Going home

It's our last day in India. Tonight we're headed home. The flight leaves out of Delhi at almost midnight. The first leg of the trip is only about five hours, and we have a stopover in Hong Kong. For about six hours, we get to enjoy one of the nicest airports in the world: it's clean and safe, and has decently comfortable seating, wifi, and a great food court. Hungry? You can eat at Western classics such as Popeye's or Burger King, or you can do what I'm going to do and take advantage of the noodle shops. The last time I was at the Hong Kong airport, I had a fairly tasty bowl of wonton soup.

After noodles, internet, and possibly a nap, we'll be back on the plane for a 12-hour flight to San Francisco. We leave Hong Kong around 2pm and arrive in California at 10am, thanks to the magic of time zones.

I'm happy to be going home, but I'll miss it here. I'm a little sad about leaving the street dogs and the monkeys. I'll miss my favorite restaurants, like Green Chilli and Dosa Yes Please here in Paharganj or Govinda's at the ISKCON temple.

It's definitely been an adventure, and there have been ups and downs. I don't know if I'll ever come back for 15 weeks all at once, and I may try to avoid northern India and spend some time exploring the south. Danny is already planning to come back late next year to do more research and wants me to come with. He's even promising to rent a beach shack in Goa, where he can write his dissertation and I can enjoy the beach and tropical weather everyday. We'll see what's happening in my life at that point!

There are a number of things I've been wanting to write about but haven't had the time to include as posts here. In the coming weeks, I will be putting up some of those entries, so don't assume my blog is over and done with. In fact, I don't plan to keep this as an India-only travel blog – I will blog about any and all of my future travels, whether that's to Minnesota this summer or whatever part of the world I decide to go to next.

I'll also be creating photo albums for Facebook and Picasa, and I will post the links here. I must have taken thousands of photographs while I've been here, only a minute fraction of which I've shared here on this blog. The highlights will be available for all to see at some point next month.

Goodbye, India. It's been quite an experience. Now it's time to find out what the next chapter holds for me.

Our animal shelter adventure

Friendicoes is an organization in Delhi which serves as an animal shelter and clinic, housing and treating everything from dogs and cats to monkeys to cows and pigs. Their main office is tucked away beneath a highway flyover and offers free vet services to people who bring their pets in. They also accept unwanted dogs, many of which can be seen hanging out in front. The dogs all wear coats or sweaters and happily move from person to person, looking for someone to scratch them behind the ears or on the rump.

Danny was invited to see their larger sanctuary, located in the city of Gurgaon, which is an hour's drive to the south of Delhi. Technically, we were tagging along with a French filmmaker and her French informant, who were making a piece on dogs and animal welfare in India. Friendicoes provided transportation, which turned out to be an animal ambulance. Along one side of the van was a medical stretcher, with a small padded seat opposite. I sat in the back with the two French women, where it was so cramped that my knees pressed up against the metal bars of the stretcher. It was clear that the vehicle served animals, for as the sun heated up the ambulance, there was a faint but distinct smell of dog.

After a long and bumpy ride, we arrived at the sanctuary. Upon climbing out of the ambulance, we were greeted by the enthusiastic barking of hundreds of dogs. On either side of a narrow walkway were two fenced-in enclosures, with more dogs than I've ever seen in my entire life. Some had collars. Some had injuries or skin diseases which were being treated with an orange ointment. Some were sleeping in the heat of the late morning. The vast majority of them, though, were barking, following us as we walked along the path, and jumping up on the fence to greet us. There were even some up on the roofs of the buildings inside the enclosures, barking at us from on high.

Friendicoes has a no-kill policy, so once an animal ends up in their shelter, they are there for life, unless they get adopted. There are so many dogs at the sanctuary, in fact, that it seems they have run out of room in the dog section and are housing many more in the wildlife section. Despite the huge number of dogs housed there, it's actually quite roomy, with plenty of space for the dogs to move around, as well as spaces for them to get privacy if they need it.

Danny and I walked to the wildlife section, at the rear of the complex, where the macaques were kept. It's also where they keep langurs, guinea pigs, rabbits, geese, pigeons, kites, vultures, parrots, chickens, rats, and another hundred dogs. All the various animals are kept in cages, except for the dogs – in this area, they are kept in the open space between the cages. So when Danny and I first went in, we were surrounded by barking, tail-wagging dogs. The only way most of them knew how to interact with humans was to jump up and put their paws on us. After just a couple minutes, I was covered in dusty paw prints. The staff quickly put leashes on the rowdier dogs and tied them to the fence or to trees.

