is, well.... I suppose the DF term would be "modest". Bare walls, bare floor, four plastic chairs, one plastic table, two beds (no blankets, but they do have pillows), a fridge, a water heater, a mile or two of closet space, and about ten more wall switches than there are lights (or anything else we can find). It's not much, but it's home. And, we've even got a rice cooker.
It's hard to imagine that this is only the second day, but it is. We packed an incredible amount into the first day, thanks to our guide (the HR-and-everything-else director at the company my dad's helping to set up down here). It's rather interesting to drive through the twisty streets with all the slightly mangy rickshaws and the dirt encrusted housing compounds, and then parking in a large underground parking structure (which had no markings to tell which part of the garage you're in), and then making your way up into the massive supermall above.
India takes some getting used to, and you need a sense of humor to survive the traffic, but it's a very interesting place, with some very interesting people, and some very interesting customs.
It's still a bit fun to watch the locals talking, because they all waggle their heads from side to side while talking. It's a bit like the Canadian "eh?", too. The more "local" you go, the more severe the waggling. One guy looked like his head might come off.
And, the HR director is taking us out for curry today. That's always a plus.
Updates when I get them,
--Kagus
Also, I remember watching on the news about a monkey infestation in many Indian cities, where they've basically become pigeons.
I'm writing this at the standard waking hour of too-early o'clock, which is currently displayed as 06:20 on the more standard numbers clock. The first shift of people over at the office arrived twenty minutes ago...
I have seen a gecko here, of all things. It was hiding out above one of the light fixtures when we were first being shown around the apartment (or "flat", as the British-influenced Indians say), but it's vanished somewhere since then.
It's not exactly quiet here. There are dogs barking, people chattering, Air India flying overhead, and the omnipresent honking of horns (of course).
However, none of that makes any difference when you get back at night and feel completely wiped out from the day spent exploring Hyderabad. Not even the whine of mosquitoes that simply must fly directly into your ear.
Speaking of the mosquitoes, they're actually not that bad here. I'm sure there are higher concentrations of them in other parts of India, but we only get a few of them at night here, and according to Pradeep (he's the HR director) they're not the malaria mosquitoes.
He says that nobody in Hyderabad ever gets malaria. But then again, he says nobody in Hyderabad ever gets anything. According to him (and he won't hesitate to tell you such with great pride), the locals around here just have very powerful immune systems, and so never get fevers, malaria, polio, hepatitis, or anything, really. He claims this has to do with the food.
However, I think he may have picked up on our colds.
Oh, I almost forgot (how could I do that...) the curries! Yes, curries. The dish we got (one for each of us) had about seven different curries on it, plus some chutneys and a similar cup of curd. First we got a bowl of what I think was "roti" (it was some kind of bread-like substance) with which to dip into the curries, and then some guy came over and piled a massive amount of rice onto our dishes, right in the middle of the circle of curries.
Man, I was so stuffed after eating that... I hadn't even finished off one of the curry dishes, and I wanted to still have space left in my stomach so I could eat some more, but no such luck.
I even had a hard time getting down the ultra-soft and ultra-smooth ice cream they served afterwards.
It's saturday today, so we're going to be taking some time off exploring so we can recuperate and hopefully kick whatever virus has laid claim to our lungs. That way, we can go again at full force when monday comes around!
Rarely does a person say, "I love mondays".
Updates when I get them,
--Kagus
EDIT: Spells his name "Pradeep"
[ January 26, 2008: Message edited by: Kagus ]
quote:
Originally posted by Kagus:
<STRONG>
Oh, I almost forgot (how could I do that...) the curries! Yes, curries. The dish we got (one for each of us) had about seven different curries on it, plus some chutneys and a similar cup of curd.
--Kagus</STRONG>
Oh. OH. I envy you this. I like Indian food more than my dwarves like +cat tallow roast+. It's neat reading about the place; keep making updates! And head waggling is awesome. I'm going to use that to replace the Western nod.
And, to add to the novelty car horns, kids playing in the park next door, street hawkers (at three in the morning...), random readings of the qur'an (at least I think that's what that dude keeps yelling about, and Hyderabad does have a Muslim population), warbling birds, and other sounds around the flat, a store nearby recently set up a big speaker which hasn't been turned off since.
They've been testing it for some time now, by mumbling something into it at varying distances from the microphone (it all comes out completely garbled. Even if I understood telugu I wouldn't have a clue what he was saying), and announcing various store-related things (I think).
And then they started playing music. But they couldn't figure out what music to play, so we got to hear some ten-second or so clips as they were working through the collection before it got cut off and the next one got put on.
This collection included Indian polka. I kid you not.
And then, sometime later, they decided to test the microphone again... While the music was still playing.
Now you've got Indian traditional/pop music overlaid with mumbled sale announcements and "check....check....check"ing of the microphone. Plus car horns that play christmas jingles.
It actually creates quite an interesting medley. Again, it's that chaos/order thing, as the whole mess has an underlying rhythm and can be rather pleasant to listen to.
We went to another shopping complex yesterday (named, creatively, "Big Bazaar"), and the whole time we were there the PA system had "hello and welcome, valued customers! We have fabulous, fantastic and exccciting offers for you! Seventy percent seven-zero seventy percent discounts! On plastics floor - Thank you." bellowing out into the store. They were live announcements too, as you could hear the guy getting a little tired of saying the same things over and over after a while.
One of the most prevalent themes of India is its diversity. The language diversity, the food diversity, the sound diversity, the culture diversity... Everything is gloriously different from everything else, and that diversity seems to be inherent in the very air and earth here.
India is different. It's even different from itself.
EDIT: Oh yeah, another comment on the food. Those curry dishes we had yesterday? They were either 110 or 120 Indian Rupees (I forget). That translates into either $2.75 or $3.00. Not bad, eh?
[ January 25, 2008: Message edited by: Kagus ]
quote:
Originally posted by Armok:
<STRONG>How is this thread relevant to DF?</STRONG>
Hehe, true. This should be at the various nonsense forum...
Well, India has once again proven to be hectic and rather tasty. This was our first day without a guide, so we were basically just wandering around until we found something of interest.
When lunchtime rolled around, we went to the first restaurant Pradeep took us to, and, since we didn't know anything on the menu, we ordered the same things we got when he was ordering. Manchurian appetizers (little spicy wheat balls, very tasty) and Biryani (a famous rice dish of Hyderabad).
Sure, we were commiting that most horrible of acts where we ate the same thing twice in a week, but it tasted good and we could pronounce it, and that's good enough for us.
Then, time for a little shopping. Not particularly exciting, except we mistakenly picked up some ancient ayurveda health-paste instead of honey. Considering the stuff is based on ultra-tart gooseberries, the two are a teensy bit different taste-wise... But, still healthy.
After an afternoon spent sitting and thinking (I'm still in the safe zone for blaming the 13 hour time difference), we started to get hungry for that other well-known meal. Dinner.
Of course, we couldn't just go back to the same restaurant. Dinner called for a new place to be tested! So, time to go mindlessly wandering the streets at night and following our noses towards the good food scents.
Just after we set off though, we were waylaid by a group of kids who found us far too intruiging to pass up an opportunity to say "hi". Repeatedly.
Thing is, the kids spoke better english than most of the adults around. We were bombarded with questions regarding whether or not we were from around there, how long we would be staying, and what my gender was (none of the guys here have long hair, so I tend to stand out a bit with my 20+ inch blonde hair).
After some time wandering around and getting pleasantly lost (and the always entertaining act of crossing the road), we found a little hotel/restaurant that offered breakfast lunch and dinner. We went in, sat down, and immediately had three waiters standing around waiting to do something for us.
We had to ask the one who was actually taking our order for a menu, and he brought it over and pointed out that they only stocked the one side of the menu. All the entries on the other side were apparently relics from when they first had the menu made up, which (according to the ragged state of the menu) was probably a long time ago.
Not knowing any of the lovely little names on the list, we had to ask for what he would suggest. What followed was a question-and-answer session, and bringing in some woman for her opinion. We decided on having a tester plate brought in so we could get a taste of what they were offering.
What the plate lacked in variety, it more than made up for with flavor.
We each got a small plate (I can only assume they were small servings, as we weren't charged the full price for them) of parotas, which are flat, flaky potato breads, and a couple dishes of curry. Dipping parotas into curry only works for as long as the parota lasts, which didn't turn out to be very long (damn stuff was good), so we ended up using our fingers to scoop out and eat a lot of the curry.
Some time after we'd finished the parotas, the waiter came back out and asked us what we'd like to order. We said we really liked the tester plates, so he said he'd bring out some chapathis (another kind of flatbread. Pocketed, but not as flaky).
This was basically round two. A different waiter brought out the chapathis, and also brought out fresh bowls of curry to go along with it.
By the time the chapathis were finished, almost all the curry was gone and we were quite happily stuffed. The waiter came by and asked if we'd like something else, and seemed slightly surprised when we declined the offer (Indians eat a lot of food).
We talked for a while, used the back rooms to wash our hands, and left the little dining room to go walking around town again and do some more shopping (this time actually picking up real honey). The whole meal for the three of us totaled out to roughly $1.25, which also happened to be close to the price of a carton of mango soymilk in the shop.
We've been using wikipedia to try and figure out some of the food names beforehand, so we'll be better equipped when we next enter a restaurant, but the current guessing-game approach hasn't exactly let us down yet...
Tomorrow will most likely bring new dishes to our attention, and maybe even some pictures (don't get your hopes up though, transferring pics from the camera to the laptop hasn't really been priority number one).
Again, updates when I get them. Thanks for reading.
--Kagus
Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against India or it's population but I can barely tolerate noises, mobs of people, traffic or chaos in general. I hated it when I was visiting downtown Montreal with the street festivals and all, and it wasn't as chaotic as Hyderabad sounds to be and I was there just for a couple of days.
Man, I wish my brain was more tolerant and appreciative of chaos and diversity.
[ January 26, 2008: Message edited by: Zemat ]
I heartily suggest you find a good curry place though, the stuff's great. I don't know of any places that will give you the kind of wonderful we're being served here, but you can at least get some idea if you go to a good Indian restaurant.
It's best if you're into spicy food, because curry will generally be at least somewhat spicy. Here, it could go anywhere from "Sweet, not spicy" to "Help, my head is on fire!", but in the states they generally only serve the spicy-ish types (so far as I can remember, haven't been to an Indian restaurant in a long time).
But, if you find yourself in England, your luck in finding a good curry spot might be a bit higher. Again, I don't know of any good British curry houses, but it shouldn't be too hard to find one.
No India updates quite yet. Haven't done anything interesting today.
Well, aside from a masterful mosquito death-swipe earlier...
EDIT: Updates!
Well, today was interesting. After spending some time randomly wandering around the apartment and drinking some very healthy tea, we went out to do some random wandering outside.
We got hungry around lunchtime (imagine that) and decided to head on over to the "Satyam Hotel", where we'd eaten the chapathis and parotas before. For a change from bread with curry, we ordered the "meal" (that's how it showed up on the menu) where we got a few different dishes of curry/chutney/other sauces, plus some crispy flatbread, plus rice (infinite refills).
Since the traditional way of eating is to use the fingers of the right hand (due to the inherent uncleanliness of the left hand), we decided we were going to eat with our fingers as well.
It's amazing how much goes into eating something with your fingers properly. I say properly, because there is apparently quite a bit of etiquette in eating with your hand, and the owner/head waiter was more than willing to stop by our table and give tips on how to eat his food.
I would also like to add how incredibly difficult it is to eat lumps of sauce-coated rice without making a total fool out of yourself. Especially when half the patrons in the restaurant have turned their chairs around to get a better look at the foreigners.
Despite the various pitfalls of Indian dining manners, the food was absolutely wonderful. Spicy sauces, savory sauces, sweet sauces, and yoghurt-like curd all contribute to making an exceptional meal.
The curd is supposed to be eaten last, as it is meant to soothe the mouth (basically just cool it down after the hot peppers) and settle the stomach for easier digestion. And, since it came from a cow, it is inherently good for you somehow.
As I was putting some curd onto my last little lump of rice, the owner came over, noticed the apparently inferior amount of curd I was putting on, and told me to please put more on so that it would be healthy for me. Apparently, half a spoonful of curd for about one and a half spoonsful of rice is not nearly enough.
It was then that I realised how Indians eat. They don't really eat the bread or the rice, they merely use it to transport the curry or other sauces to their mouth. The rice is supposed to be completely drowned out by the sambar, rasam, curry, dal or curd before it touches the lips. Silly me.
After eating this lovely meal (each of the three dishes cost one dollar, plus tax) we went back to the apartment and sat around aimlessly for a while longer (I did a little reading in a Stephen King novel I brought along).
At some point in the afternoon/evening, the lighting was apparently well suited to taking photographs, so we went out for another walkabout to take some pictures.
We took some good pictures, and quite a few not-so-good pictures. And then the light faded and we got hungry again. Take a wild guess where we went.
So, we're back at the Satyam Hotel, and we want to have either the same or something different. Things haven't quite been decided yet.
Having learned the names to some new Indian dishes (thank you, wikipedia), we looked in the menu to see if we could find any. Having found two bread dishes (it was agreed upon that we'd all like some more bread), we asked for the first one. Found out it was a breakfast bread, and not served in the evening. Asked for the second one.
And that's how we ate our first "dosa"s. They're essentially non-sweet potato crepes, served with a soup-ish thing (hey, it came with a spoon. It counts as soup) and a bowl of some spicy dip/sauce that we'd never had before.
After finishing the crepes, we were noticed by one of the kids we'd bumped into before a couple days ago, when we were passing by the playground/park that's next to our apartment building.
Recognizing three pale-skinned blondes sitting in a room full of dark-skinned dark-haired Indians. Pretty impressive.
Anyways, she invited us over to her house (insisted, really) for a visit. So, we cleaned up and followed her and her friend (who I don't think was part of the original group that saw us) on the road to her house, which happens to be across the park from ours.
On the way, we met up with her mom (who we assumed had gone out looking for the girl as she was taking longer than usual to come back with the idli (rice/lentil cake, very popular) for her grandmother.
So, we're walking along, the girl is carrying her idli takeout bag and jabbering nonstop (in fairly good english), her mother is beaming silently and we're just trying to understand what all's going on so we can provide a halfway-sensible reply in good time.
So, we spend some time sitting around in her flat (which is only slightly rattier than our own), and the girl is translating for her mother and grandmother, neither of whom speak english. The girl makes up for this though, by filling the air with as many things a six year old can think of to say to strange people like us, with occasional help from her little sister (who was the very girl who asked me whether or not I was a girl when we first encountered the group).
After the visit was over, my mom had earned the title of "auntie", my dad the title of "uncle" (everyone's an uncle in India...), and I was being given the various titles of "brother", "cousin", and even "hero". I think the girl is infatuated with me or something.
Anyways, we've got pictures! Not many good ones, but still...
Here's a picture of a fruit and vegetable stand that's across the street from our apartment building. Haven't actually bought anything there yet, though...
(http://i25.tinypic.com/2hmed0i.jpg)
Here's some abandoned mosque or temple that was sitting in the middle of everything:
(http://i28.tinypic.com/9len9y.jpg)
This is a sugarcane press. You run through a batch of cane, and then serve up the resulting juice to a waiting customer.
(http://i25.tinypic.com/dh73v4.jpg)
She was smiling and looking right at the camera, but then she got distracted by one of us...
And finally, a dosa with me eating it. (The other patrons started snickering when this picture was taken)
(http://i30.tinypic.com/sevu5d.jpg)
Would someone be kind enough to tell me what the picture cap is? I'd like to know so I don't have to think about going over the limit.
[ January 27, 2008: Message edited by: Kagus ]
[ January 27, 2008: Message edited by: Kagus ]
[ January 28, 2008: Message edited by: Kagus ]
He's supposed to be working with the first shift of employees, which gets to the office at 6 AM and leaves at 2 PM. So, he set the alarm on his phone, got up early, put on his work clothes, and set off.
Without his computer.
So, he calls back to the apartment, and says he forgot to bring his computer, and could we please bring it down. So, my mom packs up the computer bag with the laptop, along with several other essential items that only mother would think to add in (just-in-case items, in other words).
