India, what to say about India? Maybe this will give you a better impression: chai chai chai coffee chai chai, what's your countries? beep beep honk honk, come look in my shop, chai chai, I give you good price, you my special friend, bom shiva, only 5 rupees sir, beep beep, hey psst wanna buy charash? chai chai, I've got Manali cream, really good stuff, honk honk, mweuhh!! One tollar 1500 rupees, hello what's your name? chai chai, okay you my friend 1000 rupees, Splash!! (a cow with diarrhoea shits in front of you), yes rickshaw sir? beep beep, okay you my good friend: 900 rupees, chai chai, honk honk, you my very very good friend, last and best price: 800 rupees, real Manali cream, hello what's your goodname? miep miep, goods is your name? oh Kurts and your surname? prrrriiii, you don't wanna buy real Manali cream? 700 rupees last and best price, chai chai, yes rickshaw, want massage sir? good massage, 600 rupees for Manali cream, last price, honk honk, okay you buy for 200 rupees, beep beep, where you go....
24 hour Full Power!!
So from Pakistan I came into India. Every day there is a closing of the gate ceremony, which attracts people from both sides of the border. The whole ceremony looks very Pythonesque (Monty that is), so absurdly the border-officials parade and salute, it's totally ridiculous. What I found sad is that the people who watch let themselves be used by their government for this silly conflict and really hate the other side.
Amritsar was my first stop in India - for Sikh people this is their holy city. I kind of like these Santa Claus Indians. They are friendly and honest. Their place of worship is the Golden Temple. How much gold has been used for the temple I don't know, but its sight is magnificent (especially at night), so tranquil, it's lying in a big water tank. The tranquillity of the place almost makes you forget that in 1984, 2000 people were killed here in fights between militant Sikhs and the Indian army. Prime Minister, Indira Ghandi, who ordered the action, made one fatal and very stupid mistake: her bodyguards where also Sikhs.
After Amritsar, we went to Dharamsala, the place where the Dalai Lama hangs out since he was kicked out of Tibet by the Chinese. Since the start of the occupation in 1950, more then 1 million Tibetans have been killed, over 6000 monasteries have been destroyed and 46 % of the forests have been cut. But China is a big trading partner so that's okay. What I don't understand is that they have been chosen to host the Olympic games in 2008.
All the Tibetans who live in Dharamsala have fled Tibet by crossing the Himalayas - sometimes they walked for more then 1 month. Some suffered from frostbite and had their fingers and toes amputated.
From Dharamsala I went to Udaipur and from there to Mumbai. I met up with some friends, who I had met on my previous trip, and after that off to Goa. Here I could finally relax from high speed travelling. Just hanging on the beach and doing basically nothing. Unfortunately, there were not as many parties as 2 years ago. It was quite disappointing. One time at a party, I fell into a well. Luckily I managed to grab it with my arms and could lift myself out of it. I don't know deep it was, but my feet felt nothing.
In Goa I also heard the terrible news of the earthquake in Bam (this is, by the way, the place where they served me the pizza with the sausage - I hope this has nothing to do with it). It's very strange to realise that I had been there just less then 2 months ago and that most of the people who had been walking around then, were now dead. Really freaky.
I changed the Fred Flinstone scenery of Hampi for the laidback beaches of Gokarna. In Gokarna, days drift away like clouds (if there would be any). Here I heard the news that the bank, which was supposed to send my bankcard (which I lost 4 to 5 months ago in Romania), sent an empty envelope instead. There was no time anymore to send a new one to my friend who came over to India. I seriously think there is some great mysterious power who doesn't want me having my bankcard back. A strange feeling came over me, a feeling I hadn't felt for over 6 months: stress. Stress is not good, especially not when you are in a supposedly stress free place, like for instance a tropical beach. Luckily the stress didn't last long and I sank back in my relaxed travelling mood. I suppose the charash had something to do with that.
After Gokarna I went back to Anjuna to find the place (and especially the hotel I was staying in) taken over by all types of low-lifes. My neighbour for instance started and ended the day in a complete state of drunkenness. He's a British Indian who has a whisky shop in London. I could hear him mumbling in his room all the time. One night he set up a fight between a junkie (well at least he looked and acted like one) and Rocky (one of the regulars in the gurubar who is always involved in money getting lost). How he did it, I don't know. But he said to the junkie that he fucks his sister, or something in that category, and the junkie gets aggressive towards Rocky. Rocky who's talking with somebody, gets aggressive towards the junkie and almost smashes his face in with a bottle. But everything cools down and Rocky goes on talking to his partner like nothing happened.
