india: June 2009

Goa revisited - batch 3

Jesus and Mary watched over us while we slept in the little house we rented from the (presumably Catholic) Goan in Arambol

inside one of the incredible chapels

and keep in mind--it was about 100 degrees without all those layers!

a feast fit for...gluttonous westerners, I guess! Still though, delish. Nine or so platters of this freshly caught, bought, cooked and seasoned to order seafood. (read below)

Goa revisited - batch 2

inside one of the old cathedrals in Old Goa

on the beach in Anjuna

Goan sunsets were pretty decent.

Easter Sunday in Portuguese!

from the cliffs in Arambol

We spent the next day and a half in Panjim, Goa’s old, Portuguese capital city, and the better part of the day was devoted to figuring out how we were going to get to Kerala. After hunting down about a dozen bus companies, a train ticket scalper and spending an hour in an internet café, searching flights and then trying to sort out two dysfunctional credit cards when we were unable to book online OR on the phone, we finally discovered that the Kingfisher Airline office was mere blocks from where we were. And THEN—after another good hour on the phone with Sam’s incompetent credit card company, we actually ended up getting several thousand rupees sliced off the ticket price for buying them in person. After all of that. Have I mentioned how nothing makes logical sense in this country? Anyway. Ça-va.

We spent the next couple days on the beaches of Arambol with Hakon and his two Norwegian friends, Andi and her friend Hanna from the States, and two other Tagore International students named Jaime and Kayla—swimming, lounging, eating seafood—pretty much exactly what we did last time I was in Goa. One night’s dining was particularly spectacular though; Jaime and I found a restaurant where you order your seafood in the afternoon before the chef heads to the market, and you tell them how you want everything grilled and seasoned for your reservation that night. Our restaurant manager was particularily helpful (perks of sweating out the off-season lull, I think!) and helped Jaime and I decide on the preparations for a spread of red snapper, kingfish, shark, king prawns and a couple other fishes I’ve forgotten the names of. We even had a private balcony set up for us, jutting out of the cliff side and overlooking the beach.

Our sleeping arrangement was pretty sweet as well. Hakon and the Norwegians had met quite possibly the most accommodating Goan, who rented out to us a two bedroom house with TV(!) and a kitchen, which he kept fully stocked with water and beer. Cold beer is such a luxury—even if it’s Indian beer. And when we decided to cram nine people into that tiny house, he happily brought us some extra mattresses for the floor.

I made sure that Sam got to experience the Saturday Nite Baazar in Anjuna as well—and after a fenny toast (his first and last fenny experience) we found the bit of arrogance necessary to haggle down the vendors from their ridiculously high (tourist) prices…and I’d say we made a killing. Being successful at not getting ripped off here is the best feeling.

On the way out of Goa, we stopped for a morning tour of Old Goa, the city where the Portuguese first built their cathedrals.

Sam and Jaime making their way to the top of the cliffs for a view of the sunset

Kayla on the beach being buttered up by the sweetest sweet-talker you could ever meet.

a Hindu Hanuman temple in Panjim

and next door, a Portuguese cathedral

and a pleasant lunch in the quaintest balconey seats in Panjim

The Konkan Railway

Mumbai to Goa via the famous Konkan Railway. 12 hours of sunny, sweltering scenery. (What alliteration--I crack myself up.)

that shirt wasn't white for long

leaving the Victorius Terminus in Mumbai

I can't speak for both of us, but views like this made the daytime train journey worth it!

and this...

why yes, it DID feel like a movie!