She opens up the door, bag in hand, and there's the building owner/super (also the office building owner/super), a certain Satya Narayana Reddy (everyone in Hyderabad is named Reddy at some point in their names. Proven fact).
Satya has been incredibly helpful in the days we've spent here, and has insisted on doing just about everything for us. He arranged for us to get a stove, and helped install it in the kitchen, he bought drinking water and mosquito repellant for us, and has basically been tending to any and every need we may have.
So, naturally, he insisted on taking the bag down to the office.
Some time after he'd gone, my mom realised she'd forgotten something (some other essential item that needed to go into the computer bag), and called Satya on his mobile to ask him to come back.
A few seconds later, he's standing at our door again, bag in hand. I swear, that guy runs when he does stuff for us.
Some time after 8:30 AM, my dad calls the apartment and says he's going out for breakfast, and would we like to come? An offer of Indian food for breakfast. Take a guess what we answered.
And then guess where we went for the food. Yep, the Satyam Hotel.
So, we ordered what was basically the only other name on the menu that we remembered looking up, and that we hadn't eaten yet. Puri.
Puri is a breakfast food, so we actually ordered something at the right time for a change (so far, we'd been eating breakfast for lunch and dinner, and possibly other tourist-mistake combinations).
Puri is wheat bread that has been deep-fried in either ghee (clarified butter) or vegetable oil, and then served as soon as it is finished so that the bread hasn't had time to release the stem that's built up inside it, so it's puffed to the size of a small sports ball.
Puri is also very, very tasty.
Pradeep was helpful as always, providing answers to our questions about how to properly eat what we were ordering (try tearing off pieces of a fresh tortilla and using it to scoop up runny sauces with only one hand, it ain't that easy).
I was still a little hungry after eating the puri, so I got an order of "idli" as well, just to see what that was like. Idli is one of the most common dishes in India, and can be found just about anywhere you go. It's a small rice and lentil cake, and is supposed to be very easy on the stomach, and thus good for people who are very old or were sick recently.
Eating your way through India is an entirely acceptable and highly recommended way of spending time down here. And don't let your mind worry about your waistline, because regardless of how much you eat, you will get slimmer by the day. Pradeep says you only get fat in India if you eat lots of potatoes, the buttered, greasy and deep-fried foods do absolutely nothing (according to him).
Just got back from some running around, which was started by a call from the airline we flew in on. Apparently, they finally found our luggage, the one suitcase that we packed with all our extra clothes and such that didn't arrive when we did (hey, only five days, that's not bad).
Since we were out, we decided to go and grab lunch at the same time. Since Pradeep was with us (driving us), we asked him where we should eat.
He drove us over to an Indian theme buffet restaurant, where we had some fine Indian food of several kinds, including roasted and spiced cauliflower, some sort of semi-sweet tomato soup (drunk from a cup, rather than a bowl), "dal" (lentil soup/stew/paste, often served alongside breads or rice as a dip/sauce), plus the standard fare of tasty but unpronounceable Indian foods.
Once we had eaten our fill, Pradeep introduced us to one fo the many kinds of desserts around here. Essentially, they were little deep-fried flourballs that had been soaked in syrup. I didn't have any, as I was too full and didn't really feel like piling something syrupy sweet on top of the other food.
And then, some time after that, something strange. Pradeep had a little chat with one of the waiters, and soon a platter with three wrapped leaves with toothpicks stuck through them arrived.
We asked him what these things were, and he gave an answer that amounted to "DAJEI" (Don't Ask, Just Eat It). So we did.
That is the first food-type item in India I have eaten and not enjoyed. It made up for lost time.
That thing was easily one of the most foul culinary experiences I have ever had the displeasure of having. After the initial shock of having the foul and quite unexplainable taste of the mixture, my tongue went almost completely numb. This made it impossible to clean out the slightly sharp wad of half-chewed "stuff" that had managed to lodge itself behind my now-useless tongue.
My mouth experienced a sort of "static", wherein almost nothing was tasted, but there was a mild sense of some taste or another hovering around. What comes to mind to describe this is my mouth going into shock and ceasing to function. However, this was not the case, as every now and then that horrible flavor would now and again pop up into my tongue's remaining consciousness.
Some time into chewing this filth (on top of everything else, it took a lot of chewing), we asked Pradeep what it was called. He responded "Paan".
He went on to talk about how it's a very special item, and how lots of people get somewhat addicted to it and will chew it for most of the day. I have absolutely no clue how they manage to get addicted to something so foul.
Even after I thought I had defeated the evil thing, it had the last laugh. I apparently hadn't chewed a lump of it enough, so it got stuck somewhere in my piping. I can still feel it sitting there, chuckling away at my inability to conquer it, as I write this.
But wait, there's more. I decided to do a little looking around on the net to see what exactly it is they put in this stuff (not even Pradeep knew for sure). Turns out, it's a mixture of various spices, sugar, fruits, and sometimes tobacco wrapped up inside a the leaf of a Betel plant.
Both Betel leaf and tobacco are known carcinogens to humans, and apparently, when they are combined, the risk of cancer doesn't simply add up, it multiplies. So, after all that wonderful food, we left the restaurant with a bad taste in our mouths.
And all the while, we had to put on brave faces for the beaming Pradeep, who thought he'd given us the treat of a lifetime.
Well, it was the treat of a lifetime. I'm never having another one while I'm alive, that's for sure.
And on top of all that, they're damn expensive.
So, after that lovely little check on the list of things experienced in this life, we went on to do some shopping. Shoes and books. We needed some sort of light shoes to wear around the apartment (our shoes are too dirty and uncomfortable to wear around the apartment, and the floor is too dirty to walk around barefoot for too long), and we needed books because I was the only one who brought a book along for the trip (Stephen King's "Rose Madder"), and both my parents have already read it. And remember it. And after five days, I'm two thirds through it.
Let's just say, we needed more books.
Anyways, here we are again. Back at the apartment where we can complain about that horrid Paan (it really was bad enough to deserve all these comments, trust me) without offending anyone, and just sit around and relax from the events of the day.
At the airport earlier, where we picked up our little suitcase, we were stopped by a police officer on our way out. He started doing a rundown, asking for anything a cop would have authority to check (license, insurance, so on), and everything was checking out until the pollution test papers came up.
Apparently, the car we were driving in (someone in the office had offered up his car so Pradeep could drive us around) hadn't had a checkup recently, and the smog test papers had expired.
Weeeell now. Now the cop had something he could work with! So, he started talking to Pradeep about the very serious matter of an expired pollution test checkup (I can only assume. I don't speak Telugu), so Pradeep handled it the way you handle it with every time one of India's finest stops you for something.
He pulled out his wallet and handed him 200 rupees.
The cop said his thanks, and wandered off. According to Pradeep, the only reason a police officer will ever stop you for something is because he wants some cash.
Considering the government demands fees for common misdemeanors as high as 2,000 rupees, paying the cop 200 rupees isn't that bad a deal.
Instead of listing the converted prices of everything, I'll just tell you the rough exchange rate between U.S. Dollars and Indian Rupees. One dollar = Forty rupees.
Stopped by a cop? Pay him five bucks.
Just another day in India.
I'll get around to using it when we get some passable photos.
For now, here's a photo of the one man in Hyderabad who doesn't smile when a camera is pointed at him.
(http://i30.tinypic.com/10dgmde.jpg)
I'm going to assume that expression is not very good for the flower-selling business...
EDIT: Seem to be fixed now. Haha, sugar cane juice. Lots of these here in Brazil, usually sold along with enchiladas :D
[ January 28, 2008: Message edited by: Nite/m4re ]
We've spent most of the day sitting around and reading. I've been posting on the forums extensively (as anyone who's been watching the forums today can attest...), and basically not doing anything interesting or important.
Later in the evening, when we were headin gout to dinner, something vaguely interesting happened. We bumped into the girl we had talked to before (not sure how she spells her name, but it's pronounced DEE-dya), and this time we actualy had the camera so we got to take the pictures we said we'd take of her (I'll put them up later on when they get uploaded to the computer).
A group of boys that had been playing in the playground she was in noticed us, and through various faces and antics practically insisted we take pictures of them, too. The girls wanted to see their pictures after we had taken them. The boys were content with the knowledge that they had had their picture taken.
After that, we went to the M.G. Inn (where we had the Manchurian and the Biryani), and ordered the usual (read: what we could pronounce). We also ordered a curry dish, just to find out how it tasted.
Rule of thumb for Indian cuisine: It probably tastes good.
It did.
I think the waiter was a little bit happier since we had ordered slightly more food. As it stands, we've been ordering the standard amount of food for one person, and sharing it between the three of us. We get plenty of food (sometimes more than enough, my mom couldn't finish her plate), but it still stumps the waiters that we can survive by eating so little.
We'll have to take a picture of it sometime, just to give you some idea of how much food they're giving us, and then coming back and asking what else we want afterwards.
Soo... Yeah. That's about it. Pretty exciting, eh?
My dad's been trying to kick whatever infection he's got going down in his lungs, and decided to work from the apartment so he could stay here and rest up a little.
The only times we've been outside the apartment today have been when two guys from the office popped by and informed us that they'd set up a doctor's appointment for my dad, and that they should go now (nice service, but a bit strange having someone show up at your door and inform you that you've got an appointment), and when my mom went out to do some simple groceery shopping. I haven't been out at all.
We cooked up a simple rice dish (not exactly enthralling, especially when compared to the things we've been ordering lately), and have just been taking it easy.
I was taking everything in stride, when all of a sudden (really, all of a sudden. Absolutely no warning beforehand), at the end of lunch, I started to get dizzy. My head eventually stopped spinning, but I've been a bit off-balance and on the verge of downright diziness ever since. So now I've got a reason to take it easy for a bit...
Anyways, I've got a bowl of ramen noodles that's calling my name, and I don't want them to get cold on top of everything else today. G'night, all.
"Curry" here basically just means "Sauce" (according to Wikipedia, it translates to "Gravy", which seems a bit odd), so there's a very wide variety. That, plus the various dals and chutneys makes a rather huge assortment of things to put on your rice. Breads are generally served with only two dishes, a curry and sambar.
For breakfast breads like the puri and dosa, it's been a thick white sauce that's slightly spicy (in the way horseradish is spicy). For other breads... I don't really remember... Guess it's been too long.
We're probably not going to be doing too much again today. I'm still a bit off-kilter, but my head's getting better. My dad is still coughing like a madman and his voice sounds like he's trying to talk through a cup of yoghurt, so it's going to be a while yet before he's in full form.
India's probably still interesting, it's just that we're not doing anything about it. Being sick really ain't conducive to adventuring, I hope that's considered before Toady implements diseases...
As for the spiders, I'll just have to keep away from any vertical caves I find in the middle of nowhere.
However, after a quick look around, we couldn't find it in the alleged location, so we went to the M.G. Inn instead. Didn't take much persuasion to change course, I can tell you that much.
And so it was that we sat down and decided to order something different for a change. We still ordered the biryani, manchurian, and curry, but this time it was a cashew curry. Vive la difference.
Frankly, the standard curry tasted better. The cashew (spelled "kazu". "Z" is pronounced "djz", so if we were to feel the desire to go to a zoo, we'd be visiting the jew to look at animals) curry was good, but it just wasn't up to our recently-set standards.
And then we went back to the apartment after the immense exertion of walking a couple blocks over and then sitting down and eating. *Phew*, I'm still tired.
Everything was going along peachily (I even installed DF on this machine because I figured its entertainment value would last longer than that of the books we picked up. After all, there are only so many pages to a book), when we heard a stern ring on our doorbell (the thing is too damn loud. Spooks the hey out of me if I'm not paying attention). We open the door to find a few men bickering with each other in Telugu, and one of them turns and starts talking to us in english.
He wants to know who we're paying the rent to. My dad says that the company is paying for the apartment, and so he doesn't know. The men in the background roll their eyes and go back to arguing. The man asks again who we're paying the rent to, and it takes a while before we can convince the group that we don't know, and that we haven't done anything wrong. They eventually leave in a bit of a huff.
We try to figure out what's going on, and call around asking questions with the various office folk. And then, Satya comes to the rescue. Again.
Turns out, the people who stayed here before us recently moved to Malaysia. But not before taking out a rather sizeable loan from the bank. The men were from the bank, wondering where their money was.
So that was it. The bank was looking for its money and tracked down the last address of the loan customers, which just happened to be the apartment we currently occupy.
And so, Satya cleared matters up and made everything better again. That guy really has been a tremendous help during our stay here. He even drove halfway across town to pick up two blankets for us from the superstore because we were getting cold at night.
Heck, he even asks if we've been eating enough lately.
And so, this night comes to a close with me having eaten another bowl of India ramen noodles (I swear, they put curry spices in the flavoring packet) and leading a human adventurer to glory. The first non-colossus non-demon adventurer I have ever started who lasted past his first cave.
G'night, all.
P.S.
By the way, if anyone was wondering, my dizzy sickness has passed. I'm still not sure what it was, but I'm glad it's over so I can walk in a straight line again.
EDIT: Oh, hey. Just thought of how to make curry in DF. Quarry bush leaves are the only item in the game that count as "spice", so if you wre to make a quarry bush leaf stew, you could pretend it was curry. Or, if you prefer, "qurry".
[ January 31, 2008: Message edited by: Kagus ]
Not like there was a whole lot going on, mind you. Just the standard going out to eat (tried a couple new types of dosa, with some very nice results) and various nonsense.
However, there were a couple points of interest. For instance, we had a parade marching past on the street nearby, which was essentially an effigy (or casket, couldn't be sure...) surrounded by drummers and followed by a large procession of random people who were just walking behind.
Now, the traffic around here is a bit edge when things are going smoothly, but add in a slow-moving procession walking down the street and now the horns really start up. They eventually move over to the side of the road, to help move things along.
This was after another mini-parade of a trumpeter (I'm not sure if he'd actually been practicing or not... Didn't sound like it) leading a very highly decorated cow (with impressively colored horn extensions that had bells on top. The cow menaced with spikes of horn) down our street, playing all the while. Unfortunately, we didn't get the camera in time, so the only picture we have is of the cow's rump. Not very exciting.
And then, while we were walking back from lunch, another parade. Well, in a sense...
A herd of cows was trudging its way down the main road here, and was even going in the wrong direction (U.S. cows, not used to driving in the left lane...?). Only a few motorists honked at them, what with them being so important and whatnot.
And then there's today. Oh, glorious today. My dad's getting much better, and I've just gotten a new fever. Guess it's my turn to be sick now. Again.
I've got the fever aches (which make sitting in this rather poorly-designed chair even less comfortable), a cough, and "something" on my right side that hurts like hell whenever the skin there is pulled tight. Like, for instance, when I cough.
India would be so much more enjoyable if I could actually enjoy it... And then you might actually have something interesting to read here, instead of the current drivel about what we've been eating and how many mosquito bites I have on the right side of my left foot (11).
Whee. I can barely contain my excitement.
On a lighter note, the people here really crack me up. They are not in the least bit shy, and feel perfectly fine staring at your strange appearance or coming up and informing you of some local custom (we got advice on tipping waiters after leaving Satyam). The kids are even more open, and will follow you around in a little pack and say "Hi!" from time to time.
We were trying to buy some flowers from a vendor who looked remarkably like Samuel L. Jackson, only with half the teeth and a cool temper. He barely spoke any english (could repeat what we said perfectly though), when some random bystander came up and started to translate for us (his english wasn't much better than the vendor's. He was very enthusiastic though).
It's quite entertaining to be so interesting, actually.
Today, however, we did stuff. First off, we went down to the Satyam Hotel for some "meals" (dal, curry, chutney, deep-fried chilli pepper, apple dessert-thing, curd, dry somethingsomething mix, bucket of sambar, and as much rice as you can eat for one dollar), and a little later on we were picked up by Pradeep again to go and visit the Hussain Sagar lake park.
This place is essentially a mini theme-park situated on the bank of a massive man-made lake, in the middle of which sits the second-largest Buddha statue in the world. We snagged a boat ride which takes you out to the little island so you can look at the engravings around the base of the statue, get a good look at the features, and read the info plaque which states that the entire statue was carved from a single hunk of granite, and had to be transported on a wagon that had 750+ wheels. I forget how many tons the statue was supposed to weigh... It said what it was on the sign.
