After the last hectic
month at work, I was more than ready for a change of scene. And change is what
I got!
The flight with Qatar
airways was uneventful. While the airport in Doha was unimpressive, I cannot
say the same for IGA – Indira Gandhi Airport – in Delhi. The efficiency was
mind-boggling, with pleasant immigration officials and affordable food. In an
airport? You bet. I headed straight to WH Smith and picked up four juicy
novels. (White Tiger, The God of Small Things, among others) Holidays are my
time to binge read. For a mere twenty dollars I had four weighty novels in
hand. I ignored the Cadbury’s Peppermint Crisp (a favourite) and settled for
bottled water and a little box of Tropicana fruit juice. The juice was a dollar
and the water fifty cents. In an airport, this is almost unheard of. I have
decided to use airport food prices as a measurement of civility. Iran and
India, in my mind, are civilized because they do not try to gauge the traveler.
I had a two-hour wait before boarding a domestic flight to Chandigarh; the
transition from international to domestic could not have been any smoother. The
airport has been voted second best in the world for its passenger capacity and
I think it is a title well deserved.
The flight to
Chandigarh was a just a short hop – and hour or so – and I was at the doorway
to the Himalayan foothills. The modern airport was a total surprise and the wide,
empty streets even more of a surprise. This city was designed by the designer
of the Eiffel Tower, including the art gallery. So, of course, I was determined
to make a visit there. This, of course, did not fail to impress. Though I was
more than impressed by the Thai fusion cuisine in the Hotel Icon restaurant
where I hung my hat for the night. The price was a little steep, by Indian
standards, but I was determined to splurge for my first night. With my
exhaustion, and the immune system working full-steam because of air travel and
air-conditioned airports, I am always a little nervous after a long journey.
This caution paid off, and I enjoyed a great first day in India. A bicycle
rickshaw to my hotel cost 25 cents; I couldn’t accept it, especially when I saw
how the little rider was sweating to carry this big boy along the four
kilometer stretch. I gave him double; 50 cents.
After settling down in
the hotel, I wanted to be proactive and ensure a ride on the narrow guage steam
train into the mountain city of Shimla – a six-hour journey to the former
summer capital of the Brits when once they ruled the country. No luck. All the
tickets were sold old and I had to look for an alternative; I decided to take a
local bus – the type you see in movies – gaudy, sitting high, lop-sided, packed
to the gills. Oh what fun. Halfway there, all the passengers were forced to get
out and get into another bus; no discussion, no refund. By late afternoon, I
arrived in Shimla, shrouded in mist, nestled on the steep mountains covered in
white pine trees. A beautiful city, indeed. I spent three days here before
heading to the Hotel Hot Springs (Tattapani) – the Indian word literally means
Hot Water. Once again, I splurged for two nights at the spa resort, indulging
in great food and hospitality for a fairly reasonable price. The drive to
Tattapani was a dream with the pouring rain, the treacherous roads with hairpin
bends, weaving their way through the mountains. Tattapani, unlike Shimla, was
warm and I even had to use the air conditioner in the evenings. The owner of
the hotel is married to an Italian woman, and her touch can be seen and felt in
the aesthetic of the place; so, it was a surprise.
Leaving Tattapani, I
got my first shock on my holiday. What looked fairly do-able on google turned
into a nightmare. Google maps do not show the gradients of mountain roads. Let’s
just say that my heart sat in the throat for a goodly portion on the journey as
the bus negotiated the treacherous tracks, now slippery from the rains and
since the road could only accommodate one vehicle at a time, there was constant
negotiating when a vehicle came from the opposite direction. I now know what
the high pressured horns with ear-splitting vehemence are an absolute
necessity. I was very impressed at the ease and politeness with which right of
way was given; the more endangered driver was always (always) given the
opportunity to proceed, regardless of who had ‘arrived’ at the bend first! More than once, we reversed downhill! Keep in
mind that we were riding at altitudes exceeding 3000 metres! (These are the
Himalayan foothills!) I had my camera ready, but I took very few photos because
I was breathing too deeply. I have a new respect for the drivers and the buses.