We toured the facility and looked at all the animals. A lot of the macaques housed here had been injured at some point and were now permanent residents at Friendicoes. In one cage were two monkeys: one had lost an arm, while the other had lost his hands. Some other macaques had once been monkey dancers, which is an illegal form of entertainment in India. These were missing their front, sharp teeth, which had been pulled out by their previous owners so that they couldn't inflict damage if they tried to bite.

While I enjoyed looking at all the monkeys, the best part for me was having a chance to spend some time with the dogs. I took every opportunity I had to scratch a dog behind the ear or rub a belly (which was actually rather difficult, since, as soon as I knelt down to give a belly rub, I would get pounced on by other excited dogs, wanting a turn). Considering we were surrounded by dogs, I got to do quite a bit of scratching!

I wish I could have taken a dog (or several) home with me. They were all so sweet and just wanted to be loved up. Since I can't adopt an Indian dog, I'm glad these guys at least have a nice place to live where there are people who care about them. Having visited Friendicoes, I plan to add them to the list of organizations that I donate to, which already includes an animal welfare group: the Marine Mammal Center. I also plan to get back involved with volunteering at the local animal shelter at home.

If you're interested in giving to Friendicoes, there is information on their website. Every little bit helps, especially in India where a dollar goes a long way, and you could make a dog – or a monkey – very happy.

A city in ruins

As I've mentioned before, I love old buildings. They're among my favorite things to see when I'm traveling. When I traveled in Europe during my junior year abroad, I spent a ton of time exploring castles, ruins, and the like. Living in California, it's often difficult to experience places that are really old. Sure, Mission Dolores in San Francisco was founded in 1776, followed by the city of San Jose in 1777. But neither the church nor the city feel old.

Then I go somewhere like Tughlaqabad, founded in 1321. It's a ruined fort and city that lies in the southern part of Delhi. Modern-day Delhi contains the remnants of a number of "cities" that have risen and fallen there, going as far back as the 11th century. Tughlaqabad is one of those ancient cities.

The overgrown grounds contain the crumbling remains of towers, storehouses, gateways, and residential quarters for both royalty and servants, all contained within a defensive wall that encircles the city. Nearly seven hundred years later, the city functions as a grazing area for cows and donkeys, and its buildings house stray dogs and a troop of rhesus macaques. In fact, it's said that a curse was put on Tughlaqabad when Nizzamudin, a Sufi mystic, became angered by the construction of the fort. The city was doomed to be inhabited only by shepherds – a curse which holds to this day.

Danny hired a guide for the first part of our excursion into the ancient ruins. This fellow pointed out where the queen's bath had been and told us why some of the gateways were so large (so that elephants could pass through). He walked us down into the market, where the narrow corridor was lined with low doorways that led into dark rooms, and showed us the thorn-covered entrance to a kilometer-long tunnel, which supposedly led to another fort across the way.

When the guided tour was over, we spent another couple of hours exploring, particularly looking for monkeys and birds and making sure we saw as much of the city as possible.

Like other historical sites we've been to, there is some writing on the walls, although not as much as we had seen before. Perhaps it's because Tughlaqabad is so far out of the way and doesn't seem to get a lot of visitors.

We then left the fort and crossed the street to the tomb of Ghiyadthu'd-din, the Tughlaq emperor who founded the city and the dynasty. It was quiet and mostly empty, except for a few people who were working on renovating the mausoleum, as well as a few pigeons and parrots.

As our excursion drew to a close, the sun was beginning to set, lighting up the sky in a particularly awesome way.

I will always love ruins and ancient buildings. The next time someone asks me what's my favorite part of traveling, I'll most likely say, "I love finding places that are truly old." Lately, I've been thinking about taking an archaeology class, since I'd love to be able to learn about the spaces where people once lived. In the meantime, though, I'll continue to visit and photograph them... and wonder about the history behind what I'm seeing.

Christmas comes to Vasant Vihar

We hopped on a rickshaw and headed down to south Delhi, to check out a bookstore called Fact & Fiction. (Danny and I have bought a ton of books while we’ve been here. Some people travel and buy jewelry, snow globes, or T-shirts. We visit new cities and buy books.) The shop is located in a rather posh outdoor shopping mall, which I’ve mentioned before. In the early darkness of evening, with the glare of the back-lit billboards shining in your face, the place doesn’t actually look so bad.