Also, while we were out there, Pradeep told us that the first time they were trying to put the statue out there, they had a problem building the island and it sank underneath the Buddha statue, dropping it to the bottom. Hell of a cleanup job they had...
Before we set off on the boat trip, a woman came up to my mom and asked her to hold her kid for a photo with them. People here really find Westerners interesting...
Once we got back, there was a little stand setup where you could get henna hand-drawings. If you've ever seen these things, you'll know that they seem so ridiculously intricate that they'd take hours to put on.
The woman doing it was insanely fast, however. She had the back of the hand done in just a few minutes, and it was very entertaining to watch her fingers fly along, laying out complex designs with a little squeeze-tube of henna paste.
We also picked up our first street food. Starting simple, my dad picked up one of the lighter and easier snacks around here (far fewer guys selling this than there were selling popcorn, however): Peanuts, puffed rice, peas, onions and fresh-squeezed lime, all with a healthy dose of chilli powder over it. Stuff was good.
Farther down the road, we picked up some more (this is a little out of synch, I'm writing stuff as I remember it. We picked up the peanut mix on the way into the park, and this new stuff on the way out) street food from a "chaat" stand ("snack"). What we got was first a leaf-bowl filled with some sort of spicy potato stew/paste/something, topped with onions and cilantro (I have no clue what else he put in there, and I only know it had potatos because Pradeep said so). Again, very tasty.
Next (on the other side of the cart), we got some little... I'm not sure what they were made out of, but they were something shaped into little bulbs, fried, and then had a hole cut in the top. This is then filled with a soup of sorts, and is meant to be eaten all at once. Naturally, this causes a person to toss it into the mouth, invariably sending some drops of liquid down the ol' windpipe and triggering a bout of hacking. Although I didn't have one (too full from lunch, which I'll talk about in my next out-of-synch section), I have been assured that it tastes wonderful.
Now, about lunch (I've been reading too muhc about the void thread. I'm suffering a time paradox). Apparently, the company likes to greet new members by going out and having a party so they can bond (?). The original plan was to go out to a rides park and mess around there, but a couple high-standing members of the company weren't in the country, so they decided to wait until then. Instead, the whole company (except Satya, who stayed back at his reception desk to hold down the fort until we got back and he could go eat) went out to a little restaurant down the way (literally, down the way. A block or two down the street) to get stuffed with repeated fillings of rice, curry, curd, spicy-sauce-type-thing-with-eggs-in-it and salty-chunky-almost-plumlike sauce. Not to mention the special (this day only) of getting sweets before eating the main course. I have no idea what it was, but it looked and tasted almost like it was crystallized cane sugar in syrup. Not that bad, actually, but it messed up the rice that wandered over the syrup.
And then, for dessert (again?), pre-packaged ice cream cones. I would like to add that pre-packaged ice cream cones, regardless of how many tasty chocolate chunks there are in it, do not sit well on top of biryani, curry, curd and plum(ish)paste.
After leaving the first park (here we go again... I really should sort this stuff), we headed over to the second one, which was a little ways away. This place was called "India Gardens", and looked almost like an Indian disneyland.
Now, in the past who knows how many years, India has had at least two terrorist bombings. They're very worried about this, and have seriously amped up security measures. This means metal detection and patting-down of everyone entering public places. For instance, a park.
Now, since it is obviously quite rude for a lady to be patted down (especially by a man), there is a seperate line for people of the female persuasion, where they can be patted down by female guards behind a screen. When we (Pradeep, my dad and me. My mom got sent off to the ladies line) got up to the guard, he mumbled something (why. why does everyone have to mumble here?) and pointed me down the wall towards the other gates. I started off, thinking it must be something about teenagers (always the troublemakers) to require an extra line.
This, of course, was not the case. The guard had mistaken me for a woman.
This, when it was found out, caused an uproar of laughter from the men behind us in line. When I went back to the gate (yes, I had started off towards the fictional teenager gate. At least I realized the misunderstanding the same time they did, and turned around just as it was being explained to the guard), the guard apologized profusely and ushered me through the gate, looking rather embarrassed. That didn't stop the rest of the line from laughing, though.
So, we went around in the great India Gardens, observing the artistic waterfall, the bonsai tree garden (rather amazing, really), the cricket batting range (not sure what it's called. It's got one of those ballthrowing machines like we have in the baseball batting ranges, except you use a cricket bat), and the rides which had wither turned off for the night, or had been off for quite some time.
We also ran into some woman who greeted us by saying "welcome to India sir!" (addressing my father, of course), and then going on with "Where are you from, my name is ???????, what is your good name, how do you like India, here is a gift from India (roots around in her plastic bag for a while, then comes up with a plastic Ganesh statue/wallhanging/thingy), could I have your autograph, yes just your signature don't need it personalized, and your phone number, and your email address, I'll write to you sometime, goodbye sir, have a good time.
Yeeeaaah.... So, with us being slightly less than trusting sorts (at least not for this plastic junk doodad), he altered his signature, gave her an auxiliary email address which he can completely cut off at any time, and neglected to put down a phone number. A fair trade.
Coming back from that park, we headed back over to the area around the first one, which just happened to have a laser show going on next door (outside the park. Next to the parking lot we had to walk from to get into the park, actually).
And, this being another public place with large groups of people, it had another security system set up. And, this being another Indian security officer unaccustomed to westerner men with long hair, I was once again directed towards the ladies line. At least he figured out the mistake before I got around to tellking him to try again.
And then the guy working the ticket stand said "nice hair" with a smirk (I'm sure he was smirking) as I passed through. Or tried to, at least, because the push-bars chose that exact time to lock up and keep me from passing through until a few tries later. At least I haven't made a fool of myself today or anything.
The laser show (even though we'd arrived a few minutes after it started) was quite entertaining. Got to see a little movie about the founding and naming of Hyderabad, and then some dude was singing a ridiculous song about how he loved Hyderabad, wherein most of the lyrics were either food items or related to the movie industry (Bollywood apparently isn't that far from here).
Also, it's not every day you see a big rat carrying a slightly-chewed corn cob down the sidewalk. This place never fails to be interesting.
That's most of the entertaining stuff I remember, I might think of something else later, but I'll save that until after the pictures have been offloaded to this machine so I can post a few.
quote:
Originally posted by Kagus:
<STRONG>
This, of course, was not the case. The guard had mistaken me for a woman.
This, when it was found out, caused an uproar of laughter from the men behind us in line.
</STRONG>
Anyways, another interesting day today. Breakfast was sambar idly (idly in sambar, so rice cakes in soup), however, for lunch my dad picked up some bagged curries (there are stands with that sort of thing all over the place), and we cooked up some rice and ate them here. With our limited knowledge of sauce names, and the vendor's limited knowledge of English, we didn't exactly end up with the best assortment, but they were tasty enough and we could use whatever bad manners we wanted to while eating them.
Sometime in the evening my mom, who is convinced all this Indian food is going to enlarge her somehow unless she walks every day (even though it's been showing the opposite effect on my dad, who sits in an office all day), suggested we all go for a walk. This would then carry on down towards the tailor, where she has been requesting custom-made Indian dresses (ridiculously cheap).
On the way, we stop by the park to see if Didya is home from school and playing there. By "we", I mean my dad wandered in to see, one of them saw us, and then the floodgates were loosed as a crowd of girls ran over and started huddling around and grabbing onto various arms to pull us around to places. This group just happened to include Didya and her sister, Didde (Ditty? I'm not sure. And it doesn't help to ask how to spell it, because understanding the accent of one kid is hard enough, but when you've got ten of them chipping in at different times, it's completely impossible).
One thing led to another, and we were eventually given a short Telugu lesson, and then a tour of the park leading from one sitting area to another sitting area (where all the old men gather and talk about stuff, apparently.) which was on a section of grass the kids are apparently not allowed on, to the playground proper. Here, we were shown all the rides and how to use them (several demonstrations were provided, and of course we had to look at all of them at the same time), and I got asked whether I had any siblings, whether I had any uncles, and then Didya proceeded to give translations for my different relative types (most of which I have forgotten by now).
My mom got pulled off to talk with one of the schoolteachers, who happened to be at the park, while we were shown all the daredevil stunts Didde could pull off on the various rides.
Later, what was once simple disorder disintegrated into utter chaos. More kids started to come to the park, and the cluster eventually moved from my mom, who had apparently lost her interest value from talking so long with the teacher, to my dad, who seems to fit in well with kids, to me. The boy (that issue had to be clarified a couple times. This is getting slightly worrying) with long hair.
So, now I've got a group of kids all telling me all these different things, and I'm picking up on maybe one or two of them. I've got Didde asking me to carry her (repeatedly. Apparently, the once wasn't enough), I've got Didya asking me to show her my hands and begins to examine the lines, which promptly attracts every other girl on the playground, as the all inspect my hands carefully and discuss the potential meanings. Luckily, I apparently have good hands. It was agreed upon by a majority.
I've got Didya showing me a school handshake, I've got Didde asking (telling) me to go on the slide with her, I've got all the kids asking me about what grade I'm in, what college am I going to, do they have wine in Norway (the school I'm going to is in Norway. But still, huh?), do I like the food here, do I know about Washington and California, and an assortment of other questions.
And then they all tried to get my name right. Not my last name, mind you, which is a struggle for just about anyone of non-Scandinavian upbringing, but my first name. Four letters, one syllable. Specifically picked so that people of just about any foreign country we go to will be able to say my name, as my parents were saddled with other Scandi-based names which cause quite a bit of tongue trouble for most people.
So, they decide to give me a new name. This sparks a very intent discussion, as it is important I get a fitting name. The girls don't agree with the boys, and the boys don't agree with the girls, and it goes back and forth until finally one pops out that I think I might someday be able to pronounce. "Sriram". (SHRI-rahm)
So, okay, they agree on that. Now they all have to introduce themselves to me again to make sure I've got it, and I think they're becoming more and more convinced that it is, in fact, a pretty good choice.
Plenty of stuff later, after I point out where we're staying (takes me a couple tries... At least they know where I live), after the cell phones come out and plenty of questions are asked about those ("is that AirTel?", followed by several different kids asking me if I had one, which is yeas and no. I've got one, but I left it at the apartment), after the kids try and teach me a few of their school games (I was completely hopeless), a conversation about how tall I was (with some antics from those of the male persuasion, as they leaned back and shaded their eyes to look up at my head, whistling at the high altitude), and some other things which escape me at the moment, Didde came back from whatever was going on, and disagreed wholeheartedly with my new name.
She said that her pet-name was Pandu, so I could be called Pandu. Same goes for both of my parents.
And then, later on, once her big sis found out about that, she contested that naming, and promptly took the name my dad had been given by some of the others (Krishna), and supplied me with that one. She then gave my dad the name "Rama", instead.
So, I am now Sriram Pandu Krishna, and I have no idea how to introduce myself anymore.
Another one of the things that took up some time was saying goodbye. I was supplied with a staggering variety of ways to say goodbye and hello, which everyone then had to test out on me. Several times.
The kids were getting quite a kick from shaking my hand, saying goodbye, saying hello, saying good night, getting their hand edged out of the way by someone else grabbing my hand, and then grabbing for my proferred limb once more to start the process over again.
I'm having trouble even beginning to describe all the things that went on, and a lot has been left out, but apparently that's not that much of an issue.
Apparently, we have agreed to go down to the park every day, some time after 5:30. I'm going to have to get used to the accents of an entire mob of kids rather quickly, as it will inevitably grow in size once my assured presence at the park becomes known.
But not tomorrow, because tomorrow Pradeep is picking us up (at 7:00. Uggh...) and is going to drive us down to Ramoji Film City (not Bollywood, I was confused by my limited knowledge of how many world's largest film studios there are in India).
Looks like things just a bit more interesting.
I'm going to have to beg a little more time on the pictures, as the offloading of the camera apparently hasn't been a high priority.
Onwards towards today's update, and what an update it is!
So I'm in bed, blissfully trying to stay asleep long enough for it to matter, when I'm called out of my bed at 6:30 to get ready for a trip to Ramoji Film City. After remembering to put on pants and actually zip up the fly, a couple attempts at finding my socks, and several brain-stopping ventures into thinking about what else I'd need for the trip, I was ready and Pradeep arrived to pick us up.
Now, driving in India already requires a good sense of humor and a sturdy gut (and head, if you're sitting in the back seat as I was), but tack onto that the fact that you're up about four hours earlier than you'd rather be (I normally sleep 10-12 hours. Sucks to be homeschooled, eh?), adn you're in for a none-too-pleasant case of nausea.
The drive was long, mildly unpleasant, rather bumpy, and relatively uneventful except for the odd goat flock we'd come across as we started to enter the more rural areas (I like goats for some reason. [PREFSTRING:beards]?).
Finally, we come to the gates of Ramoji Film City, which would be more impressive if it weren't for the work crew that was currently repainting one of the "Ramoji" signs next to the gate. Entering, we found a rather deserted place, with a parking attendent informing us that we had arrived an hour before opening times.
My still slightly groggy head immediately though "one more hour of sleep", but things turned out quite nicely.
We headed back out and up the road for a little ways, before stopping at this... "Quaint" would probably be a good word for it... Little cafe on the side of the road, where we could sit down and have some breakfast.
Now, both "quaint" and "cafe" are slightly inadequate to describe this place. It's a tiny little shack that would be just a hole in the wall, except there aren't many walls out here and they're all occupied.
And, we'd arrived before their open time. Not an hour, but a few minutes.
Once the shop was officially open, we (Pradeep) ordered some idly for us all. Normally, I would have disagreed, as idly isn't that great compared to the other breakfast foods, but my mind soon changed when the rice/lentil patties arrived and I started to dig in.
Idly is supposedly very good for digestion and is easy on the stomach, and it certainly seemed that way. The nausea I had from the trip over went away shortly after eating, and I was starting to feel slightly human again. Eighty cents well spent (for all four of us).
And, after the sitting around chatting while the place was opening, and after we were done eating, we had spent just enough time for the grand Ramoji Film City to be open, so we pulled into a space and sidled over to the tickets area, where we got slapped with some green stickers that showed which tour package we had bought.
We were inside the gates (after only a slight hiccup when I forgot to take my ticket back from the guy manning the push bars. That's the second time I've done that. At least he didn't think I was a woman), but not quite in yet. Before us lay a bus stop, with one tiny little stand set up where you could buy binoculars and cowboy hats (everybody loves cowboys, even Indians).
After an only mildly disturbing ride (first time on a bus in India. The drivers get power mad from driving a vehicle that big), we were inside the big deal itself. World's largest film studio, according to the Guinness book of world records.
Now it was time to find something to do. Opening up our handy little guide booklets, we learned absolutely nothing of value and recieved no indicator as to what we should do.
Armed with this knowledge, we followed Pradeep to a massive medieval-style gate and waited for the opening ceremony that would come at 9:00/:30.
After sitting around for a while and watching the stilt-walkers parade around in their baggy pants, incapable of stopping their ceaseless march for fear of toppling over (easier to balance while moving, because you are allowed one direction you can lean towards), the mighty drawbridges dropped down to reveal a group of dancers moving in the traditional dance (and traditional garb, which includes large paper horns and kilts for the guys), as they led the gathered crowd up towards the center of this little town/castle/temple/hell, I don't know what it was, it looked cool.
Not traditional Indian dancing, mind you. These were Nepalese dancers, and I'm pretty sure that was a Nepalese dance. They're into horns up there.
While the crowd is sitting in this central area, there are announcements regarding the general directions of important areas inside the gates, which was coordinated with pointing from the dancers.
After having a king and queen-type pop out of a walkway for a bit (they went largely unnoticed), there was a group of hip-hop (or pop, not sure. Hip-hop-pop?) dancers came out, and did their thing to two different dance tunes. It's really rather unexpected how popular rap is here in India, but it's apparently quite the thing. Even Pradeep's got a CD of rap that he was playing on the trip over to the Film City.
The hippity-hoppers in turn pointed to our right, in which direction lay western-town. A modified version of the theme to "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" started up, and there stepped out from between the dusty buildings a crowd of Indian cowboys and cowgirls, all twirling revolvers incessantly.