Frankly, I did not believe that the bus would carry us up and along those mountains.
A six-hour ride for two dollars all the way to the town of Mani. From Mani, I
got another bus all the way to Manali. Once again, the mountain views along the
River Beal were more than spectacular. Waterfall after waterfall, the road
hugging the river bank for most of the journey. It was a thrill to know that I
had left the dirt of Kampala and I was feeling blessed for having made a
decision to drive into the mountains. Indeed, it was exactly what I needed.
On reaching the
entrance to Drifter’s Inn, I was met by Nishant, the owner, with a smile, a
hug, and air of concern because it was already 8 p.m. I had spent the entire
day traveling. One Kingfisher later (local Himalayan beer) and a plate fiull of
yummy garlic-chilli fries later, I knew I had come to the right place. I was
only supposed to stay for 3 days, but I extended it by five days. Need I explain? Perhaps the walks through apple
orchards, or the apricots plucked fresh from the tree. Or, the hot mineral
water springs, the snow-capped mountains, the yak cheese, the baked goods at the
German bakery? The snake charmers, the weaver busy on looms, the local tribal
women escorting their yaks or cows to pasture, the Swiss-style lodges hugging
the misted mountains? The thrill of paragliding for thirty minutes in the Himalayan foothills? The affordable full body ayurvedic massages? Let’s just say it was difficult to say goodbye to Nishant
and the staff at Drifter’s. They treated me like part of family; all for 1100
rupees a night; read that as 20 dollars! Yes, holidays in India are affordable.
So, does that explain the huge influx of Israeli’s? Or is that because of easy
access to weed?! Methinks the latter, considering the number of times I was
propositioned by stoned cute Israeli girls! LOL So, with great reluctance, I
took an overnight bus to Delhi. Heeding Nishant’s advice, I purchased the seat
beside me, so I was able to stretch and sleep with ease. The air-conditioned coach
is as good as any Greyhound back home.
Early morning found me
in Delhi, just in time to witness the vagrants sleeping on the streets,
sidewalks, medians, underpasses. You name a place, there were people in various
states of repose or sleep. A sight to behold. The Delhi of pictures often shown
for effect; but, as always, every city has two faces. In India, this is as true
as ever, certainly from what I was able to see in just over five weeks. As a
tourist, I have the luxury of editing my experience, and choosing to see and
experience only what I desire. My desire in Delhi? Glad you asked. Comfort, new
glasses, a trip to the Taj Mahal. A small order! Comfort I got a-plenty at the
plush Park Delhi Hotel, conveniently located in colonial Connaught Place. The
next day, I made my way to the Taj Mahal in Agra and returned to find my new
glasses ready. I love India! The glasses were more expensive than those I got
in Iran, but still just a fraction of what they would cost back home; that came
with a free eye check to get my new prescription. For 300 dollars I have two
new pairs of specs with transition multifocal lenses. Yippee. My left eye is
especially happy for the new lens! With new glasses on head, I boarded the
sparkling new metro/subway and arrived at IGA – Indira Gandhi Airport in less
than 30 hassle-free minutes, ready to fly to the south of India.
Everyone I met in the
north told me that I would be surprised by the difference between south and
north. The biggest difference? You would never guess. In the north, people
thought I am Indian. Perhaps from Goa?! In the south, they were pretty confident
that I was a visiting tourist! Ok, there were other differences. The food, to
begin. After an unexpected overnighter in Bangalore – due to the monsoon rains
which delayed my flight, causing me to lose my connection to Kochi in Kerala –
I finally arrived at the Fort House Hotel in Fort Kochi. Here, the weather is
decidedly sub-tropical and, despite the rain, the climate is temperate with
coconut palms all over the place. Reminded me a little of Thailand. The hotel
was magnificent; beautifully appointed, with the happy marriage of black granite
and terracotta, and tasteful sculptures in spot lit niches. A very comfortable
place where I was very happy to stay for three nights, despite the relatively
steep price tag of $40 per night! J While there, I had a chance to visit the backwaters of Allepey.