After making our purchases, we headed next door to one of the fanciest Pizza Huts I’ve ever eaten at. Instead of a place you’d go for a pitcher of beer and a pepperoni pizza, which would be consumed at a dimly-lit table covered in sticky soda stains while listening to classic rock blaring out of a jukebox, this Pizza Hut had menus, tasteful pizza “art” on the walls, and plush booth seating.

We ordered the seafood appetizer, which included fish sticks and fried prawns. The prawns were the best I’ve had during this entire trip: a crisp breadcrumb coating, with a hint of garlic. It’s sad, actually, that my best prawn experience was at a chain pizza restaurant.

Afterwards, we went outside to find that Santa had arrived. Dressed in the usual red suit and fake beard, St. Nick was sitting in his sleigh, which was, in turn, parked on a small flatbed truck. A female announcer was just saying goodbye to the crowd, and even though Santa wasn’t quite finished shaking hands, the lights on his tree were unceremoniously shut off, perhaps in an attempt to get people to walk away.

Soon there were three Santas on the back of the truck, which made me remark to Danny, “This would never happen at home. How would we explain to the children why there are three Santas?”

Christmas isn’t really a holiday that is celebrated in India, being that there is only a small population of Christians in India and also that it’s not a part of the cultural heritage. In fact, up until this visit to south Delhi, I hadn’t seen Christmas decorations anywhere else in the city. Christmas really seems to be something that has been appropriated by the wealthy. In the west, we like to show off our worldliness by decorating spaces with Tibetan prayer flags, statues of the Buddha or Ganesh, and African musical instruments. Here, I guess, they do a similar thing with fairy lights and inflatable snowmen.

The shops take advantage of Christmas as well, in order to bring in the customers. What better reason to have a sale, and therefore increase sales, than Christmas? And if it involves Santa playing a saxophone, I’m sure they’ll be drawing in more customers than ever.

While I’m really looking forward to going home for Christmas, seeing this purely commercial version here in Delhi left me feeling a little annoyed. It was all the things I can’t stand about the holiday: the mad amounts of shopping, the over-the-top decorations, the jangling pop music, and the lack of the true spirit of Christmas. But then, if the people here are drawing what they know of Christmas from what they see us in the west doing, all they must understand of the holiday is the commercialism, and so that’s what they celebrate – which is an unfortunate result of western influence on Indian culture.

In search of tiger... prawns

One of the things I was especially excited about Kolkata was the fact that many of the dishes that come from West Bengal involve fish and other seafood. Therefore, I was extremely disappointed to discover that someone had forgotten to tell the restaurants in Kolkata that. Nearly every time we ordered prawn dishes, we were told they weren’t available.

For dinner on the first night, we ended up at a place that claimed to be for “families and couples,” but was more like a speakeasy than a restaurant. It was dim, windowless, and definitely a boys’ club – not really for families at all. Nonetheless, we ordered fish Manchurian and prawn chow mein. The waiter returned a few minutes later to tell us that neither was available. We ordered the chicken options instead, which turned out to be really tasty. But still, no fish in a coastal state? What was up with that?

The next day, we went to a Chinese restaurant called Bay Leaf. The prawns in the fried rice were actually tiny bay shrimp, but there were tiger prawns listed on the menu. So the second time we went there, I ordered the golden tiger prawns and prawns wrapped in banana leaves. But no, we were denied yet again – at least the fish Manchurian was available at this place.

One evening, we stopped at a fairly ritzy bar for drinks, and I ordered the golden-fried prawns, which they claimed was their specialty. The batter was too thick, and the prawns had no flavor. They were nothing at all like the reigning champion of fried prawns in India, which are from Sam’s in Colva, Goa. They were also overpriced, as were the beers.

The guidebook listed a restaurant that served prawns “so big they speak lobster.” But after days of having to deal with cheating taxi drivers who didn’t actually know how to take us where we wanted to go and eating at places where prawns weren’t actually available, I decided it wasn’t worth trying to find it. I figured I’d get my shrimp fix when I got back to California and could buy some from the farmers market. So we left Kolkata without any fabulous prawn-eating experiences.

The best thing we did have were kathi rolls. They’re sold from tiny counters on the street, built right into the walls of the buildings. For a whopping Rs. 24 (US$0.50), you get a round of fried bread, wrapped around a filling of fried egg and mutton, along with plenty of onions, chili peppers, and a mildly sweet sauce. You can also get chicken, paneer, or just egg. The fillings differ ever so slightly from counter to counter, but they all follow a basic package of meat and onions inside bread. They are greasy, delicious, and filling. Perfect with a beer, and perfect for taking the edge off the prawn let-down.