The whole effect instantly brought to my mind the words "Curry Western". Cowboys and Indians really don't mix that well after all...
They seem to like it though, so it's alright.
We wandered around the area for a bit, looking at cheap souvenir stores (with obscure anime backpacks in them, for some reason...) and taking pictures of the architecture and the various photo cutouts provided (Brahma, the multiheaded god and Mona Lisa, the famous painting) and also the big statue of a squat, fat, frowning somebody-or-other who's holding his massive braid of hair in one hand and his extended left buttock in the other. Yes, you'll get to see this ugly little bugger, no way I'm talking up something like that without some snaps to back it up.
We also saw some monkeys climbing around on the walls, the first ones we've seen since entering India (monkeys, not walls), but I don't think we got any pictures of them.
After leaving this charming little area in search of high adventure, we headed off to the tour bus stands to grab a seat on one of the red vehicular modes of transport. Since the group in our little bus spanned three languages, our tour guide had the unenviable task of explaining each and every monument each time, as our bus driver (again, of the psychotic variety) barreled around turns, honking madly at... Well, I'm not sure. He might have seen a monkey or something in one of the trees.
We were led around the various film plots, observing the remarkably shabby quality of most of the buildings which were in contrast to the exceptionally maintained gardens next to them, with our guide reciting information in Telugu, Hindi, and I'm assuming English, although I never heard any.
Eventually, we got stopped by a film crew who told us to go around on a detour. The bus driver took quite a bit of convincing before he finally turned his saddened eyes away from the straight stretch of road which was such perfect speeding territory, and manuevering the bus up into some other little buildings including a mini Taj Mahal (we had passed by it earlier, but on the street below. Now we got a close look at it). We were again stopped in this little detour by said film crew, because this little curving road only re-entered the main road after a few dozen feet, so we were still far from bypassing the filming which so desperately needed to get some shots of the one road the tour buses use. With the world's largest film studio, you'd think they could find another passable street to film on... But, one should never question creative genius. Especially if it's two guys wearing straw cowboy hats (Hyderabad's most famous directing team. They're twins, so they naturally had to dress alike).
We finally got permission from the two highly respected film makers to drive through their set, and we carried on our merry way, our driver eager to make up for lost time. But not before getting a picture of one of them, sitting and looking very gruff in his hat.
We passed by plenty of more unremarkable landmarks and went through one ridiculous little cave which was supposed to be something more than the fifty feet of plastic with displays of more plastic artifacts, but wasn't really. The only entertainment we got from that was seeing someone up ahead of us get scared witless by some guy who'd been hiding behind a pillar in his hooded jacket. While we were walking by, we could see him settling into his jacket once again, waiting for his next victim to pass by...
Not much happened on the tour ride. After being let off on the last stop for that bus, we ran into a family that was taking pictures off of a rather nice area that provided a view of several of the gardens and decorative architecture below, along with a clear shot at the Hollywood sign that was up on one of the hills (Ain't kidding. They really had a Hollywood sign up there for some reason), and we offered to take a pitcure of them. This took a little help from Pradeep, as the woman taking the photo didn't speak much English.
So, after we take a nice pisture of the whole family, they ask for another one. With us in it this time. We oblige, and take up position next to them while they hand off the camera to someone else to take the picture.
We're about to leave, but then someone else wants to have their picture with us. Again, we smile for the camera alongside our new fans for a picture that may or may not end up posted on someone's MySpace profile.
We make our way around for a bit, eventually coming to a big fountain that once agian proudly displays "Ramoji" on the side, in golden letters. Going up the plaza area above it, we encounter some guys who are sitting on another fountain and having their picture taken. Yes, they ask us to have a picture with them. Yes, we go over and sit down next to them.
We smile, the picture's taken, and we're just shaking hands with everyone when somone else asks for a picture. Okay, we say, and sit down again. A larger group of men appears from nowhere and sits down. A couple guys from the first group, not wanting to be left out, sit down as well.
Once again, our photo is taken with a group of people who must think all westerners are celebrities. Once again, we have to shake each and every one of their hands and pretend we have the faintest idea of how to pronounce their names. And then, whoah, déjà vu, someone asks to have their picture taken with us.
At this rate we'll end up sitting at this damned fountain all day.
Before I could think more on the subject, a massive horde of Indians appears out of thin air (seriously, I have no idea where they all came from) and sits down on the fountain until it's packed full and they have to stand at the sides.
*Click*, "thank you" x23, "goodbye" x19, "my name is ?????????" x4, so on and so forth...
We finally make it out of there, and you know it's getting kind of late here and I don't know if I can finish this tonight. I'll pick my brains when I get an open spot tomorrow, but I'll have to cut it short at this brilliantly exciting juncture. It was quite an interesting and entertaining day actually, and I've even got a new Indian food to chalk up on m list. "Samosa". It's a snack food, and is basically a deep-fried bulb of breadskin filled with curry and "chunks". That thing was too damned tasty.
We finally managed to run out of adoring fans who insisted on taking photos, and we entered into the more entertainment-oriented section of the film city, which had a few different attractions in it. We were informed by one of the guides where we were going to go next. This was not a suggestion, it was a statement, and he made his point clear by shuffling us off towards the first of three attraction buildings in line.
Inside here was the "action" studio, where we would be shown, step by step, the making of a short movie wnd its completion through "movie magic". First though, we had to stand in a little room (slightly packed) with a projector on the wall. We were shown a little introductory film with footage of the film city's founder, Ramoji Rao, telling us how powerfully he felt about making movies. A little cheesy, but so what? Aren't all audience-directed things involving producers or other high officials at least somewhat cheesy?
Once that was finished, someone else picked up the loudspeaker and started asking for volunteers. He needed a star (female), and then two co-stars (male). Smelling something fishy, I neglected to offer myself up. I may not exactly be a well-known actor, but I at least have the dignity to select which films I appear in.
He found his new recruits, and packed them away into a side room. After a bit more talking, the doors to section two were opened and we flooded through them. We entered into a room that had a small stage set up with a green screen, a couple lights, and one camera pointed at a covered wagon set that had the green screen for a background, and two poles coming out the sides.
After finding a place to settle down (not very easy. Far more people than there were seats, and I started getting squished by some very pushy people back behind me, enough to make my shades pop as one of the legs got squeezed through the nose-niche), we watched intently as the guy came back out on stage and informed us of how the real stars of any movie were always behind the screen. We then got to see a little movie showing several of the different behind-the-stage people fighting with each other, using what limited power they had.
Then the guy came back out, and gave us another little speech about exactly the same thing. They're really trying to impress upon us the importance of Larry the cameraman.
After all that was said and done, we finally got to see some action! Well, sort of. The volunteers appeared through a side door, and the woman was now wearing a yellow-and-black shawl. I'm not sure if the guys had changed clothes or not.
So, here's our big action shoot. The woman gets into the carriage, pulls out a rather pathetic looking knotted rope whip (first she was holding the wrong end and it just looked like a stick), and is told to grab the reins and pretend there's a horse in front of her. The guys each take one of the poles extending from the sides of the carriage.
The guys push and pull the poles to give the rather poor impression that the carriage is moving, and the woman (with clockwork actions, absolutely no life) whips the reins, looks over her shoulder, and then whips the reins again. Not sure what she was aiming for though, the "horse" wasn't even close to where she was whipping.
And, that's it. The green screen adds a clip of "gangsters" (?) riding after her on horseback, and she's there doing her little body mantra "whip reins, look back. Whip reins, look back. Whip reins..." while the guys rock the carriage in perfect rhythm, never altering their beat for a second. Very even roads they had in the Wild West days of India.
After that little display, the star and the two "co-stars" exited out the same door they entered the stage from. Then, more doors opened, and we were ushered into section three. This time, we didn't even find a spot on the stairs to sit on, so we just leaned into a wall for the performance.
This stage had several interesting items on it, including a couple gongs, a sheet of metal, some rock piles, and some other stuff. This was clearly a sound effects stage.
The guy showed a short film clip that also showed four guys working the sound effects. There was lightning, rain, and some other cheap sound effects in the little clip, and this piqued some curiosity as to what lay ahead.
Well, again, not much. This was the young'uns section of the performance, so the guy called four kids up to the stage. After a little confusion, he got four kids (well, five actually) to do what he needed. Showing them where they needed to be, what their assigned sounds were and how to produce said sounds.
The carriage clip was played, and we got to see the sound effects produced in realtime. Wow. That invisible horse must've been one of those well-known two-legged jogger horses, as he was pulling that carriage very quickly for his steady footfalls of "clop-clop clop-clop clop-clop clop-clop" and never breaking into the four-legged running stride common among other domestic horse breeds.
And also, he must've been from that stealthy subrace of two-legged jogging horses, as his bells only rang once during a moment when he must have lost concentration. (The kid manning the bells was pretty young, and had to be reminded to shake the bells now and then. Didn't quite work that way).
This stealthy two-legged jogging horse was also pulling a yo-yo paradox wagon, the kind where the wheels turn back and forth and yet the wagon still manages to move forward. You could clearly hear the wheels on the road rolling one direction, stopping for a moment, and then rolling back the way they came. Generally in little half-second bursts.
Okay, I think you get the picture. Moving on to section three, we got to see the combined labors of several people and some expensive electronics.
Alas, for 'twas naught but horse apples.
Exiting that building, we were shown into building No. 2, which contained India's version of the "small world" ride in Disneyland, except it was a slightly larger worls and didn't have that music putting nails in your head. At the end, we were dropped off into that necessity of all theme parks; a cheap plastic merchandising shop.
Building number three we had read about, the famed Ramoji Tower. This, according to the guidebook and a sign outside, was a freefall tower. It was recommended that all loose items be secured or left behind before going on, and the guidebook explained the feeling of anticipation just before the invigorating drop.
So, naturally, we were expecting something.
Entering into the elevator-like capsule, I noticed that it was enclosed on all sides and that there was only one opening in the little chamber walls, in which was situated a film screen.
Now I knew what this thing was. It's one of those special effect chambers where they try to simulate an experience of some sort by spraying water at you.
I was, of course, a bit interested in seeing what special effects the world's largest film studio (according to Guinness world records) would delight its visitors with.
The film started to play, and we were soon being taken to the top of Ramoji Tower, where we could see all of Ramoji Film City in a stunning vista. Well, it would've been stunning if the resolution had been a bit higher. As it was, it was just kinda fuzzy.
The vaguely English narrator was softly describing some of the finer points of view, when a nearby hill erupted in a cloud of dust and dirt! And then another! And another! And now there was a large crack in the earth making its way through the Film City, right towards Ramoji Tower!
This was all very shocking and exciting, of course.
And so, when the crack hit the tower, we got jiggled a bit from side to side. When the tremors somehow managed to burst a water pipe at the top of the tower, we all got sprinkled with a few droplets (see? SEE?). When the supports finally gave way and we started cheerfully trundling down the levels, we felt... Well, not much of anything. No air rushing up at us, though I suppose we were going too slowly for that. No dropping sensation, no... Anything, really. We just kept going until the thing stopped and a helicopter peered in at us from the film screen and started yellmumbling some things at us before a girder fell on him and he blew up.
After that remarkably heat-free explosion, we started down again. Amazing how a single elevator corner throwing up sparks can slow down the descent of a car filled with about thirty people to a gentle parachute drop.
Eventually, we passed by some levels were, apparently, the windows hadn't been washed for some time. The screen went black, and soon vivid rats were running from side to side across the screen. Oddly enough, they appeared to be running on invisible boards, as we could see them, well-lit and in profile, but couldn't see how they were making their way from one edge of the screen to the next. Maybe they were just hoverrats.
This, of course, was the signal for the obligatory small animal compressed-air-shot-at-your-legs trap that appears in any special effect theater that wants to use all the tricks.
After some more wobbling and other tomfoolery, the elevator car finally settled back down on the ground floor, and we were let out on the other side after the emergency lighting came on.
The corridor we were led into looked like a war zone, complete with leaking ceilings, cracked floors and walls, chunks of concrete that had punched through certain areas, and a merchandising shop which somehow managed to resist the terrible calamity enough to carry on business.
The railings that formed the queues for it also seemed rather undamaged. How astonishing.
We exited the building through a disguised side door and headed back out to find ourselves some lunch. Pradeep was obviously impressed by the fantastic special effects, and was still slightly excited after having left the ride. We were more impressed by the food.
After the meal, we decided to go and check out a stunt show that was supposed to be on soon. However, the guidebook provided no indication as to where it actually was, so we instead found ourselves in the kiddy section of the park, first traveling through a haunted house (ooh, aah. Blacklights and plastic magma with LEDs under it), and then picking up a circus(ish) show that boasted some interesting demonstrations, and some which could have used a little more practice. There was a juggler (and accompanying dwarf clown sidekick) who first juggled standard bean bags, then rings, then soccer balls, then miniature balls that he juggled with his mouth, and then woven hats where he would constantly change out the hat on his head for the next one he caught, eventually using his short-of-stature companion as a hat stepping-stone, as the sidekick kept grabbing the hats that were juggled to him, sticking them on his head, and having it then snatched off his head to enter into the juggle queue again.
That juggler had trained up his throwing skill extensively, you could tell.
After that, we started asking around to find out where the actual stunt show was, but it had apparently ended some time before. It was in, of all places, the Wild West town. Even had a sign outside that proclaimed the attractions of Westerntown, with the stunt show second on the list.
I guess we just never really pay all that much attention to lists and signs...
By this time, it had started to get a bit late, so we basically just wandered around, taking pictures and chatting until closing time. My dad bought a new shirt (why on earth he likes loud shirts with odd designs, I'll never know), and we people watched for a bit. Soon, the dancers started up their show again, and began to lead the group of people out towards the entrance of Ramoji Film City, where we would stand in line for the buses to take us back to the parking lot.
And so, that was our day at Ramoji Film City. It was fun, we had a good time, and we got to see what entertains Hyderabadi Indians. All in all, even with the less-than-shiny aspects, it was well worth the trip and ticket charge.
The trip back, however, was a nightmare.
Drive out to Film City: 50 minutes.
Drive back from Film City: 2 hours. In ridiculously heavy traffic, at night. Eep.
Ah well, at least you get to watch all the nightlife as you pass by.
Anyways, picture time! Not the best selection, but apparently we weren't taking as many pictures as I'd thought. At least not very good ones...
Here's one side of the outer gate. Plus an innocent bystander.
(http://i25.tinypic.com/72gdx1.jpg)
Here are the inner-inner-inner gates, in the "Eureka" area. Out here stiltwalkers roam freely.
(http://i25.tinypic.com/52z393.jpg)
The dancers, after the drawbridges lowered to allow the plebians inside.
(http://i27.tinypic.com/2vtwfnb.jpg)
The statue of Mr. Squat, frowning above the dancers' heads. That area was where a lot of the dancing was performed, as it was slightly higher than the crowd and worked nicely as a stage.
(http://i27.tinypic.com/2z4a81t.jpg)
Good 'ol Westerntown, complete with fast-food joint. (don't know if it was American fast food or Indian fast food, which is actually pallateable)
(http://i28.tinypic.com/343q5mt.jpg)
Part of one of the statue gardens we walked through. There were a few other similar statues in different positions, and we even posed in the same positions for a couple pictures. Not my kinda picture though, so don't count on seeing it.
(http://i27.tinypic.com/2a5davo.jpg)
I hope TinyPic doesn't kick this off for nudity...
Picture of one o' the monkeys. This is, actually, one of the less-blurry pictures we have of them. I guess we just didn't get the camera out fast enough.
(http://i29.tinypic.com/2z589xv.jpg)
And, finally, another shot of the dancers as they led us towards the bus stops that would take us out of the park. Woo, exciting.
(http://i29.tinypic.com/2lmklko.jpg)
*Phew*, finished. Now, after spending several hours making these two posts, I can direct my attentions toward my own entertainment. Thanks for reading, those who did.
(It's really not as bad as it sounds, I'm just a natural-born cynical pessimist with a dry sarcastic streak)
The instant after finishing the last few words and posting everything, the doorbell rang. I opened it, expecting one of my parents, and indeed, my mom was standing outside the door.
