India: Images 87

A special presentation from the Department of Silly Walks in coorporation with the Department of Silly Hats. The border closing ceremony, at the Indian/Pakistan border in all its silliness.

The Department of Silly Hats really outdid themselves this year at the Republic Day Parade.

Angkor Wat

I wrote this a year ago when I was in Cambodia and never got around to posting it until now.

My visit to Angkor Wat, you can say, began with my visits to Borobudur and Prambanan, in Indonesia. My guide book said that Borobudur ranks with Angkor Wat as one of the great Southeast Asian monuments. My impression of Borobudur was that it was big, no huge, and had lots of carvings on the walls, but I didn't really find it to be that interesting. Prambanan, “the grandest and most evocative Hindu temple complex in Java,” was to me lots of piles of rocks. Truth is, I'm not really into temples. Big temples, small temples, new temples, old temples...ho hum... But no one visits Cambodia without visiting Angkor Wat. It is one of those things you must do.

While in Vientiane, Laos, I visited the Cambodian Embassy to apply for a visa. I had walked 45 minutes in the heat, only to arrive during their 3-hour lunch break. I sat outside for two hours, until they re-opened. But then I was told that they accept applications in the morning. I would have to return the next morning. Then it started to rain, the heavy downpour that is common in this area. So I sat in the embassy for an hour waiting for the rain to stop. Not the best way to spend one's birthday!

In the embassy, there is a large aerial photo of Angkor Wat hanging on the wall. One look at this photo and I was thinking that this will be Borobudur all over again. I started to consider not going to Cambodia, going back to Thailand or staying longer in Laos. But the next morning I rented a bicycle and headed for the embassy early in the morning.

After spending one week in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, I got on a bus to Siem Reap, the city closest to Angkor Wat, armed with a plan: to visit Angkor Wat every day for a week, until I understand what was so special about it. That plan was quickly thrown out as I learned a few things. First, the passes cost more than I expected. A one-day pass is $20. A 3-day pass is $40. A 6-day pass is $60. Also, there is far more than just Angkor Wat. It is the Angkor Archaeological Park, with more than 45 temples. I needed a real plan of attack.

A week passed, and I still didn't have a plan. Finally, one morning, I jumped on the bike and rode out to the park, not knowing which pass I would get. I bought the 3-day pass. I looked at the park map and quickly decided to do a loop that covered most of the major temples - except Angkor Wat & Bayon, the two “must see” temples in the park. I would do Bayon on day 2 and Angkor Wat on day 3.

In a very full day, I visited 9 temples and 2 sites of interest. By midday, while at Preah Khan, a huge monastic complex with carvings on the walls, I began to appreciate these temples. I imagined what it must have been like for the European explorers who re-discovered these temples deep inside the jungles. Here is evidence that back in the 10th - 13th centuries, there was a great civilization here. And they had a thing for building large stone temples.

At every temple, there were people aggressively selling food, drinks, t-shirts, bracelets, etc. To them, the word “no” has a completely different meaning. It means maybe he wants something else or maybe a lower price. And there were the kids. They try to guilt you into buying something. "If you don't buy, it means you don't like Cambodia," one girl told me. But I don't need a bracelet, much less 10 bracelets – even if they cost just $1. She forced me to take a bracelet by putting it in the bike's basket and refusing to take it back. When I left without buying anything, she put on her sad, nearly crying face. Later, after I had finished with the temples, I returned to buy a can of pop from her. But she pulled a fast one on me. She said didn't have enough money to make change, so I had to buy 2 cans at twice what they cost in town.

The next day, I was exhausted. I got up late and didn't get to the park until midday. On this day I would visit three temples, including the must see Bayon. Before I got to Bayon, I felt good about my approach to the temples. I had heard a few people grumbling because they had seen Angkor Wat & Bayon first, and everything after that was just piles of rocks. I had seen the other temples first, enjoyed them and was ready to be dazzled.

But first I had to eat. Before I could think where I would eat, a woman came running out of her restaurant, with a menu, to meet me in the road before anyone else could get me. "I give you good discount because you handsome." It didn't really matter. I was hungry and would eat at the first place I saw. She did give me a discount, and I gave her a tip, by paying the full amount.

The great feeling I had in anticipation of Bayon, soon vanished as I approached. It looked like a large pile of rocks. This was because of the color of the stones. As I got closer, the structure started to reveal itself. Then the huge stone faces, for which it is known, became visible. I decided to take my time and see every part of this temple.