In search of tigers

For Danny’s birthday, we went on a tiger safari to the Sunderbans Tiger Reserve. This wildlife park is located to the south of Kolkata in a mangrove forest which is part of the world’s largest river delta. We went with a tour group called Sunderban Tiger Camp on a one-night/two-day adventure. For $120, we got a three-hour bus ride, followed by a two-hour boat ride to a fairly nice “resort,” which was run like a cruise ship. A bell was rung to let us know when to gather for the next boat tour, when it was time for a meal, when the “traditional” entertainment was about to begin, and when it was time to wake up.

Our “cottage” was actually rather cozy. The bed was comfy, they provided a handy kit of toiletries, and there was a little sitting area on the porch, surrounded by lots of tropical foliage. There was no hot running water as promised, though, which I was not happy about (we had to call reception to have someone bring it in a bucket). There was also a creature living above the woven wicker ceiling, which wasn’t so bad except when it felt the need to start a fuss at 5:30AM.

But amidst all the traveling that had to be done to actually get to the tiger reserve, there wasn’t a whole lot of time to actually visit the reserve. On the first day, we were taken on a “luxury” boat to the Mangrove Interpretation Centre, where we stood on a watchtower for all of about ten minutes, looking at wild hogs (see photo below) and spotted deer from a distance. The centre also had a crocodile hatchery, with apparently one crocodile that wasn’t to be seen, as well as a hell of a lot of garbage and a crumbling building that seemed to house nothing at all.

The next day, we took a “thrilling” boat ride through the creeks of the mangrove forest. I have to admit that while it was fun, it wasn’t my idea of thrilling. I kind of expected to be traveling down tiny creeks in a little row boat, instead of a large motor-powered boat through narrow rivers. Danny enjoyed the bird-watching, though, and we did see monitor lizards, macaques, and another spotted deer. We didn’t actually see any tigers. By the Forest Department’s count, there are something like 280 Bengal tigers in the Sunderbans. It’s entirely possible that there had been a tiger or two, hiding in the dense mangrove forest, and that we just couldn’t see them.

The Tiger Camp provided “complimentary” meals, which they claimed would “leave a lingering taste behind, making you crave for more.” The food was good, but it wasn’t as good as all that. Actually, dinner was a disappointment, and breakfast was just bad. Dinner was Indian-Chinese food, which was pretty bland, and breakfast, served on the boat, consisted of cold baked beans, over-boiled eggs, and bread that had little bugs baked into it (ew). Lunches, though, were Indian and another thing entirely. I loved the food for lunch and wished they would have just stuck with serving local dishes. We had dal, rice, and fish curry, which was tasty but involved too much work as the fish was full of tiny bones. Our first lunch included a really nice okra curry, while on the second day, they served little grilled eggplants, which were really good – and I normally don’t like eggplant. The best part was the tomato chutney, which was sweet, gingery, and highly addictive. I’m going to figure out how to replicate the recipe when I get home.

Still, I was disappointed by the lack of traditional Bengali dishes and by the lack of local seafood. Being that we were on the Bay of Bengal, I thought they would serve prawns at least once. The Tiger Camp was definitely making a killing by charging us a ton of money for not a whole lot of return. Clearly, they had even gone for the cheaper, boney fish, rather than spend the money on boneless filets or shellfish.

Overall, it was an enjoyable trip and a nice break from hectic Kolkata. Even though it obviously would have cost more, I wish the two-night/three-day option had been available (there wasn’t going to be one until the weekend, and we were flying out on Monday). Considering the five-hour trip to get out there in the first place, it would have been more worth it to have that extra day to try and see a tiger. It was also really nice to be out in nature, where I could breathe in the scent of salty sea water. The next time I come to India, I definitely need to see more of its natural places and less of the urban ones.

Finding Firpo's

My first glimpse of West Bengal was the ponds and rice paddies outside of Kolkata as the plane made its decent. The nearly full moon was reflected in the water. As we rode in the taxi on our way to the hotel (after standing in line at the pre-paid stand for 45 minutes, since the “taxis were insufficient”), I looked out at the rows of giant billboards that lined the roads, advertising soap, jewelry, insurance, and cell phone providers. They were all lit up with bright lights. It was like being in L.A. – in India.