Amidst a swarm of girls, including Diti and Divya (Didya. Apparently, we've been having trouble hearing again).
We were invaded. Girls everywhere, doing everything, playing with my hair, watching a picture slideshow on the computer, asking about the controls on the A/C unit's remote, eating toast with butter and jam, Dhivya crying because we were going away (in six weeks... Something slightly crazy about that girl), Diti playing Space Cadet 3-D pinball on the computer, all of them picking up books and starting to read, etc. etc. etc...
Is that all? NO! A little bit before the girls all had to go, my dad came back with some guy who had apparently, after I had only exchanged a dozen or so words with a couple nights ago, had been looking for me at the park yesterday. He didn't see me, so he came back again today, and asked my dad where I was.
It leaked, thanks to my father's limited sense of wordplay around children, that I was writing about India. This came out "story", which of course is a doom sentecne because whenever someone hears "story", they think "novel", which means famous author and can I see what you're writing pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.
Karum is his name, and he likes practicing his English with foreign people. Karum really likes me. Karum is my new friend. Karum is going to meet me every day in the park at 5:30 and talk with me. Karum might drop by the apartment to talk with us. Karum loves us. Karum hugs us. Karum is going to teach me Telugu while I teach him English.
Karum was kind enough to inform us of all this.
I don't think I can take six weeks of this guy... Somebody help me... I just want to play some DF today...
quote:
Karum is his name, and he likes practicing his English with foreign people. Karum really likes me. Karum is my new friend. Karum is going to meet me every day in the park at 5:30 and talk with me. Karum might drop by the apartment to talk with us. Karum loves us. Karum hugs us. Karum is going to teach me Telugu while I teach him English.
Kagus, Foreigner cancels Dwarf Fortress: Interrupted by Karum.
For breakfast today we went down to a new place we've "dsicovered", after two guys from the office showed us. These guys are known as Prakash and Pradesh, but there's an unfortunate thought that has entered my mind recently of Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee. They seem to be perpetually linked via some telepathic thread, and are always in the same place. You never see one without the other.
This is not to say that they are in any way similar. Oh no, they're both very much their own person and personality. Anyways, back to the food.
This place is one of those "Breakfast Served Anytime" spots. Doesn't matter if it's noon or midnight, they'll still serve you puri, dosa, and coffee. We've taken this spot as our new breakfast joint, since the food is a bit tastier (and spicier) than the food at the Satyam Hotel. Sure, you may not get a seat at one of the two tables (with chairs), or even a spot at the table that doesn't have chairs, but the stainless steel plates are sturdy and the food's good.
So far, we haven't had any trouble getting good spots. The one time when everything seemed taken up, and we braced our knees for a standing meal, one of the employees came out, gestured for us to follow him, and led us back into a room with a few sticks of incense burning in the switchpanel (...yeeeah...) and four more tables, all empty. We seated ourselves at the one closest the door, and entertained ourselves with the stream of patrons and employees popping past the doorway to get a look at the foreigners. The guy who showed us in even brought his young kid in so he could take a gander at the weirdos.
At one point before we got our food, a cop came in and sat at one of the "back room" tables. That's what made me think that this was more than just an unknown area, but a V.I.P. seating area. I guess we qualified somehow.
After some time, my dad brought back the dishes my mom and I had ordered. A few seconds later Satya comes in, carrying my dad's dosa and setting it gently on the table, before folding in the ends (apparently that's how you're supposed to eat them) for him. That was the last we saw of him.
That guy is sometimes obsessively helpful...
Some time around midday, Pradeep came by in a borrowed car with a borrowed chauffeur driving it. Today was shopping day since there were numerous things we needed to get that couldn't be picked up withing walking distance (of course, "walking distance" in India means one block. Any more than that and you drive or hire a rickshaw). Since we are completely helpless without someone who knows both the language and the city, Pradeep was required to tag along as well. Way to spend your saturday, eh?
My mom needed (this was a fact insisted upon by the girls) bangles and earrings, so first stop was a jewelry store. This was where we spent the largest amount of money, with almost two thousand bucks laid down for six bangles. This may seem expensive, but there's an extra point to consider; this is 22 carat gold, something you can't even get in the states.
And, yet again I am reminded of how this place is full of difference and similarity at the same time, a place that has changed so much and remained exactly the same through all of it. At the jewelry store, the manager was called down to talk with us about the price of the golden ornaments. And so there we sat, looking at this manager of an established jewelry store, haggling like any of the street vendors outside. We would've payed a lot more if we hadn't called for him.
Later on, we went to the slightly less expensive side of town. Namely, crowded streets full of people walking around, with rickshaws and motorcycles insistently trying to drive down the shopper-clogged street, even though they could've walked faster. Or at least go one street over, which was completely clear of pedestrians.
It was here that we bought lots of dresses (mostly as gifts for friends or relatives), a doormat (little under one dollar), and our first-ever glasses of sugarcane juice.
Getting this is a rather interesting process. A guy takes a knife and cuts off a few bits from the end of a sugarcane, sharpening it to a point. This is then stuck into the whirring and spinning machine, which spits out one mildly flat sugarcane on the other side. This is then passed back around to the guy at the feeder end, who folds the sugarcane in two (read: smacks it against a rusty steel girder/pilar nearby so it bends in the middle) and feeds it through again. A couple steps involve shoving a couple limes in there as well, and at one point a few slivers of ginger.
This is repeated until you've got a bucket full of frothy green liquid, and a pile of utterly demolished pulp which may or may not have once been a sugarcane. Funny thing was, the guy at the feeder side of the machine (and thus the one who ended up with the pulp aftwerwards) only looked up to see the customers once he was handed the pulp from the exit-side.
I haven't stunned many people with my appearance in my lifetime, but this was one of them. The guy just stood there dumbly for a while before remembering that he was holding onto a pile of sugarcane pul and started making jerky, almost subconscious movements towards dealing with his assigned task. Had a hard time taking his eyes off us, though. He did recover eventually, and was able to just look at us from time to time while focusing mainly on his work.
The first few sips of the sugarcane juice were wonderful, limey and nicely sweet. However, the sweetness began to build up, and it got to be a bit much. Certainly worth the experience (and the twelve cents for a cup), but I don't think I'm getting it again. It's just too sweet for my tastes.
After some more time spent wandering around, watching people cluster together and discuss my gender (I swear that's what they were doing. They were discussing the various points of my build and clothing to determine whether I was a man or a woman. Apparently, the stubble argument didn't win the case immediately), and passing through a crowd of very pushy belt-merchants, we piled back into the car and headed off to go buy something else.
Something else happened to be cane furniture, since the only seating arrangements we currently have are a few plastic chairs, one sofa (seats three people uncomfortably), and a rather precarious office chair which I have spent the past week or so trying to find a comfortable position in. We ordered a couple cane chairs from the very enthusiastic man in charge of selling the stuff (I have no clue what else to call him). Everything on display is "example furniture", and cannot be bought. You have to order what you want so they can custom-make it for you.
Once we'd gotten back and offloaded the dresses and such, my dad decided that he needed to go and get some snack-stuff from nearby. Pradeep followed along, since he was the only one of the small group who could speak Telugu.
I outlined the basic stuff you get at a "chaat" stand a few posts ago, and that's what we were getting this time. Except now, we were getting it to go so we could eat it back at the apartment.
Pradeep was asking us how many of the panipuri we would have. My dad asked him how many people normally eat. Pradeep said twenty, but a large, hungry man would see nothing wrong about eating thirty.
These people must have stomachs the size of tree trunks... We ordered twenty-one for the three of us, plus two tubs of the other stew-stuff. Spent less than a dollar on all of it.
We then picked up some coconuts from one of the coconut milk stands around here, where they'll hack away at a coconut and stick a straw in it for you. Twenty cents for your very own coconut.
Unfortunately, the coconut was very young, so the milk hadn't picked up that slight sweetness it gets later on and was actually almost bitter in taste. We've only opened the first of three, so I'm hoping the others wil taste better. I mean, that's like, sixty cents down the drain! What a rip-off.
I can however say that the panipuri and the other stuff which Pradeep for some odd reason called "cutlet" was exceptionally tasty, and managed to stuff all three of us to the brim. I do declare, again, that one would be quite happy to venture through India on one's stomach.
Eep. It's 11:27 PM here, and staying up late isn't a high priority to me right now. G'night all, more updates coming when I do something worth writing about.
And actually remember to write about it.
This post is pointless except to bump the thread and make it easier for me to find when I'm ready to write something. Nyah.
(Yer steering clear of the elephants right? They don't have a very high base damage but there big suckers.)
First stop, the Salar Jung museum.
Since I had no idea (and still have no idea) who the Salar Jung line was, I'm unsure of what they were lords of. Whatever the case, they were obviously extravagantly rich, and had a fondness for exotic furniture and art.
This was, essentialy, a museum. First we went through areas showing portraits of the various rulers of the line, and some treasured artifacts pertaining to each one, including an incredibly detailed (and slightly short) four-poster bed, with intricate wood carvings all over it.
Moving on, we saw exhibits of numerous statues and decoratively carved chairs (I have no idea how comfortable sitting in them would be... Having an exquisitely detailed monkey carrying a coconut pressing into your back doesn't seem too cushy to me) and tables, as well as several tea sets.
There was a weaponry exhibit as well, showcasing destructive implements from all over India (as well as a few from Europe and Persia) with strangely short hilts, as well as some laughably small shields.
This was my element, of course, and I became a sort of tour guide, pointing our and explaining the various weapon types and what their functions were. They had a few katars (including an assassin's weapon, which imitates a wild tiger attack with four curved claws) and bladed wristshields, a few arquebuses from the later eras (sporting the ridiculously long barrels common to inaccurate firearms), and even some early revolvers and close-range pistols. The real purpose of such firearms still bemuses me, as having a bullet less than half the width of a pencil shot at you by someone who basically has to shove the barrel into the skin in order for it to hit anything seems a little less effective than a good knife. Speaking of which, they had several good knives in one of the other windows.
Still, seeing a pistol with a bayonet is quite entertaining.
Later, we moved into the eastern block. No, not Slavic countries, the China and Japan exhibits.
I think whoever was filing this stuff got a bit mixed up, as there was a japanese miniature tower in the China exhibit, and an african fertility woodcarving in the Japan exhibit, which sported the obligatory male (very male) figure performing autofellatio.
Still, we got to see a few interesting items, including a few statues of what the Chinese apparently thought should be called "dogs", even though they looked more like giant mutant frogs with lion manes, skin problems, bulging eyes, large fangs, and brain damage.
Then, on to the western block, where everything got boring. French exhibit first in line, with the obligatory Napoleon-devoted pieces, including a table showing him and all his generals.
Elsewhere in the exhibit we had some more very French items. They're the kind of things which are tasteless, but look like they're supposed to be artistic. This allows any French person to ask you if you like the item, and have both answers screwed. If you say you like it, it's a hideous infected scar on the name of france. If you don't like it, you are scoffed at for lacking the inherent artistic affinity to truly absord the item for its staggeringly amazing mastery of design. Something only the French are proven, by the likes of you, to have.
And then we moved on to the European paintings gallery, which had all the posturing, mournful gazing, and people attempting to cover their entire bodies with one transparent bedsheet common in the works of classical artists. At least there were a couple paintings of naked women. As well as a replica of the Mona Lisa, in the original size.
Moving on to pottery exhibits, european-inspired sculpture exhibits, and a clock exhibit. That's all that comes to mind right now.
And so we exited the museum, passed the stray dog that had changed the position he was sleeping in only slightly since we entered, and got back into the chauffered truck to head on to the real attraction for the day;
Charminar was a giant place of worship built by someone with an unpronouncable name to commemorate god answering his pleas and curing a plague. He built it as a place of spiritual enlightenment for all worshipers of all faiths, such as Hindus and Muslims.
It was later turned into a liquor and opium storage facility by imperial british forces.
Charminar, like a few other popular spots in India, is "good from far, but far from good". The central building in that picture is charminar, and it really is kinda small.
But, the workmanship still looked nice, and we found that the main area was upstairs, so we started to climb the staircase. One of four staircases, two of which were blocked off, one of which was devoted to downwards traffic.
You'd better not have claustrophobia if you intend to see the top of Charminar. Climbing up several flight's worth of stairs in a circular ctairway, with headroom ranging anywhere from six and a half to five feet, and the individual stair height matching the odd fluctuation, with people (in the standard Indian fashion) standing on the step directly below the one you're standing on and wondering why you're not moving, even though you've got your face pressed into the back of the person in front of you (or the backside, if you're particularly unlucky with wildly changing stair height).
Once we got to the top, it was actually quite nice. There was a cool breeze that negated the strong heat, and the views were very extensive. Even if you could only see a row of shops extending into the distance, like some weird vanishing point line drawn entirely using bangles merchants.
There was a beehive that was apparently built on the side of the building, as a massive swarm of bees was buzzing around angrily outside one of the windows. We, of course, had to take a picture. Screw India, we're taking pictures of bees.
So, we wandered around, looking out of the various archways, wondering if anyone had fallen over the two-foot-high wall around the walking area, and looking out at the "100% Pure Buffalo Milk!" billboard, which sported the highly unintended Engrish version of "cow". This was not a novelty drink, this was a mistranslation. In letters much taller than the protective barricade that was supposed to keep us safe from falling out.
We, of course, ended up as photo opportunities again, as people either outright asked us to join them in a group photo, or simply took out their cameras and took pictures of us. We took pictures of the ones taking pictures of us, just to even the score a little bit.
Once we left Charminar (after going down the staircase, bent almost double to prevent banging my head into the ceiling), we headed off to do some glorious shopping. Whee, shopping.
On the way, a beggarwoman came up and started her routine on me. I had been entrusted with carrying some cash (because I happened to have pockets), so I reached in and grabbed a coin (didn't look at it to see if it was a 1, 2, or 5 rupee piece), and handed it to her.
Standard begger reaction: Takes the coin, whatever it might be, and then starts to sing your praises, bowing enthusiastically.
This woman's reaction: Looks at the coin in her hand for a moment, and then grabs at my arm again! Bloody ungrateful...
I ignored her for a bit, and she eventually got distracted by something else. We started off towards the shops, when a kid came over and said hi to us. He asked where we were from, and then from which part of the U.S. we were from. Apparently, he knew California, but not Nevada. So, we ended up being from California.
He then asked, of all things, if we spoke Spanish. Something incomprehensible was mumbled as a reply to him, but it was recieved as a positive. He then greeted us and asked how we were doing in quite passable Spanish.
He also spoke some French, a bit of German, and an actually understandable level of English. Quite impressive, to say the least.
At some point, the beggarwoman appeared and started asking my dad for money. So, he gave her a coin. She complained about that, too! And she was really, really persistent, too. She followed us around, constantly repeating "ten rupees, ten rupees, that's all I need for *<unintelligible>*, just ten rupees...", and then another one came up and started saying exactly the same thing.
Now, they both could've been asking other people for fresh money in that time, but they insisted on following us around, asking for just that little bit extra.
We finally managed to shake them off after popping into one of the innumerable bangle stores (they really are lined up. I have no idea how they can manage to pack so many in with the inevitable competition of having them so close together). The kid (who now had his little brother (possibly) beside him), was still following us around, asking us questions from time to time, but mainly just being entertained by looking at us.
The remainder of this thrilling expedition was essentially my mom having a heyday, stopping at every damned cloth store on the street, and us menfolk trailing behind and waiting outside so we can look at the interesting people. My back hurt, my feet were sore, and the mystery of how women gain strength from shopping was still obscured to me. The kids still followed us around, occasionally making comments or asking questions. For instance, they asked if they could have one of my hairs. I obliged.
At one point, I was utterly befuddled as the older kid came up beside me, pointed at me, and then said "faggy".
I'm walking along, trying to figure out how the hell this fits in, and he points again and repeats himself. "Faggy".
I see that he's pointing at my shirt, and I look down to find out on earth he's talking about. He points again, repeats again, and finally I get it.
I'm wearing a shirt a couple of my relatives picked up after/during a vacation, and decided to give to me. It's a green shirt, with a flaming Ying-Yang symbol on it that has the name of the tropical island nation they went to for their vacation underneath it.
Fiji.
