We have let you down.
For the last three days, gentle readers, you have asked yourselves 'where are the Armshaws? Why have they not posted their whereabout on their tour? Why are we asking these questions in a totffy accent?' Well, I can answer thusly: in Pondicherry, because our tablet is gone (for now), and I have no idea, respectively. Seriously, you sound conceited, you should probably stop talking like that.
Since leaving Kerala, we've gone into a new state, Tamil Nadu, home of the Tamils (natch) and major homeland of conservative Hindu culture. There are tons of temples here: gorgeous, colourful and intense in ways you don't expect. Hindu temples stand out from mosques and cathedrals, in their relationship to the market. Cathedrals, these days, are pretty standoffish from buying and selling - maybe it's the cultural memory of Jesus in the Temple of Jerusalem tossing money changers out on their collective asses, or of Protestant horror at indulgences and the like, but market-based activities are confined to gift shops and rosary stores in your more traditional Catholic churches. Maybe a sappy picture of Jesus holding a lamb or a small child, but that's about it. Mosques you'll find nestled gently amongst stores and (halal) butcher shops - the meeting house is part of the community, after all, and communities have trade. Nothing shameful about selling, but the mosque itself is a place of God. In Hindu temples, on the other hand, the deals are coming from inside the house. Not only can you buy pictures of Gods and Goddesses, major and minor, prayer beads of sandalwood (or at least a reasonable approximation, since sandalwood is illegal to harvest) and offerings, you can buy toy guns, snacks and a blessing from the temple elephant (trained to nuzzle the generous and ignore the gawkers). That said, it costs nothing to walk around staring at the carvings and pictures, even if non-Hindus are barred from what they call the Sanctus Sanctorum (Latin for Holiest of Holies - don't ask me why they use Latin when I'm sure there's a perfectly good Sanskrit word for it). Anyway, more on one temple in particular later.
Our first stop in TN was Kanyakumari, otherwise known as Cape Comorin - the southernmost tip of India, and the confluence of three major bodies of water: the Arabian Sea to the West, the Bay of Bengal to the East, and the Indian Ocean to the South. Obviously, the place is exceedingly holy, and obviously there is a temple there. Fun fact - men must remove their shirts to go in. Unrelated fun fact: photography is strictly banned. We spent our day walking beside the sea side, past thousands of pilgrims and middle class families on a day out, and joined them in wading out into the small patch of sand that allows you to touch the waters. Unlike everyone else, we didn't go fully in, although we were the only ones with swimsuits, everyone else just splashing about in jeans and khameezes. That doesn't mean we didn't get wet, though - just as we were crossing the narrow concrete walkway towards the beach, the biggest wave of the day came slamming into shore, destroying any hope we had of keeping our shirts dry or of keeping our selves above the fray. Instead, we waded into the surf, and watched the waves drive up the sand and crash into the rocks, taking children and teenagers for short rides backwards and forwards amongst squeals of laughter. It was really lovely.
Afterwards we watched the sunset (Ok, we watched the sun until it disappeared into the omnipresent haze, about a foot above the horizon - the haze is serious business in this particular subcontinent) and then swung by the Gandhi memorial next door. It's a lovely building, with Hindu, Muslim, Christian and Sikh elements blended together, which we know because the director of the memorial himself glad handed us on our way in and insisted on explaining this to us while taking a series of indifferent pictures of us awkwardly standing next to, touching and for all I know defiling the urn that once held the Mahatma's ashes. Then he manoeuvred us into a dark corner before hitting us up for a donation to the orphans of the Tsunami, which went directly into his pockets. I think he was the director. He had a uniform and a whistle, at all events. And those orphans are now 12 at the absolute youngest, but we surrendered some money all the same. At least he spent some time yelling at children to be quiet.
Afterwards, we grabbed a small, but obscenely cheap dinner from a local restaurant, and then went back to the hotel room for an early night. After all, we were getting up early, at 6:30, to see the sunrise!
We woke up at 4:30. Actually, everyone on our tour woke up at 4:30. Actually, everyone in town woke up at 4:30, because the Catholic Cathedral just down the street was blasting Hindi Christmas music over speakers loud enough to wake the dead, before a service that was also blasted over loudspeakers loud enough to wake the dead. Of course, the Hindu monastery on the island just off shore, dedicated to Swami Vivekananda (a Hindu mystic from the late 1800s who had meditated on an Indian Renaissance and united Hindu mythos with notions of social justice) just had to retaliate with overawing loudspeakers of its own, blasting out chants and prayers and songs and an air raid siren, as is only proper.
I admit, there was a time when I found the muezzin an annoyance. Why should Muslims have the right to call the faithful to prayer at 6am, even when people who are not their coreligionists might be inconvenienced? Church bells might be subject to the same complaint, and fair enough - such seizing of the public space is a touchy affair, after all. Once I had these objections: no longer. The muezzin might wake you up at 6, but only for about 10 minutes, and really, is 6am really such an uncivil hour? In contrast, 4:30am is a war crime.