The city seemed different from any other city I’ve been to India so far. The streets are wide. There are tidy intersections with four-way traffic and lights that people actually appear to obey. The sidewalks are wide, too, and are dotted with trees rather than shit. The air pollution smells like bus exhaust rather than sewage (yes, that’s an improvement). People sleep on these sidewalks under tattered blankets, instead of in squatter’s tents, which I suppose they aren’t allowed to build. There are no cows walking the streets, like there are in every other city and town we’ve been in.

When my grandfather arrived in Calcutta in sixty-five years ago, what did he see first? What did he think of this new place that was so completely different from his home state of Minnesota?

Grandpa was stationed in Calcutta in 1945. I don’t know all the details of his time here. If my memory serves me correctly, he had sailed from the other side of the world to clean guns for the army in India. He ended up getting sick with malaria and spent a lot of time in the hospital. It was obviously an exciting time for him, though, as he still speaks fondly of his army days.

An avid photographer who preferred to take pictures of people, he had taken a handful of photos of local landmarks. On a visit to see my relatives in Minnesota three years ago, I saw his photos for the first time. He went to retrieve the album from the sitting room, and it was clear how happy they made him: he stopped in the doorway, lost in the images of his travels. When I thought about places I wanted to go during this trip, I decided that I wanted to see the city that Grandpa had spent time in. My aunt sent me copies of his photos of Calcutta so that I could try to find the places he’d been and reproduce the pictures.

Since I had neglected to print out the photos before our flight, I drew sketches of them to carry with me. I wanted to take photos that were as close to my grandfather’s originals, so it wasn’t enough just to take a photo of the buildings he’d shot. I wanted the right angles, plus I knew having an idea of what the original buildings looked like would help me find places that didn’t exist anymore.

Firpo’s restaurant, for example. On the photo, Grandpa had written, “Best eating place.” An internet search told me that Firpo’s used to be one the more popular places for G.I. Joes and Janes to hang out, serving dishes that were familiar in the west (including beef, apparently), but that, at some point, the back portion of the building had burned down and the restaurant was never rebuilt. Further research, via the forums on IndiaMike, helped me learn that although the restaurant no longer exists, a market stands in its place, also called Firpo’s. Another similar location was the Red Cross Club, which also doesn’t exist anymore. Once again, with the help of the internet, I found a photo by another G.I., which helped me track down the street name and also that the building is near St. Andrew’s church.

Both places were actually pretty easy to find. Firpo’s Market was right where I was advised it would be, down the street from the Oberoi Grand Hotel. The building looks the way it did back in Grandpa’s day, but now it houses a row of shops aimed at tourists. Firpo’s itself is filled with individual shops and hawkers who followed us down the hall, imploring us to come look at their “pashmina” shawls.

The “Burra” Red Cross Club was also right where I thought it would be, though Danny had to help me see it amidst the trees that have grown up around it and the signs that have been hung up everywhere. He pointed out the awning that led out from the entrance, which I had drawn in my little sketch. The tree that was growing outside the club in Grandpa’s photo was now huge and joined by a number of other trees, which made it almost impossible to see the façade of the building.

He had also taken photos of the burning (crematory) ghats by the Hooghly River and one of the Jain temples located on the other side of the city. In his burning ghat photo, he managed to capture a funeral pyre burning in the foreground. Since his visit, a lot more has been built up around the area that he photographed, including a grassy memorial area and an industrial crematorium. A wall topped with barbed wire lined the street, so I couldn’t get as close as Grandpa did, but then I didn’t really want to, out of respect for the dead and their families. I did manage to photograph the same mandirs in the background as he did, as well as the billowing smoke.

We went to visit the Jain temple twice, and both days it was closed. By the second visit, I was fed up with taxi drivers who cheated us and frustrated that I couldn’t get close to the temple, and I just ended up crying in front of the guard at the gate. Danny and a little old local man convinced the guard to let us in for just a minute, so I could get my shot. Again, it wasn’t exactly the same as Grandpa’s, since I wasn’t allowed to get as close as he had been. But it was still clearly the temple he’d been to. Too bad I didn’t actually get a chance to explore it further.

He had also taken a picture of a street scene and a rooftop scene. I didn’t bother trying to find the exact street corner he’d stood on, instead just snapping current street scenes to illustrate how different things look now. I never did manage to take a rooftop photo, since I couldn’t figure out where I could get up that high to take the photo.

None of the photos I’ve posted here are the replicas of my grandfather’s pictures. I’m hoping to surprise him with a scrapbook of both of our photos, which I will post here in the future when it’s done (so check back sometime in February!).