Now how's that for a language barrier?
After a few attempts at correcting him, I think he's got the pronounciation down alright. Although it's a slim chance another westerner wearing a shirt that says "Fiji" will come walking through his area, I figured it would probably be best if he didn't call any more westerners 'homosexuals' than he intended to. His brother offered up the Telugu name for Fiji, which I have completely and utterly forgotten.
We continue onwards, stopping and shopping, until it starts to get dark. As we're leaving, we feel it would be nice to give these guys something, since they could have been hawking their necklaces in the time they spent following us around, and they were even trying to sell us some.
However, they won't take the rupees offered to them as tourguide fees, and insist on selling us some of their wares. Since we don't actually need/want anything they have, we decide to just buy something so they get their money. And then they inform us of the prices.
These lads will go far in the business. Very far indeed.
Not only were they able to tell us with straight faces that a single stone (plastic) neckalace costed five hundred rupees, they were very hard bargainers and were exceptionally quick on their feet to come up with various stories that either enhanced the value of the trinkets, or explained away why they were lowering their prices (even lowering them below what they said they were getting them for, as was the effect of a slight math-related brain fart).
This charade continued all the way back towards the central area (containing Charminar), where we were to hop back into the truck and drive to dinner, them passing off their ridiculously exorbitant prices as excellent deals, and my dad haggling with them and pointing out their slight pricing inconsistencies (such as, one of them giving the price for two necklaces as 250 rupees. However, the other one didn't hear this, and promptly offered the price for two necklaces as 400 rupees).
We eventually paid them the still-ridiculous fee of two hundred rupees for a pack of bangles, which they grudgingly accepted. These guys were really, really good. We figured the entertainment garnered from these two scamps was worth the five bucks we paid for the necklaces, which were probably bought for a few fractions of a penny.
They disappeared for a few moments, and then started showing their things to my mom. My dad, amused by this turn of events, told them that they said they'd leave us alone if he bought something from him.
They replied that he had indeed purchased some things from them, and so they were leaving him alone. She, on the other hand, was a new customer who hadn't bought anything!
We told them to clear off, and the grinning imps obliged. Kids these days, I tell ya...
It was only later that we found out that they don't actually get the money. They're hired by one distributor who gives them the goods to sell, and then pays them twenty rupees a day, regardless of how well they did in selling the things. I hope that they played another act for the distributor, and got to keep some of the money we had paid them for their antics.
And then, on to dinner.
We had been told that we would be having the food they eat in the desert-dominated province of Rajasthan. Camel dung was the only thing that came to mind.
Turns out, it wasn't a restaurant, it was a theme park. Mini-Rajasthan. There was a guy in front of the entrance who popped a kumkum (head dot) on each of us, and then we bought tickets in order to enter the delightful kingdom of Mini-Rajasthan. At least the meal was included.
So we start wading through an endless tide of schoolchildren who are in the process of leaving the park, and head on in. We come across a drummer sitting on the table upon which his drums are placed, and take it as a photo opportunity. My dad sits on the table, is handed the sticks, has the drummer's turban placed upon his head (the automatic response of any employee of Mini-Rajasthan), and then strikes his best "I'm an insane psycopath, warn your children about me" look. A couple pictures are taken, and the drummer gets his headcloth back.
First we head over to a little sandy area (for a desert-themed park, there's a surprisingly small amount of sand) and sit down on the magnificently comfortable concrete-made-to-look-like-wood benches, which were first designed by chiropractors in order to judge how messed up a person's spine can be before finally crippling them.
It was here that a few employees clambered up onto the roofs of a few concrete huts, and picked up their assigned prop. One guy got a rifle, the next guy got a stick, third one got a stick and an empty beer bottle.
Apparently, there was to be a demonstration of a very popular Indian movie, as performed by a few actors (and one actress). The players moved onto their stage (sand), and the soundtrack started to play.
The actors were just supposed to go through the motions, and maybe try to lip-synch to the soundtrack of the movie when they got some free time. So, we got to see a guy dressed in a military outfit doing his best brooding-and-important look and pacing back and forth in front of the woman, who looked utterly out of place in traditionally colorful clothes.
We watched things a little half-heartedly, partly because we don't speak the language the film was in, but also because Indian films are... Well... A genre unto themselves, shall we say. "Feature-length soaps" comes pretty close.
But then, things got interesting.
Electronics are not known for their stability here, and audio players are not exception. At some point during the performance, the sound hitched, stuttered, and finally went dead. Some of the actors stopped where they were, waiting to resume the flow, some stared up at the building that hosted the soundtrack, and some just stretched their legs a bit.
After a short while, the sound came back on again, and the actors moved back to where they had left off. But then the sound cut off again. Then it stuttered a bit more, tried to give a coherent stretch of sound, and then failed again, stopping completely.
This called for drastic measures, and so someone was sent to clean the damn thing. Well, you obviously can't get the floor wet, so somebody opened up a window, leaned out, and started to clean some object with a damp rag. Then he dropped it.
First there was the clattering of metal on concrete as the guy dropped it onto the secondary roof below him, and then there was the almost cartoonish way he looked down to see what had just happened, peering over the edge with a look of utter disbelief. He then nonchalantly popped back in and walked off to do something else. This was actually getting to be entertaining.
So, someone either found a replacement, or they picked the thing up from the ground below (or it was never related to the audio set at all, and he was just cleaning a cup, which is what it sounded like. All the cups here are made of stainless steel) because the guy was soon back at the window, cleaning something else. Soon after, the soundtrack continued, and the actors tried to carry on their show with a shred of dignity.
Which wasn't easy when the cowboy popped up above a far-off wall and shot down one of the guards sitting on a hut roof, for no apparent reason. He didn't shoot anybody else, and nobody seemed particularly fazed by the event. Not even the shot guard, who simply put down the gun he'd been holding and continued to sit on the roof.
Well, at least it was entertaining, if only unintentionally.
After this, food. We were ready for it. So, we set off towards our restaurant.
The place was set up to resemble a desert tent, with cushion strips for seating and small stool-like tables set up in rings. This was, of course, a concrete tent, but we didn't really care. So long as they had food and water (we had been given "welcome drinks" near the entrance, which were absolutely loaded with salt and also brought to mind the camel dung jokingly mentioned before).
First, a waiter came around with our plates, three bowls and a spoon on each. Then someone else came by, and gave us a handful each of three different dry thingies. I tried one type, and it was incredibly salty. I tried the second type, and it was incredibly salty. I tried the third type, and it was incredibly salty and dry.
Okay, I thought, this is weird food to have in a desert. You'd think they'd focus on a little less thirst-inducing stuff, considering the lack of water deserts generally have.
And then a guy came by to fill the three bowls with different types of... Things. I'm not entirely sure what to call them, but they were curry/dal/chutney/sauce things. Okay, things are starting to look a bit more familiar. I still haven't gotten a drink of water yet, but that's coming.
Then another waiter comes by, sniffling slightly, and scoops up a portion of what he simply refers to as "sweet". It's something that could be mistaken for rice if you're looking for rice, but upon closer inspection seems a bit more like some really large-grained sand. I tried some. It was dry and sweet.
So far, we've covered all the thirst-causing food types. Salty, dry, and sweet. I still haven't gotten any water yet.
Throughout the rest of the meal (thankfully, my water glass was filled soon after the sweetsand), we would try to figure out what (and how) to eat, when someone would come by and slap something more on top of the rest of the food. There was soon so much food on each individual plate, that a single plate could have covered lunch and dinner for the three of us, if not breakfast as well. And we each got one.
Everything was either A) Salty, B) Sweet, C) Dry, or D) pickled. At least now the water-waiter was coming by regularly, and far faster than a cup could be drained. I found myself guzzling water, and realized that this would prevent even more food on my laden plate from being eaten and so I gave up and decided that I might as well have a small taste of everything on my plate, even if I couldn't finish any of it. That's accomplishing something, at least.
So, between the chapathi-roti, the dal, the curry, the chutney, the pickled dishes, the sweetsand, the sweet patty, the sweet lump of something covered in curd (dessert, served along with everything else), the glass of buttermilk (ecch. At least I tried it), the salty-spicy soup served in its own bowl, the dry lumps they kept putting into my dal, the lentil-based green stew/paste they slapped in the middle of my plate, and then flavored with spoonfulls of ghee and sugar (ain't kidding. Little green mountain got covered in snow), I was defeated. I could hold no more. That didn't stop them trying to put more stuff on my plate, though. After we were through eating, photo-op time.
We asked one of the waiters to take our picture. We were supplied with obligatory turbans by the waiters, and then had our picture taken. Unfortunately, the kumkum (which had salt crystals put in it. Salt in the food, salt in the drink, salt on our foreheads. You cannot escape the salt) looked like a giant zit, which didn't exactly help out my own "I'm mentally unstable" smile, although it did draw some attention away from it.
All in all, it wasn't that great. The part of the meal I liked most was the water.
So we went back outside, put our shoes back on (had to take 'em off for the restaurant), and wandered off. There was a little dance area right outside the restaurant with a couple guys, one playing the drum and one singing (sometimes). We sat down in a grassy area nearby, on one of the cots laid out as benches (actually very comfortable), and watched.
After a time, the music picked up, and the singing guy got up and went over to a few of the cot-benches around the dance floor, and tried to get some people to join him on the dance floor. His hand then exerted a mysterious power over the people sitting on the benches, as he was able to push them back and away from him without even coming close to touching them. Then I realized they just didn't want to make fools out of themselves by getting up and dancing along feebly to the wild and impossible-to-copy movements of the professional dancer. Apparently, we did.
Now, by "we", I do not mean either my mother or Pradeep. I mean my father (who will do anything of the sort at any opportunity, as parents are known to do), and me. Why I do this, I am unsure. I think it is mainly because putting up with an audience watching me try and pass off stumbling and losing my balance as just an impromptu dance move is less of a pain than putting up with my parents commenting on my not getting up there and dancing, later on.
Whatever the case, I managed to miss every move the guy was shwoing us how to do, stumble a bit on just about every movement that involved a turn of some sort, and have some pictures taken by my eternally-sweet and caring mother while I was at it, thus preserving yet another happy memory for years to come.
Excuse me my ramblings.
Anyways, a word of advice: Never ever ever dance wildly after just consuming several glasses of water, a few sips of buttermilk and some spoonfulls of sour curd. Uck. I was burping for the rest of the night.
Then we went on to see some traditional dancing (thankfully, not performed by us). A young woman came out (how the hell these dancers manage to keep a roll of fat on their belly, I'll never know), and did her routine to the music, spinning and gyrating in the intricate dance.
Well, this didn't last as long as one might have expected. The soundset this was playing on was apparently the little brother of the one used in the performance earlier, and it soon conked out completely. The woman stopped, looked around, and then went backstage to see what was happening. End of dance one.
Once they got the system working again, she was sent back out to do the second dance. Dance two was set to a slightly more "hip" beat, and the woman reflected this by moving her hips suggestively. She even lip-synched (somewhat) to the music, and followed along with the obviously sex-related (aren't they all?) song with all the thrusts and gyrations required. Most of this ended up being directed towards four or five guys who wre seated to the right of us, who would whistle from time to time like the occasional flashes of.. absolutely nothing... were driving them wild. One guy even got signalled down by the girl, who danced at the edge of the stage with him for a bit, before he took out a bill, swung it around her head a few times, and then gave it to her. By putting it in her hand, of course. I mean, how else would you give a dancer money?
So, after that, the rest of the dance was directed solely at that part of the audience. Not so much as a glance at the other patrons.
After that was over, we headed over to see some other dancing-ish commotion, whereupon my dad got pulled into yet another public display, this time banging sticks together as part of the dance. Took him a few tries, but he eventually got the pattern the guy who pulled him in was doing. You see, you can't just smack your own sticks to the beat. No, that would be too easy. You've got to hit someone else's sticks as well, which is slightly more difficult since you can't always tell where they're going to swing that stick, or which stick it's going to be.
When the guy came back, he tried to get someone else to join in. Both my mother and I begged out, referencing our stomachs which were full of food (and mine, which had already gotten quite jostled earlier). He decided to start prodding my stomach to test the validity of this statement, and derided us for making up silly excuses for not dancing.
As we made our way back out of the park (it was now fully dark outside, and had been so for some time), we passed by a hookah lounge, and the one hookah had a coal in it that smelled overpoweringly like strawberry ice cream. We also saw some kids being paraded around on the back of a camel farther off. Now that actually looked halfways interesting, and we didn't have anything to do with it. Oh well. So ends our day at Mini-Rajasthan.
Today we find that a small black goat has been tied up to the fence down below the apartment building by the watchman's family (the purpose of this goat is most likely food-related, but we don't really know), and it has been bleating incessantly for most of the morning. Still though, goats are cool.
We also got an interesting image as toes proceeded across one of our windows. Aparently, something on one of the apartment windows needed to be repainted, so the painter was working off a rope tied to the roof. Still, very strange to be sitting at the table and see a foot suddenly appear on the outside of the window, considering the things are so dirty we can't usually see a foot beyond the glass (ha ha).
And, that's pretty much it. I've spent most of the time spent awake and not eating writing this, and I think the goat's still alive, even though it stopped bleating a while back. G'day, all.
quote:
Originally posted by Kagus:
<STRONG>Namely, the traffic. Oh Armok, the traffic...
</STRONG>
You might like "All the Trouble in the World" by P.J. O'Rourke. He describes third world traffic with some detail. Egypt is described exactly the way you described India, but with highways and high speeds. ;)
This morning has not been a pleasant one. I so far have diarrhea, constant nausea, with some vomiting thrown in for good measure. I'm having a very hard time with the thought of eating breakfast, and I'm hoping I'll somehow manage to get (and keep) something down.
I don't even have anything to puke up anymore. My stomach didn't have anything to do away with, since it had long since finished digesting yesterday's meal (lunch). Now I'm even devoid of stomach fluid, as that was the only thing it could find that could be sent flying joyfully up my gullet.
I'm sure this is all exactly what you wanted to hear, but I'm giving an explanation as to why I may not be updating this thread as diligently as before(...).
Also, the goat's gone.
I've got three lovely little pills I'm supposed to take. One to reduce stomach acid (also helps give me an appetite), one to pump me full of beneficial gut flora, and one to help keep me from pissing out the wrong hole.
It would appear that, in India, people are very sensitive. For instance, any time you read a local newspaper, you will have at least one hanging reported in there.
There was a girl (17) who hung herself after her father told her not to watch so much TV, and put more effort into her homework. Today, there was a report of a girl who performed a similar act of self-unhelp after her teacher reprimanded her for playing volleyball with boys.
And it's not just suicide, there was a guy who threw acid in his father's face after his father had decided that he was going to remarry. This was several years since his wife's death, mind you.
The newspapers also have columns with the equivalent of extreme-Feng Shui experts giving advice (very vague advice, always followed by "contact a professional to help you redesign your home"). They also sport small articles detailing helpful hints on how to run a standard life, all of which are completely absurd. For instance, in order to prevent your child from smoking, you must not tell them that it is bad to smoke. You must tell them that it is bad to eat fresh fruit, as this will provide them an alternate means of rebelling against you. I did not make any of that up.
How many people honestly expect their kids to be dumb enough to eat fresh fruit as a means of rebellion, I don't know... But then again, considering how little it takes to push one over the edge of suicide, it might actually work.
You want to keep your kid from smoking? Very simple: Give him/her a cigarette.
However, according to the newspaper, a single cigarette is enough to get a person addicted for life. I don't think they even bothered to say "a recent study has shown..."
It's interesting. Looking at the newspaper here, and all the glaringly stupid things that are being presented to the public readers, I think I'll look very differently at the newspapers stateside. I'll be keeping an eye out for "fresh fruit".
I guess the non-conformists here are very healthy.
quote:
Originally posted by Kagus:
<STRONG>Ah, thank you. That's what I wantd to know.I'll get around to using it when we get some passable photos.
For now, here's a photo of the one man in Hyderabad who doesn't smile when a camera is pointed at him.I'm going to assume that expression is not very good for the flower-selling business...</STRONG>
He looks like he is about to hit you.