A first for me, exploring a watery environment. A different world where people
live around and on water. Impressive. I have never seen so many coconut
plantations. In fact, green is the order of the day. India is much greener than
I expected.
From Kochi, I headed
into Tamil Nadu. Lots of churches; the same in Kerala. The presence of the
church cannot be ignored. Even saw a
Shanmugam street downtown...that's Fr Reggie's last name! And the South Indian
food seemed a lot like the Indian food I know. As expected, I ate lots of
seafood, crab curry, jumbo tiger prawns, and puttu! Yes, puttu! Now what is
puttu? you may ask. OK, so puttu
is made steamed rice flour and coconut, steamed in a special puttu maker (check
google images), and it turns out to be a crumbly carbohydrate staple enjoyed in
Kerala. Now, back in Uganda, I am kicking myself for not purchasing a puttu
maker. I was reluctant to carry the darn thing in my baggage (You see, maybe I
have changed a little!), and refused to buy one, even though it was all of 260
rupees - 5 dollars! Foolishly thought I would find one in Uganda, given the
large number of Indians here. No luck.
In the mountains of
Tamil Nadu (the Tamils supposedly have their origins in Africa when the
continents split...they look it, I must say), I took a toy train - narrow gauge
steam train on a six hour ride in some of the most stunning mountain scenery,
passing stations called Runneymede and other recognizable English names, the
mountains covered in tea plantations and other super green vegetation. Truly
stunning. From, there, I finally made it to the beach in Kovalam and parked by
bum for eight days, cutting out a trip to the spice forests of Wayanad. I was a
little tired of buses and trains. The large city close by, formerly called Trivandrum,
now Thiruvananthpuram. It has some stunning colonial architecture. In fact, I
was continuously astounded by the British legacy and the presence of the
Christian Church, both Orthodox and Catholic. (Thomas, one of the Apostles,
took Christianity to India, even before it got into Europe...and Christ, when
he disappeared in the 'desert' is thought to have gone into the Himalayan
mountain area...there are many legends and stories here...I digress) So, Saint
Thomas is a biggie here.
I also got a chance to
take a train to Kanyakumari, the tip of India, where the Indian Ocean meets the
currents from the Bay of Bengal and the Arabian Sea. It is stunning beyond
belief.
Finally, I ended my
stay in Bombay - everyone still calls it that...instead of Mumbai. And the
Victoria Terminus (train station) is an architectural masterpiece...and
testament to the station building philosophy of the time. Of course, it also
has a new name, but don't bother using it because everyone calls it VT! I
wished I had planned a longer stay in Mumbai - I was afraid that it would just
be a big city! No, it is an amazing city and I enjoyed the short time there,
rain notwithstanding.
All in all, it was an
amazing summer vacation - and I would do it again if I had the opportunity! Wish
I had a better camera - even with my bad eyes, I can see that the quality of my
pics has deteriorated.
I have been back in
Kampala for a week. Spent four days attending a Pan African Music Educators
Conference. Great opportunity. Met musicians from the African continent and had
some good networking opportunities. This afternoon, I met with an artist friend,
Ronex, to discuss and design the poster and publicity flyer for "Mango
Roses" - a musical which I am directing at the National Theatre at the end
of October. Sponsored by KADS (Kampala Amateur Dramatic Society), I am
enlisting the expertise of Maryann Ivan (my friend from Broadway New York) to
create an original musical based on a local story. I spent a good chunk of
yesterday working on that...apart from getting ready to fly to Kigali (Rwanda)
tomorrow. I have a job interview at Green Hills Academy in Kigali...a prospect
for next year. I plan to stay until Thursday, just to enjoy a clean, green city
- unlike Kampala!
School starts in a
week. It's hard to believe that I have been away for one year!
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