At least we did get up in plenty of time to see the sunrise! Or at least, see the sun rise above the aforementioned haze in the distance. It was very peaceful. Aside from the loudspeakers and air raid sirens. Then we popped down to the hotel restaurant for a quick bite at 7 before we hit the road at 8. We ordered at 7:05. My omelette arrived at 7:45, Emma's Dosa came at 7:53 (and was COLD) and our coffee never arrived at all. That's after it took the waiter 10 minutes to tell us that they couldn't serve us a pot of coffee, as the menu stated, but could only do two cups. Also, they could not make scrambled eggs on toast. I would have to buy an omelette and toast. Also, my knife, which I got 5 minutes after my omelette, was the second filthiest knife in India. I checked - there were no hidden cameras.
I should probably explain something. My wife, my friends, my family will vouch for this: I am not quick to anger. I'm laid back, easygoing, forgiving of others their faults as I hope myself to be forgiven. This goes double at restaurants, having been a waiter. But oh my brethren and sistren, I was angry. After all, the fools at the restaurant had taken up our entire morning, so that we had only two minutes to finish packing before heading down to the truck. So when I crossed the street to the tiny coffee shack and was immediately confronted by a sunglasses salesman literally coming up an blocking my path shouting 'my friend' and waving sunglasses even while I was wearing my sunglasses I snapped and shouted 'absolutely not!'
So should the world beware my wrath.
After a long drive up through TN, we arrived at Madhurai, a town which is hot (37 degrees, feels like 1,000,000), dusty, humid and holds one of the most impressive Temples in all of Southern India, Meenakshi. I'll let the pictures tell the story - our guide told us too much to relate here. Due to my shorts, I was given a dhoti to wear to cover up my legs - they at the height of fashion, and cool to boot.
By the time we got back after sunset, the horrible truth had set in. The early morning, the long drive, the incredible heat and the blazing sun had overcome my defences. I was getting a migraine. It came on slow and steady, and I thought I could tough it out through dinner, but I was wrong. I left the table after an hour, just as my food was arriving, took a painkiller (which dulled the pain enough to fall asleep) and fell asleep. After such a hellish day, when very thing that could have gone wrong went wrong, it was a good nights sleep.
...
Oh crap! We left the tablet in Kanyakumari!!!!
For the last three days, gentle readers, you have asked yourselves 'where are the Armshaws? Why have they not posted their whereabout on their tour? Why are we asking these questions in a totffy accent?' Well, I can answer thusly: in Pondicherry, because our tablet is gone (for now), and I have no idea, respectively. Seriously, you sound conceited, you should probably stop talking like that.
Since leaving Kerala, we've gone into a new state, Tamil Nadu, home of the Tamils (natch) and major homeland of conservative Hindu culture. There are tons of temples here: gorgeous, colourful and intense in ways you don't expect. Hindu temples stand out from mosques and cathedrals, in their relationship to the market. Cathedrals, these days, are pretty standoffish from buying and selling - maybe it's the cultural memory of Jesus in the Temple of Jerusalem tossing money changers out on their collective asses, or of Protestant horror at indulgences and the like, but market-based activities are confined to gift shops and rosary stores in your more traditional Catholic churches. Maybe a sappy picture of Jesus holding a lamb or a small child, but that's about it. Mosques you'll find nestled gently amongst stores and (halal) butcher shops - the meeting house is part of the community, after all, and communities have trade. Nothing shameful about selling, but the mosque itself is a place of God. In Hindu temples, on the other hand, the deals are coming from inside the house. Not only can you buy pictures of Gods and Goddesses, major and minor, prayer beads of sandalwood (or at least a reasonable approximation, since sandalwood is illegal to harvest) and offerings, you can buy toy guns, snacks and a blessing from the temple elephant (trained to nuzzle the generous and ignore the gawkers). That said, it costs nothing to walk around staring at the carvings and pictures, even if non-Hindus are barred from what they call the Sanctus Sanctorum (Latin for Holiest of Holies - don't ask me why they use Latin when I'm sure there's a perfectly good Sanskrit word for it). Anyway, more on one temple in particular later.
Our first stop in TN was Kanyakumari, otherwise known as Cape Comorin - the southernmost tip of India, and the confluence of three major bodies of water: the Arabian Sea to the West, the Bay of Bengal to the East, and the Indian Ocean to the South. Obviously, the place is exceedingly holy, and obviously there is a temple there. Fun fact - men must remove their shirts to go in. Unrelated fun fact: photography is strictly banned. We spent our day walking beside the sea side, past thousands of pilgrims and middle class families on a day out, and joined them in wading out into the small patch of sand that allows you to touch the waters. Unlike everyone else, we didn't go fully in, although we were the only ones with swimsuits, everyone else just splashing about in jeans and khameezes. That doesn't mean we didn't get wet, though - just as we were crossing the narrow concrete walkway towards the beach, the biggest wave of the day came slamming into shore, destroying any hope we had of keeping our shirts dry or of keeping our selves above the fray. Instead, we waded into the surf, and watched the waves drive up the sand and crash into the rocks, taking children and teenagers for short rides backwards and forwards amongst squeals of laughter. It was really lovely.