We've just come back from Radha's house, where we got to meet his wife and two sons, the younger of whom was named something very similar to my name, and was born six months before I was. He's in his first year of computer engineering, the eldest is in his third.
If you go to college in India, you are either an engineer or a doctor. It really is kinda funny seeing which western stereotypes are painfully accurate in different cultures...
Anyways, we got to eat some food. Eek. At least at the restaurant we could choose how little we wanted to eat, at someone's house you've got to have everything they give you, and taking seconds is a grand complement to the cook! Luckily, we managed. Barely.
First up, steam dosa. This is a soft, thick dosa that you can't find at the restaurants, served with the standard sauce (which we have now found out is coconut chutney). I would like to mention that everything we were served tonight was homemade.
After the very tasty dosa with its wonderful texture, comes the tomato rice and yoghurt sauce combo. I'd like to reiterate that everything was homemade, including the yoghurt.
The tomato rice was the first thing I managed to take seconds on, and I hope it was noticed. I figured I could spare the space, since rice (coated in yoghurt) is pretty easy to pack away.
Third item, puri. That is, a mini puri served with a slightly spicy mushroom curry, something I haven't seen the likes of before here in India. Curry-puri puri-curry.
That would work better if puri weren't pronounced [PUU-ri]. Anyways, once we'd managed to stuff that in, we were starting to slow down. We had just eaten three small meals' worth of food in one sitting, and it was starting to take effect.
Fourth, was plain long-grained rice, served with homemade sambar, with a 'breadstick' in each bowl. No, this is not the kind of breadstick you get in a breadbasket at a ristorante, this was some kind of vegetable. You had to break it open by smushing it a little bit (it would naturally form three equal pieces), and then scrape off the meat from each piece with your teeth.
This last course took a bit of time, and I finally learned the rule of thumb about when you've got enough sambar/other sauce on your rice. There should no longer be any white showing.
Now, of course, we were supposed to ask for something else. We had been given "samples" of the menu, and now we were supposed to order what we wanted. Oi...
We managed to talk our way out of that, and made our way straight to dessert.
Damn. Even the dessert had separate courses. First she (it was Radha's wife serving and cooking everything. Radha just sat back, gave serving orders, and tried to look important) put down colorful little bowls of sweetened bread-stuff, mixed with cashews, pistachios, and coriander (I think that's what the spice was. Forgot the name). Then, she served a communal bowl filled with chunks of various nuts, mixed together and then packed into bar-like wads using jaggery. Because it used jaggery as the only sweetener, it wasn't a sugar overkill, and (according to the repeated statements of the whole family) quite a bit healthier than standard sugar. Downright good for you, in fact.
And then, after all that (I've really made it all sound like much less than it was. I wish we had some pictures, but we were too busy eating to think about the camera...), we were each suposed to have a plate of fruit. Oranges, apples, red grapes and green grapes, we were supposed to consume the lot.
I would like to mention that much research was put into what one should do when invited to dinner. The common and most accepted procedure, according to that wonderful world wide web, was to bring a box of chocolates or other sweets. And so we did.
Nothing told us that we were going to be getting presents, too.
My mom got a handknit blanket (again, complements of Mrs. Radha's last name) and a jewelry box, which we later found out was very intricately detailed and designed. There was also a clay figurine of a woman holding some sort of instrument, which I think was supposed to be directed at our family as a whole.
And me? Well, I got a knife.
Yeah, that's right. The eldest son had picked up a Sikh self-defense knife (now an almost entirely ceremonial/aesthetic tradition) when he was in the Punjab area of India some time ago, and figured it'd be cool if he gave it to me tonight.
Damn straight it's cool. Sure, the thing's blunt, but it's stainless steel (and thus capable of being sharpened... Muahahahaha), and it's still a goddamn knife. With one very fancy scabbard, I might say.
Alright, so the scabbard and hilt are plastic. But plastic lasts a hell of a lot longer than wood, and needs much less treatment to be kept in shape. And plastic or wood, the designs are still very nice.
Pictures coming tomorrow, or whenever they get uploaded to the computer. I'm not sure when that might be.
Bring box of chocolates, get belly full of good food (very full. Gonna feel good to lie down for the night), a clay figurine, a jewelry box, a hand-knitted blanket, and a knife. As well as memories, a few pictures, and tips on cooking and how to wear a Sari, for my mum.
Yeah. Sounds like a fair trade to me.
[ February 27, 2008: Message edited by: Kagus ]
Here we have the handmade blanket, the jewelry box, and the knife.
(http://i31.tinypic.com/2r29ohx.jpg)
Here's a close-up of the jewelry box's design:
(http://i26.tinypic.com/2uek3gx.jpg)
A couple nights ago, we had a visitor. I was sitting and plugging away at something (may have been the pirate mod), when I saw something from the corner of my eye. I look over, and there's this tree frog, jumping through the doorway to the balcony. Why he decided that he needed to do this, I am unsure. However, we did manage to get a pretty good shot of him when he figured that climbing the closet door would be a good idea:
(http://i29.tinypic.com/2gulgee.jpg)
And here are a couple pictures from the India you don't hear or read about:
(http://i30.tinypic.com/2wovioo.jpg)
Whoopsie. Probably could have found a better word for that.
(http://i29.tinypic.com/2lswj87.jpg)
That orange hair is ridiculously popular here. We see people walking around all the time, looking like they poured hydrogen peroxide in it or something.
I assume it's what happens to their hair when they attempt to bleach it. The resulting mistake has become the hot new rage.
The guy on the billboard has one of the mildest recolorations I've seen here. Most people have their hair changed to an absolutely absurd color that makes them look like they're supposed to be hired for children's parties or something. I'll get a good example up when I can, if I can find one.
For instance, there was a five hundred pound weight sitting in one area, which was apparently used by the military when recruiting. If you could lift that weight, you got in.
One of the main points of interest is the fact that there are some very interestingly designed portico at the main entrance, where if you stand in the exact center and clap your hands or make some other loud noise, an incredibly strong vibration will hit back at you and the sound will be quite loud. Stand seven feet to the side and the effect is lost entirely, you can't hear anything strange.
This portico is part of a two-step design, the main entrance and the tower at the top of the hill. Whenever something important would be going on down at the main entrance, someone would stand in the center and clap. That clap can be heard several hundred feet away and up, at the tower on top of the hill.
We got to see a few other interesting pieces of architecture, including some water reservoirs which apparently had some significance (couldn't really hear what the guide was talking about, wasn't close enough and wasn't paying enough attention).
Golkonda used to be the largest diamond mine in the world, and produced such gems as The Hope Diamond, the Koh-i-noor diamond, and the whopping Darya-ye Noor diamond, weighing in at 182 carats. The city was famous for its massive markets selling such diamonds, among other exotic wares. It soon became all the rave among merchants from around the orient, and Golconda had traders from just about all the surrounding areas coming in to check out the bazaars.
The stairs at this place were horrible... I'm going to have to go back to Germany and check out the European castles, because I can't remember what they were like. The guide told us (although I quite seriously doubt this) that in order to carry the king up the steps, they had tall people holding up the platform in the back, and short people holding it up in front.
This begs the question of what happens when the stairs end, but he had moved on by that point. Better to leave it to the imagination anyways.
There weren't that many points of any real interest there, it was just fun becuase we made it fun. The architecture was fun, to be sure, and the engineering required for both the clapping portico and the corner-talk room (stand in one corner and talk at the wall. The person in the other corner will hear you. It's like the big whisper-dishes they've got at the Pacific Science Center in Seattle) was quite cool, but most of the entertainment value that we got out of it was from each other and the various other people who were checking out the place.
We even got to have a little chat with an Englishwoman, our first talk with a westerner since coming here (aside from each other, of course).
We've only got about three weeks left here in India. It doesn't feel like we've been here that long, but apparently we have. It's gonna be strange going back to the states after being here for so long, and as soon as I touch US soil I'm going to have to crank into high gear to get ready for the future. Being here has been quite an amazing experience, but it's even more amazing how you get used to it after a while. Being back in the states is going to be one hell of a change, just like coming here was.
I'm really gonna miss the food...
The day before yesterday, we were invited over for breakfast by one of the guys in at the office. His wife has been making various goodies for some time, so we'd been acquainted with some of her cooking, but now we were going to taste some of her more involved work. The main reason for the arranged visit however, was becuase we had stated before that we wanted to find out how to make some of the Indian dishes we'd been eating (hell, who wouldn't?), and he had suggested that his wife could show us.
So, we got there, had some water, and checked out some of the doodads that they've picked up over the years, including photos from when they'd spent some time in California. Once such formalities were over, we were served breakfast. Vadas and coconut chutney. Quite tasty.
After that we talked for a bit, and then the main event was unveiled. We were shuffled into the kitchen, and got to see dear and lovely Mrs. Can't-remember-her-name make up a massive batch of lemon rice (which included peanuts, cashews, curry leaves, turmeric, ghee, extra salt, some aromatic spice mixture, and even a little lemon juice), and then a similarly large batch of upma (semolina porridge, sorta. It's a soft and tasty lump that you carve with a spoon). Now, the man of the house happens to know how to make upma. It also happens to be the only dish he knows how to make, and thus he is this world's prime officionado on the subject. The preparation was peppered by comments and suggestions as his wife made upma, almost all of which were ignored entirely.
Now, here's the clincher: those vadas we had, the ones that filled us up so nicely? That wasn't breakfast. That was an appetizer.
When we left their apartment building after being taken around on a tour of the grounds, we were three plates of vada and chutney, three plates of lemon rice, three plates of upma, three hand-carved and hand-painted wood sculptures, and a painted straw wallhanging decorated with real peacock feathers heavier. But we gave them a really nice box of chocolates, so it's cool. Oh yeah, we also left with the rest of the lemon rice in a huge plastic container which can only be described as the mother of all tupperware.
And then there was yesterday. Yesterday was the birthday of one of the watchman's kids, and my mother (who, local traditions be damned, will stop at nothing to buy a gift for someone who is having a birthday) picked up a cake for him. This was intended to be passed off, and then a couple pictures might be taken of the birthday boy and his shoutingly loud shirt, and then we'd leave them to eat the cake and commence with whatever partying they might have planned.
Well, it didn't quite work out that way.
Word of the cake had apparently leaked out, and we were pleasantly sitting around with the local study group of kids from around the neighbourhood (yeah. We host study parties. The kids are going to be coming over regardless, we may as well give them something quiet{-ish} to keep them occupied{-ish}), when the doorbell rang. You know, you never think about how a doorbell sounds exactly the same regardless of how many people are on the other side of the door.
We were invaded. The birthday boy came in with the full entourage in tow, and everyone piled in to have their birthday celebration at our place.
So, lots of cake was eaten, lots of pictures taken, lots of jabbering and jibbering about and lots of young semi-helpful translators converting jibber to jabber and jabber to jibber. At the same time. With different interpretations.
Now, I'd like to point a couple things out.
One) Every boy in the place wanted to play computer games on the laptop, even the birthday boy, who hadn't even seen the games, let alone try any. I'm afraid there's not much hope for the others, however, as they've already tasted computer gaming.
Two) Study group full of kids with already super-normal levels of natural ADHD + bowl(each) of ice cream when study time ended + piece(s) of cake when party started + camera/potential center of attention = whoah.
Here's how it works: the birthday boy cuts into the cake, and cuts out several smallish pieces. Then, in turn, everyone goes up, picks up a piece of cake and shoves it into the birthday boy's mouth (hold it, take a picture). This favor is then returned by B-Boy, so everyone gets at least one shot at the confectionary.
It was fun, actually. And we got a lot of pictures, with our standard ratio of 1:5, wherein the '1' is the number of pictures that are quite nice, and the '5' is the number of pictures that make you wonder how it is your face manages to get into such uncomfortable positions at such inopportune moments.
And that's my update for now. I'll see if I can get some picture from the event up here, but it may end up being a while.
We're making plans to take a train from Hyderabad out to Goa, so we can spend a couple birthdays (mine's tomorow, two days later for her) on a sunny, hopefully quiet beach.
The recent reports of the rapes, murders, and kidnappings of foreign tourists in Goa have not been entirely encouraging, but we're going anyway.
In other news, we have used our recently-acquired recipe for lemon rice extensively, as it's relatively easy to whip up and it keeps for a long time. Nice to have something we can make at the apartment aside from roasted peanuts and ramen. We have not, however, tried making upma yet. I also have a feeling that I'm not the only one who's forgotten how to make it.
Yippee... Eighteen years old. Old enough to have even more expected of you than previously, while being no more ready for it. But hey, at least I can vote!
Yup, I'm screwed. Cheers.
That's the way stuff works around here. Satya informed us that we should never give them anything, because just this kind of thing was going to happen. Give them ten rupees, in a week they'll ask for forty. Give them forty, in a week they'll ask for four hundred (more on that in a bit). Give them four hundred, and you're already screwed so it's pointless trying to give advice to you.
So, in other news. A while ago the cleaning lady's daughter (who cleans our apartment instead, since the cleaning lady who is also the watchman's wife is too lazy to do it herself) came to us with one of her brothers, who asked us to loan him four hundred rupees. He said it was 'for hospital', and that he would pay us back in a week.
Well, we went out to get the money from my dad at the office (and to get some time to discuss amongst ourselves as to whether or not to actually give them the moolah), and when we came back we handed it off. To his mother.
Turns out, he was asking for money for her to go to the hospital. Now, the daughter is nice, the son seems like an okay guy from what we've seen of him, but the woman herself is a fat, lazy, greedy old fart. It was at that moment that there would indeed be an upcoming cut in her payment to the amount of four hundred rupees.
Some time later, I think it was the day after, the woman went out an a huge shopping binge, buying lots of fancy fruits and vegetables, new clothes, baby accoutrements, and other assorted things. If I were to estimate, I'd say the total cost of her trip was somewhere around four hundred rupees. Seems like an arbitrary number, I know, but I guess I just have an eye for appraisal.
Happy b-day me. Eighteen, and not particularly impressed with the results.
Enjoy turning 18. It can be rough. [undwarven]But just think, yer getting ever closer to 21, when you'll discover that drinking aint as great as it's made out to be.[/undwarven]
However, I got a really funny cake for my birthday.
The guy had asked what we wanted it to say. My mom wrote out "Happy Birthday".
This was apparently asking too much of the cake-maker in the back (big pants, an undershirt, and a slightly crazy look in his eye), as when we got it the cake said something slightly different...
(http://i25.tinypic.com/k1w8bo.jpg)
Here's wishing you all a 'Homme Bewilderly'.
At least my name came out alright.
A small room with three metal slats built into each wall excluding the one on the side of the train. I think you get a sheet on top of them, I'm not sure. Air conditioning in the privileged sections is set so high you'll freeze before anything else, so we got the one without. You don't get a window. Train passengers in India are notorious for asking prying and highly personal question as part of the regular banter, but will be very pleased if you happen to ask them the same things, since they'll think you're just very interested in them.
Yeah, it's gonna be interesting...
So, I'll be spending a couple weeks away from the computer. I don't think I can manage a Woodsman update until after I'm back, as I'm trying to get this doofus to bury his dog, not one of the many casualties from the immigration parties. Death and Glory! does not currently have enough votes to dictate the next move, so that will also have to wait.
Yep, time away from the computer, on the beach and in the sun, surrounded by lots of party people including all the tourists, since Goa serves as the place where all tourists go when going to India. I guess that's why they call it Goa, since everyone goes there.
Yippee... People. I hate people.
Well, on the bright side, it's got sand. Goodnight everybody.
--Kagus
...Oops, I think I overdid it again...
My mom had to take a business trip to India once for her job (she worked tech support). I was ill at the time so I don't remember the specifics but I do remember that the foreman she was training gave her several incredibly detailed silk and gold woven painting. Yes it had gold woven in it.
The train ride was... Impossible to describe with mere words. The Indian Rail System (IRS?) is one funny little critter, and dealing with it is an experience which cannot be adequately represented. You either know it, or you don't.
Goa, on the other hand, is much easier to put into words. Tourist hive.
We got a rickshaw driver to take us to a nearby site of accommodation for the night (the drive reminded me just a little too much of Mr. Toad's wild ride...), and found ourselves at a 'quaint' cluster of beach huts known as "Flavia Paradise". Now, when I say hut, I mean a construction that not even a seven-year-old would put together.