Also I saw 2 French "la vie bas" - one who juggles with karate sticks and eats leftovers from other guests, but still has enough money to buy dope (life is all a matter of priorities) and the other one who clearly (well in his case, not so clearly probably) lost the way, even more then "Le Bruce Lee". Enormously fascinating to see all this, but time to move on.
So now I'm in Hampi, one of my favourite places in India. Big boulders and palm trees create a fascinating landscape which make you stay longer than you had planned (this is day 10). One day I was sitting on a terrace and a friend pointed to something walking just next to my leg: a scorpion. I was up in a fraction of a second. I also had monkeys walking over my head on a few occasions. When I took a picture of this, the monkey saw himself on my Lcd-screen and walked down my arm towards the screen and touched it with his little monkey finger. I took maybe 200 pictures of the monkeys (the advantage of a digital camera, you can just go on shooting); they are so fascinating, so close to humans. The young ones look like very old men with their wrinkled faces. In the monkey temple I met a Hare Krishna dude. Somebody was preparing a chillum. "They are smoking" he said in an accusing way. "Shiva also smoked", I said. "Yes, but you're not Shiva, are you?" was his reply. Later on, he was talking about what the monkeys had been in their previous lives - in a way he was telling the truth. I really don't get it with these wannabe Hindus; I think when they are born, they have had a lack of oxygen or something. I mean if you're born here, okay, I can understand you believe some of this Hindu stuff, how unbelievable it may be, but as a Western guy, you really don't have any excuse. Well enough about this, I'm about to take a bus to Gokarna. Kurt It's I think about one month now since I wrote my last message, so time for a update. During this one month, I only got violent with my fellow Indians twice (I have given up on peaceful resistance - sorry Gandhi). Also, beggars see the train as a perfect "working" place (the customer/client/victim cannot walk away - that's probably why). In one hour, I had 2 cripples, 2 small boys, one woman (without a baby this time) and one eunuch who badly needed a shave. Now I think: do you need a shave after being castrated? Is there anyone who knows the answer? Has nobody had experience with this? The eunuchs are mostly very irritating. I can understand that when you’ve lost your balls you start to behave differently, but still, don't bother me with it. Talking about beggars and their workplace: In Mysore I had a guy come into my hotel room and ask 10 rupees for food. I couldn't believe my ears and asked him, friendlily, to fuck off. It's not that I don't give to beggars; usually I give sometimes to the crippled, lepers (in case they have a hands-free cell phone, I won’t) and very old, sad looking people, assuming they are beggars. Not always. Just when I feel like it. This is the best way to approach the whole begging thing, I think. You can't give everybody something: I would have been home by now, still crying my guts out about all these sad people in this sad country. Also, I suspect many beggars went to study drama after they graduated (or maybe it was a major in beggars’ university). Their sad expressions almost look real (maybe it is, who's to tell?) With children it's easy: when they look sad and you start playing with them, like touching their nose or stroking through their hair or throwing them in the air (and catching them again of course), every time (well almost every time) they start laughing. I never tried this with the grown ups - maybe I should. Right now, there is a group of university students behaving like small children. Doing sing-a-longs very loudly, clapping, shouting etc. Everybody around is irritated. But since I already have a reputation as a violent mad traveller with a fellow traveller (she saw me removing the guy from the train yesterday), I decide not to interfere and let them do whatever makes them happy, while I dip myself under a sea of tranquillity. Enough about train travelling in India (which sometimes looks more like a freak show on wheels); let me start where I finished last time. I changed the Fred Flinstone scenery of Hampi for the laidback beaches of Gokarna. In Gokarna, days drift away like clouds (if there would be any). Here I heard the news that the bank, which was supposed to send my bankcard (which I lost 4 to 5 months ago in Romania), sent an empty envelope instead. There was no time anymore to send a new one to my friend who came over to India. I seriously think there is some great mysterious power who doesn't want me having my bankcard back. A strange feeling came over me, a feeling I hadn't felt for over 6 months: stress. Stress is not good, especially not when you are in a supposedly stress free place, like for instance a tropical beach. Luckily the stress didn't last long and I sank back in my relaxed travelling mood. I suppose the charash had something to do with that. I take several buses and one train to Mangalore, getting irritated by the littering people in the train. I wonder what's going on in their minds? Probably not a lot. I know it's complete ignorance, but I can't take it. What would they say if I would come with a big garbage truck and would empty it in their temple? The problem is that the people who