Afterwards we watched the sunset (Ok, we watched the sun until it disappeared into the omnipresent haze, about a foot above the horizon - the haze is serious business in this particular subcontinent) and then swung by the Gandhi memorial next door. It's a lovely building, with Hindu, Muslim, Christian and Sikh elements blended together, which we know because the director of the memorial himself glad handed us on our way in and insisted on explaining this to us while taking a series of indifferent pictures of us awkwardly standing next to, touching and for all I know defiling the urn that once held the Mahatma's ashes. Then he manoeuvred us into a dark corner before hitting us up for a donation to the orphans of the Tsunami, which went directly into his pockets. I think he was the director. He had a uniform and a whistle, at all events. And those orphans are now 12 at the absolute youngest, but we surrendered some money all the same. At least he spent some time yelling at children to be quiet.
Afterwards, we grabbed a small, but obscenely cheap dinner from a local restaurant, and then went back to the hotel room for an early night. After all, we were getting up early, at 6:30, to see the sunrise!
We woke up at 4:30. Actually, everyone on our tour woke up at 4:30. Actually, everyone in town woke up at 4:30, because the Catholic Cathedral just down the street was blasting Hindi Christmas music over speakers loud enough to wake the dead, before a service that was also blasted over loudspeakers loud enough to wake the dead. Of course, the Hindu monastery on the island just off shore, dedicated to Swami Vivekananda (a Hindu mystic from the late 1800s who had meditated on an Indian Renaissance and united Hindu mythos with notions of social justice) just had to retaliate with overawing loudspeakers of its own, blasting out chants and prayers and songs and an air raid siren, as is only proper.
I admit, there was a time when I found the muezzin an annoyance. Why should Muslims have the right to call the faithful to prayer at 6am, even when people who are not their coreligionists might be inconvenienced? Church bells might be subject to the same complaint, and fair enough - such seizing of the public space is a touchy affair, after all. Once I had these objections: no longer. The muezzin might wake you up at 6, but only for about 10 minutes, and really, is 6am really such an uncivil hour? In contrast, 4:30am is a war crime.
At least we did get up in plenty of time to see the sunrise! Or at least, see the sun rise above the aforementioned haze in the distance. It was very peaceful. Aside from the loudspeakers and air raid sirens. Then we popped down to the hotel restaurant for a quick bite at 7 before we hit the road at 8. We ordered at 7:05. My omelette arrived at 7:45, Emma's Dosa came at 7:53 (and was COLD) and our coffee never arrived at all. That's after it took the waiter 10 minutes to tell us that they couldn't serve us a pot of coffee, as the menu stated, but could only do two cups. Also, they could not make scrambled eggs on toast. I would have to buy an omelette and toast. Also, my knife, which I got 5 minutes after my omelette, was the second filthiest knife in India. I checked - there were no hidden cameras.
I should probably explain something. My wife, my friends, my family will vouch for this: I am not quick to anger. I'm laid back, easygoing, forgiving of others their faults as I hope myself to be forgiven. This goes double at restaurants, having been a waiter. But oh my brethren and sistren, I was angry. After all, the fools at the restaurant had taken up our entire morning, so that we had only two minutes to finish packing before heading down to the truck. So when I crossed the street to the tiny coffee shack and was immediately confronted by a sunglasses salesman literally coming up an blocking my path shouting 'my friend' and waving sunglasses even while I was wearing my sunglasses I snapped and shouted 'absolutely not!'
So should the world beware my wrath.
After a long drive up through TN, we arrived at Madhurai, a town which is hot (37 degrees, feels like 1,000,000), dusty, humid and holds one of the most impressive Temples in all of Southern India, Meenakshi. I'll let the pictures tell the story - our guide told us too much to relate here. Due to my shorts, I was given a dhoti to wear to cover up my legs - they at the height of fashion, and cool to boot.
By the time we got back after sunset, the horrible truth had set in. The early morning, the long drive, the incredible heat and the blazing sun had overcome my defences. I was getting a migraine. It came on slow and steady, and I thought I could tough it out through dinner, but I was wrong. I left the table after an hour, just as my food was arriving, took a painkiller (which dulled the pain enough to fall asleep) and fell asleep. After such a hellish day, when very thing that could have gone wrong went wrong, it was a good nights sleep.
...
Oh crap! We left the tablet in Kanyakumari!!!!
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