It had everything. Latticework front wall, which you could stick your hand through and push back the inner deadbolt if you happened to lock yourself out somehow (convenient!), a loosely-woven roof which provided a lovely view of the blue(-ish) tarp which had long since passed the two-month lifetime of its waterproof coating, walls which were topped with more latticework to provide easy access for gentle ocean breezes and nocturnal monkeys, and a net hung over the bed to keep out mosquitoes. Well, the ones that don't find the hole, or come up from underneath the edge, which hung a foot off the ground.
First night, it rained. I got cold and damp. The wildlife would chitter about my hut and clamber around it, so I would only be able to catch fleeting glimpses of them (since they were climbing, I assumed that they must have been monkeys), which kept my nerves wired enough to keep me from falling asleep.
But then we got to spend our first day in Goa, almost all of it on the beach or in the water. Speaking of Goan water, did I mention how incredibly warm it is? We're talking bathwater here, you can walk right into it without all the eeks and acks and intakes of breath you get from trudging into the drink in other places (I'm currently thinking of Southern Californian beaches, mind you).
We spent another night in the huts, and then looked for slightly more decent lodgings. We found them, but not until after sating our grumbling bellies with Goan cuisine.
I can sum up the dining in both Goa and Hyderabad in a single word each.
Hyderabad: Delicious.
Goa: Potatoes.
Everything in Goa has potatoes. For our first meal we had samosas that were packed with potatoes, alongside potato-and-bean soup. Plus some white bread which was only mildly less squishy and tasteless as other whitebreads.
Later, we ordered a couple curry-ish dishes from a beachside restaurant. The first one was made from potatoes. The second one was made from potatoes, but had some cauliflower in it as well.
Next day, we went to a place to have breakfast. We wanted idli. They didn't have idli. We ordered what they had. We got breakfast bread and potato paste.
By now, I was pretty sick of potato paste. I wanted something that didn't have all the sharp or spicy (Goa, being a tourist spot, has edged out almost all chillies from their cooking) flavors cooked out of it. As we sat at another beachside restauarant (bar), I decided to try some of the non-Indian food, to see if that was any better. I ordered a veggie burger.
When I bit into the rather dejected-looking thing with its dry bread and cucumber slices (the word "pickle" here refers to anything which has undergone the process that results in what we tend to call chutney. I think the idea of western pickles was lost on these fellows, so I got cucumber slices. I wouldn't call them "fresh", so let's say they were "raw"), and found that the patty had been made from something vaguely familiar...
The texture of the thing was so completely stomped that it took me quite some time before I found a chunk that could confirm my suspicion. It was a potato patty. A potato patty that didn't have the texture or firmness to hold its own weight.
Potato paste.
In desperation, I tried one of the fries (chips), even though they looked a bit strange. They were potato paste-ettes, with a light garnishing of oil.
I couldn't bring myself to eat it all. Thankfully, my parents had ordered fish curry and had some left over. It wasn't great, but you could actually chew it, and it wasn't made from potatoes.
We eventually managed to find a couple spots that could serve us food that tasted like, y'know, food. We also managed to spend most of our time in the water, so that's a plus. Okay, so sometimes that water happened to be a covering layer of sweat, but you work with what you've got.
Goa had other fun things as well. The packs of remarkably friendly dogs wandering the beach, the packs of cloth/jewellry/drum sellers that walked the same routes but barked slightly more, and the wandering herds of cows.
The cows in particular were funny. From time to time, they would pop down to the beach and simply lie around for a while. In the mornings, they'd make their rounds through the populated areas, since the locals would leave out baskets of food for them to consume and, well, process...
But sometimes free food is not enough. Sometimes, you need more free food. Sometimes, you're a cow.
This logic led to a couple memorable encounters with the bovine population of Goa. One time, I was standing outside a small fruit shop while my father perused for bananas, when a young bull walked by. The bull rooted around in the turned-over offering baskets for a while, and then made his way over to the wire-grid front of the shop, where the pineapples and newspapers were kept.
Surprisingly, the daft thing went for the newspaper first. I watched as he nibbled the corners of local news columns that were poking out of the grid, and then observed him as he turned his attentions upward and a little to the left. The pineapples.
For those of you who have never seen a cow tongue, allow me to describe it. It is a deep purplish color, and is long enough to extend about eight inches from the muzzle, which just happens to be long enough to wrap around the leafy top of a pineapple through a wire-grid shop wall.
Of course, he couldn't actually pull it through the wall, but he certainly tried. After a couple attempts at stealing one of the things, he contented himself to just munching on the leaves that were sticking out of the grid. Litte India tip: never buy the pineapples closest to the street.
Eventually, someone came by and gave him a good thwack on the rump to send him off, and the remaining pineapples (and newspapers, which he had returned to eating after the pineapples. I guess they tasted better). Came as a little of a surprise to me, actually. I wouldn't have expected an Indian to smack a cow, but I suppose times have changed, at least in the parts of India I've been in.
And then there was the time when we were eating our bread with potato dip for breakfast. While we sat and contemplated our food, a cow came by and simply stood in the entranceway (the restaurant was mostly outside, and had a wide entrance). After some time, someone came out and handed the thing a lump of bread, and then began pushing it out of the restaurant. After the cow had walked on, he saw us watching and said "three times! Three times today it has come!".
I wondered about the level of intelligence cows must possess, in order to return to a place where they get free bread. I honestly didn't think they had the brains for it.
I also had to wonder about the level of intelligence the person feeding the cow possessed.
So, after our times spent in Goa, with its long beaches, its restaurants with names like "Cafe del Mar", "Casa Fiesta", and "Big Delhi" (actually one of the passable spots), with their mountains of potatoes hidden somewhere safe behind the kitchens, its unreasonable drum salesmen, its water-resistant huts and water-proof rooms that had power outages on a regular basis (as well as a resident Australian), its madcap bus rides and its proliferation of shells to step on (all but one of which contained hermit crabs), we finally hopped back on the train for the 21-hour trip back to Hyderabad.
After we got back, I had the best damned sambar idli I've had all week.
Not one potato.
Now, there was an interesting little piece of information I neglected to mention earlier... Apparently some time after we left for Goa, my mom's mom got really worried because we weren't responding to her emails (we didn't have computers with us, let alone a net connection) and that we hadn't called her when we arrived safely in Goa.
What. The. Hell?
Anyways, she proceeded to panic and call my mom's sister (one of), who then called us, didn't recieve an answer (she was calling our phones back in Vegas), and then dialed a new number.
The U.S. embassy in Chennai.
They had apparently called the embassy and set out a search for us, because we were obviously missing due to our absolutely unprecedented behaviour in going somewhere without retaining all ties to the folks back stateside. Luckily, the dogs were called off soon after we got back here to Hyderabad and found out what in the samhill was going on. I have a feeling the search never actually started, due to the overdeveloped nature of India's government bureaucracy.
Now, last christmas, I was busy converting someone in the semi-extended family to Dwarf Fortress. She's a gamer, and the sister of a dedicated gamer, and after I detailed some of the perticularly gory aspects of Our Beloved Pastime she seemed somewhat impressed.
That's backstory. I recently found out that during the recent hubbub in the search for those crazy relatives who got lost in India, she decided to aid in matters. She remembered my talk about how Dwarf Fortress was my current attraction, and gathered together a few friends to help her search DF-related forums for any activity that would point towards me, thus assuring my safeness and soundness. I'm not entirely sure if she found this thread, since it is rather susceptible to falling back a page or two in the thread listing, but who knows?
If you're reading this now, I thank you for three things:
1) Clever, quick and rational thinking. 2) Giving a damn. 3) Remembering my babbling about a game where stunted alcoholics will repeatedly throw themselves off a seven-foot drop in an attempt to kill themselves after they found that no, you do not in fact happen to be storing chrysoberyl for their legendary toothpick.
So even if they knew where to look I doubt they would even know how to get to this site... Anyway, if you ever get kidnapped if ya post here I'll happily call the local police for ya. I wonder what the response time between Florida and India is...
But the fact that my grandmother would think we would call them when we got to Goa... That they automatically assume we'd do something like that, something we haven't done before (and have no intention of starting to do) is just a teensy bit batty.
Anyways, it all worked out in the end. All's well that ends well, eh?
These at least had the decency to have shaved recently.
Anyways, just a couple weeks left here in India. After that it's back to the states where I'll panic and cram in an attempt to make myself suitable for being in a public place, and after that I'm heading off to Norway for school.
I've applied to three different schools up there... If I get into the one I want, my majors will be film and rock. Yes, they have a rock and metal major, and it's got nothing to do with geology. They're planning on making a feature-length film soon, and everyone involved gets to put their name on IMBD. That's what the film major is going to be working on this time around, and I happen to think that's a pretty damn cool way to spend nine months (the length of stay at one of these schools. You can always re-apply, though).
Heh heh... Yeah. Joining up with a performing arts school, when I can't dance, sing, or play my electric guitar. That's where the cramming comes into play.
Y'know, it may be hard to imagine that a person can go to India for several months and not once see the Taj Mahal, but it's possible. I haven't seen any holy men either, although there is this one guy who follows us around from time to time and gibbers at us with rather disturbingly wide eyes. He looks like he's informing us of the most important information in the world (and possibly beyond, no telling where he's been), but no matter how much he mutters in our direction we still don't speak Telugu. If that's even the language he's speaking in. He dropped by for breakfast today and gave us a quick lecture about something of cosmic significance before he went off to eat his food.
By the way, I don't recomend the tourist locations in India. Sure, it's nice to not have the superstardom-effect where everyone's gawking at you, but the merchants will try to screw you over bigtime. 5000% markups just ain't worth dealing with. It'll probably still be cheaper than stateside prices, but your money will last a lot longer in a place where they don't expect easy marks. Or at least, easy Western marks. If you happen upon a merchant in some of the less tourist-frequented areas, when he tries to screw you over you'll be facing grass prices instead of dirt prices. Sometimes it's just too damned hard to haggle with folks like that because you realize that you're paying them pocket lint. Breaks the mood, don't ya know?
The kids around here are maddening at times... We've entered into a ful-scale evasion of them. Hanging a sock over the keyhole so they can't see in, tiptoeing to the door whenever the doorbell rings so we can see if the person standing outside reaches height requirements for being let in.
Sure, the occasional visit can be fun, but after a while... Well...
Let's just say that 6:30AM is too early for recieving visitors.
Now I need to choose between the two. One school is making a feature-length movie that will be released as a professional production, the other has a trip to Cuba coming up.
Damn, it's so difficult to choose a good school these days... I have to pick between going to Cuba or acting in a film. Life's tough.
The Cuba school doesn't have a Rock major, however... Which is probably just as well, since I'd only be able to play guitar to an extent that I could learn within a couple months.
Quite surprising that there is such a thing as a rock major. Maybe in a few years schools will start doing tournament level gamer majors. Team Fortress 101 sounds like a fun class.
Norwegian schools, man...
Time to brush up on my Norwegian, my electric guitar, my dancing, my mountain climbing, my social interaction with reasonably sane people, my singing, my...
Just another life in the day of me.
India hasn't been doing a whole lot of anything lately. I was thinking earlier today of how everything looked so alien and intimidating when we first arrived, compared to how everything looks now. It's a completely different culture, but you can get used to it just fine. Dealing with the traffic can take a little practice, however...
Even the writing looked so mysterious and unknowable. Now it just looks like writing. Sure, I can't understand a word of it, but it doesn't look so strange now.
We called the paperboy up to the apartment so we could give him our old newspapers. Now, he pays based on weight, but he's only got one 500kg weight, and we've got a lot of old paper. So, he weighs one stack of papers against the weight until it evens out. Then he takes that paper and sticks it with the weight, and puts a double-sized stack of paper on the other dish.
Now, this was apparently a very entertaining process (I was busy with a DF story), so my mom decides to take a picture of him. He asks her if she could send the picture to his phone. She can't, so she takes a picture of him with his phone. Then he wants to take a picture of her taking a picture of him.
We did, eventually, get the newspaper cleared out. Honest.
Why the airport said we should be there three hours before they start boarding, I'm not entirely sure I want to know. Apparently, the checking process takes an eternity.
We just bought an idly steamer so we can eat at least two Indian recipes back in the states. Unfortunately, we don't know the recipe for the special sambar it goes with, and trying to look for a recipe online is utter insanity due to the standard Indian naming system, wherein the principal law is "No more than one name or word per hundred instances".
India has been fun. Most certainly not what I was expecting, but then again I was kinda expecting the river + cow + mud hut + holy man + dancing milkmaids scene. I'm actually slightly relieved it didn't live up to my expectations.
It feels like I've barely been here a couple weeks, and also like I've spent a good deal of my life here. It's going to be strange coming back to Vegas and the house we've got there... I hope I can kick some of the unusual habits I've picked up here, the ones that are almost essential to dealing with Indians but would seem slightly insane to Westerners.
But of course, I cannot try to generalize India. India is a massively huge fabric woven with thousands of threads made from wildly different materials and colors, and the image it presents can be rather confusing at times. Simply going from Hyderabad to Goa -a relatively short trip when the rest of India is taken into consideration- you see cultures that are almost completely alien to one another.
If any of you decide to visit India, I recommend you take these points into consideration:
1. South India has some of the best food (in my most humble of opinions), and is far less strict on the manners practiced while eating it than the Northern parts.
2. If you ever get a chance to eat Rajasthani food, pass. Same goes for paan.
3. Sellers of a particular good will tend to cluster around each other, for some reason. If you don't like the products or the prices of a place, go next door. This also applies to restaurants.
4. Indian pidgin pronounciation guide: "Z" is pronounced "J". This leads to people talking about going to the jew, and also talking about the number jeero. "S" is sometimes pronounced "Sh" or "Ch". This leads to people talking about getting someone to fix a leaky chink.
Also be on the lookout for people testing their geography by talking about the tiny island nation of faggy.
5. Everybody has a different way of spelling English words, most of them phonetically. Train your deciphering and pattern-recognition skills by looking at signs and billboards.
6. Being in close quarters with Indians is actually less of a bother than being in close quarters with Westerners. I assume this is due to a combination of their not being self-conscious about it, and the fact that Indian sweat smells like the spices they eat (check your armpits after a few days of eating the local food. You may be surprised).
7. Don't tip too much. If you do, you will never be able to get rid of the waiter you tipped.
8. If one person knows where/who you are, everybody knows where/who you are. My name has spread around, since it's the easiest to pronounce, and I often run into strange kids that I've never seen before who greet me by name.
9. Don't drive. Leave it to the locals. I don't care how much you don't like taking rickshaws or taxis everywhere, you're going to like driving in this madhouse even less.
10. Eat. Everything. There is so much good food here, it is almost sinful to leave even some of it untasted. Stuff yourself full to the brim with curries and dals and tiffins and enjoy every damn bite of it. If it doesn;t taste right, go next door and try it there.
Luckily, I've got a few things to entertain myself with when I get back to Vegas. We've got the tenth season of South Park waiting on DVD at the library, and we're lining up a few of the movies that have been released since we left for India.
Did you know that on average, there are about three movies released per day here in India? Did you also know that the quality-quantity balance is heavily lopsided?
My time is going to be heavily eaten up when I return to Vegas, so I most likely won't be able to keep up such speedy updates on my various projects (...), and in general I won't be spending as much time on the boards. I might have some time when I get to the school, since they promise to only fill half the day with various projects and 'lessons'.
Well lads, it's been great. Be seein' y'all when I get the chance.
-Kagus
P.S.
This isn't the last post, I've still got a day's worth of time left. I just figured I should get around to writing this thing some time before I left for the states.
Got back just last night, and noticed that my ribs were showing when I was brushing my teeth. Out of curiosity, I pulled out the scale (damn thing belongs in a museum...) and stepped on.
According to that, I lost 36 pounds while in India. I went from 166 to 130. I am now clinically underweight, after four months of gorging myself.
Also, as an aside, there is a comically large number of advertisements for timepieces in Geneva. There was also an add for some brand of coffee that featured George Clooney for some obscure reason.
And 37 hours of flying in a plane is made so much easier when you have access to AC/DC and Led Zeppelin albums.