Mumbai

Sam had visions of a Wes Andersen Indian train experience, so I shed my thrifty student skin and agreed to let him buy 1st class AC tickets on the Mumbai Express for our overnight journey to Mumbai. And I have to admit—the 3-4 classes in between 1AC and my beloved Sleeper cabins definitely make a difference. We arrived in Mumbai at the Victoria Terminus Station—a massive structure which I would have mistaken for a palace from the outside. I have a friend, Ashish, who lives in Mumbai who graciously offered to take us out for lunch and help us plan an itinerary for our day in the city, so we hopped a cab to his place where we met him, dropped our things off and were escorted to the Wellington Country Club, of which he is a member, to freshen up. Stepping inside the club was an experience I didn’t expect to have while studying abroad; to say we were taken aback would be an understatement. The Club is one of the only two in India of its caliber, with a membership restricted to bloodlines and elites willing to fork out millions; the establishment stopped admitting new members 80 years ago, has no guest rooms and is strictly off-limits to media, so that the Bollywood stars who frequent the poolside can breathe easy. Its grounds have everything—from salons to squash courts to a golf course to the swimming pool we had our fresh lime sodas next to. And the dining area—good Lord—was exactly what you see in the films: high arches and ceilings of dark oak with clusters of white and paisley-cushioned chairs around small oak tables—all overlooking a sprawling green garden framed with hanging lights draped in the trees. Ashish rang a little bell to signal the waiter, and we ordered a variety of dosas, chaat, tandoori chicken, and a dish named after Ashish’s family for lunch while he told us stories about coming to the club as a boy. He also gave us great advice on how to maneuver our way around the city so we could see as much as possible.

The touristy parts of Mumbai were surprisingly easy to navigate—we found the Gateway to India, the Taj Hotel, a local artist art gallery called Jehangir Art Gallery and wandered down the Kala Ghoda till we found a place for dinner recommended by Ashish for its incredible Thalis. A Thali is a meal served on a large silver platter with 7-8 smaller bowls lining the edges, all filled with different curries, chutneys, sambars and rasams. In the middle of the platter, they heap rice, chapattis, and any appetizers they serve. Sounds manageable, right? The trick is, the watchful waiter takes it upon himself to make sure none of the bowls are ever empty, and you have to insist three times when you want them to stop refilling your plate. By the time you get to the salty digestive drinks and accompanying fried-thing-soaked-in-syrup for dessert, you have no idea you’ve actually eaten enough for the next three days—because your plate is still full. The Thali experience is a beautiful thing.

here's a thali visual so you can see why I get so excited by them...

a tad european, right?

me in front of the Taj Hotel

yeah, I posed this--I admit. But it worked--a Britisher in front of the Gateway to India...ooh the symbolism... :)

boats in the bay facing the Gateway

Mumbai itself is a beautiful city—reminding me a little of a crumbling, moist downtown Paris. Dark-stained stone buildings and streets with actual signage and a method to their madness made Mumbai a little less stressful than trudging through the Muslim masses of Hyderabad. We found a cozy little icebox for a break from the (intense!) humidity and were up early for our 7am train to Goa.

A bit jumbled up...but here we are

The following post was written on the 26th of April, in regards to my friend Sam's visit and the vacation we took together to Mumbai, Goa and Kerala. Let's see if I can finish the story...

...In the last few days I have here in Hyderabad, I find myself going over lists of things I don’t want to forget to take care of—taking pictures around campus, visiting Indian friends…but it’s getting awfully hard to find the motivation to step outside and into the sun! I remember scoffing a little when Indians would warn me about how hot it would get towards the end of April—thinking “well it’s a good thing I LOVE hot weather, heheh…” But it is impossible to love these scorching temps. You have to keep your eyes to the ground to avoid burning holes in your retinas, and even when you’re zooming down the hill on your one-speed bike, you’re breathing in hot, scratchy air. Luckily though—there’s zero humidity, so you’re still able to actually inhale. And drama finished. With two finals left to go, I’m getting ready to pack up and meet Charlie and Banks in the North for our final two weeks! Before I leave though, I’m happy to say I’ve found the time to blog about the trip I just returned from with my friend Sam. Seeing India through virgin eyes was a nice reminder of how alien this place is. And I have to say—traveling with a “Britisher” (a.k.a. walking GPS with built in safety monitors and hand sanitizer) provided entertaining commentary. J Sam and I spent his first day in the dusty masses of the old City, where we were befriended by a fellow (Indian) tourist who decided to join adopt our itinerary for the day. We climbed Charminar, toured the Chowmahalla Palace and elbowed a stroll through Laad Bazaar before eating at one of Hyderabad’s oldest restaurants, Hotel Shadab (my first time, and Sam’s new favorite restaurant!). Sam was introduced to (and fell in love with) Biriyani, and I was thrilled to finally find someone who understands my slight obsession with the unassuming dish! (I bought a smallish cookbook that is exclusively biriyanis, so hopefully most of you will understand soon enough.)