were throwing things out of the train were very friendly, so you cannot really hate them. While being in Mangalore I really have the feeling that one of these days I'm gonna seriously injure an Indian. I have never fought but I'm eager to start a fight. I mean you have to try everything once in your life don't you? (Exceptions made for heroin and gay sex) Luckily this feeling also vanishes quickly and I start appreciating my fellow Indian beings very strongly again. Such kind and genuine people. I'm not saying this sarcastically, am I? The second night in Mangalore, I found out that I have been travelling exactly for 6 months. Time for a celebration. Except there was nobody to celebrate with, so off to bed early instead. Cochin was relaxed, but nothing more than that. There is a Dutch graveyard (which was closed) and some Dutch houses (with typical Dutch farmer doors). The Dutch used Cochin probably as a stopover point on their way to Indonesia to rob it empty (and of course to bring Christianity there). In Cochin, I found a flyer about a "permafarm" run by "artist Joshe". In very crappy English, a place was described where you could: go trekking, enjoy the "endless" paddy fields and banana plantations, and "become a poet or painter in 2 days"; western, Indian and natural toilet facilities are available; also "She's international art centre" is mentioned - it consists of an art studio and gallery. "Gallery includes about 2000 genuine paintings, 500 telepathic (?) paintings only in the world." Art and meditation classes are available. Also "special dialogues about alchemy especially grass, liquor and smokes for meditational and creative purpuesses. In our faculty we have scholars of astrology, palmistry, face readers, leaf scientists and massagers" Apart from the astrology, palmistry, face readers, and leaf scientists it sounded good. You could also do colour therapy, memory therapy, tension and stress management, family counselling and floatation, pet- and plant therapy. I just wanted to see the place. And boy what an imagination this guy had. When I got there, I found a guy, 34 years old, living with his parents on the "permafarm" (whatever perma means) doing mostly sleeping meditation sessions. He is convinced he is a great artist. On the door of his room, "She's international art galerie and studio" (I suspect him to use this name to attract Western women) is written "The great artist Joshe". I have to admit that some of his paintings where nice, but that the rest (around 90 %) weren't. They were really shit actually (but hey I'm not an art critic, so what do I know?) In his portfolio he had a letter from Tate gallery in which they thank him for the examples, that they found them interesting (amusing is maybe a better description), but that because of cut downs and some other reason I cannot recall they were not able to buy any work. Later on, he also told me he wanted to start a hostel but that this would be not good, "because I'm an artist". I wanted to advice him to focus more on a career in tourism rather then one in art, but I didn't. So it was a kind of disappointing experience (the first hours or so). But the Artist is a funny and remarkable figure, so I had a good time anyway. We went to the riverside where I saw the nicest sunset ever (although I did in fact not see the sun going down on the horizon because of all the trees); the sky and its reflection in the river, which was completely filled with fluffy clouds turning totally pink at the end. After the sunset, we had some drinks in a toddy bar. Toddy is a kind of coconut beer and very tasty. The owner of the bar was a god-fearing communist (this is India, so it's possible). There are many communists in South India, but I don't know if they all believe in God. Kurt
bye
One time when a guy touched the breast of a female friend, I grabbed him at his throat (felt really good actually) and yesterday I pushed away a guy who was trying to rip me off. He was very helpful with my train ticket (Indian railways are a bigger mystery then the oh so mysterious Hindu religion). I had a seat ticket and this was changed to a sleeper ticket (which I didn't understand, but surely didn't regret - the price was also the same) and he was helping me out. After a while he started mumbling something about 200 rupees extra that I had to pay (to him of course). When people can talk normally before and start mumbling afterwards you know it's fishy. I gave him 10 rupees for helping me out, but he was not satisfied. "Okay forget it", I thought and grabbed the money back. He followed me back to the train insisting I gave him the 200 rupees. At that moment, I decided to step out of the carriage and help him leave the platform (pacifist that I am - haha).
I'm now in the train from Bangalore (India's silicon valley; in the internet shop the first 2 computers didn't work) to Mumbai.
Train-travelling in India is quite different from train-travelling elsewhere. For one thing, almost every minute a guy is walking by saying, in a rather peculiar raspy way: "chai, chai, coffee, chai" or whatever he is selling. It almost sounds like they are repeating mantras. Vendors in India think it's necessary to say something with a funny, strange intonation. I wonder if when they come home, they still talk in the same tone or that they switch to normal again (if they can).
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