What is amazing about Bayon, isn't the huge stone faces, but the bas relief found on the walls. This temple had far more than all the other temples I had visited. How many years did it take to do this? And how many people were working on it? And how did they keep the story straight? You could spend a lot of time here if you want to understand the significance of what's carved on the walls. That would be too much for me. I was amazed enough without understanding.

I had not planned to visit Angkor Wat on this day, but I had to pass by it on the way back to town. So why not? Besides the guide book said that because Angkor Wat faces west, it is best to have your first view in the afternoon. So I crossed the moat and went through the west gate. The first thing I saw was the scaffolding on the main tower that would ruin any photograph. I thought back to the time I had visited Frank Lloyd Wright's Falling Water and couldn't get any good photos because of scaffolding.

Never mind that... For several minutes, I stood on the walkway between the west gate and the temple, where I could see the full width of the temple unobstructed by the two libraries. What will I find inside this colossal structure - besides tourists? Far more tourists were here than at any of the other temples. So many that they were signs to guide the masses orderly through the temple.

I headed straight for the main tower, intent on climbing the steep stairs. I had become fond of climbing temple stairs. They were typically very steep and made for tiny feet. Usually, there was a “climb at your own risk” sign. But the stairs were closed. The stairs to all the towers were closed. The entire central portion of the temple was closed to visitors. I left with thoughts of “Angkor Wat the hell was that?” and “Angkor Wat a disappointment.”

But I was determined to appreciate this temple, so I'd be back the next day. Because the temple faces the west, the sun rises behind, and it makes a beautiful picture with a silhouette of the temple. When my alarm sounded at 3:30am, I really didn't want to get up. But suddenly, at 3:45, there were fireworks going off in town. So I got up. No one seemed to know why there were fireworks this early in the morning. I needed to leave by 4:30, since I was riding a bicycle, in the dark, with no lights.

I arrived and staked out a spot on the steps of the south library, where I could get a good shot. There were lots of people out for the sunrise. I eavesdropped on the tour guides to hear what good information others were getting. And I waited for this spectacular sunrise. Unfortunately, it was a cloudy morning. So instead of brilliant color, the sky just gradually went from black to light gray, and it was day.

But I pressed on. Angkor Wat was more than just a temple. It was a city surrounded by a wall and a moat. While the temple covers an area of some 40,000 square meters, the outer wall encloses an area of about 820,000 square meters. And the surrounding moat is 190 m wide. I jumped back on the bike, and rode clockwise along a path on the outer perimeter of the moat, then I walked around the outside of the wall, then the inside of the wall, stopping to look at each of the four gates. Then I circled the temple. I continued in this way, one layer at a time, like I was peeling an onion.

Apart from its size the bas relief was really amazing. The best part was being repaired, but what I could see was even better than that at Bayon. I still wished the central part of the temple was not closed, but it was worth taking the time to view it in the way I did. If you chose to visit, remember to leave Angkor Wat for last and peel it like an onion. Perhaps, if I returned to Borobudur now, I would appreciate it more. Prambanan, however, will still be piles of rocks.

I wore the bracelet everyday, until it disappeared a few months ago. Now that I have seen many Hindu temples in India, I may appreciate Prambanan as more than just piles of rocks.

The Obligatory Story about Asian Toilets

I first started writing this story more than a year ago, but it just was not turning out the way I wanted, so I abandoned it. I have decided to give it another try and completely re-write it.

What we call the “bathroom”, is generally referred to as the “toilet”. So the toilet is the place where you go to expel waste and take a bath. It is one room. In one corner, there is the actual toilet, which may be a squat toilet or a sit-down toilet. On one wall, there will be a tap; 2 if you have hot water; 3 if you have a shower. The bathing area is not separate. The entire room is the bathing area. There is a drain in the middle of the room or in a corner. A bucket and cup are standard. There may or may not be a sink. If there is one, it drains onto the floor, so your feet might get wet. All this is generally true of the dirtiest toilets and the cleanest, and throughout Southeast Asia and India – but not Singapore.

Taking a bath is pretty straight forward. If you have a shower, and if it works, you just take a shower. If there is no shower or if it is too cold and hot water is provided in a bucket, then you learn to use the cup to pour water over yourself. This is not so bad, and it saves water. My mother still does this, even though she has showers in her house. I prefer the shower, but I don't really care which I get.

Using the actual toilet, however, is not as straight forward. If you have a sit-down toilet, with a seat, then you do as usual. But too often, they neglect to install the seat. I think you know what that is like. I prefer using a squat toilet rather than a sit-down toilet – with or without a seat – because my skin does not have to touch anything.

I remember the first time I had to use a squat toilet, the 5th of February, 2008, about 1:00am, on the Indonesian island of Sumbawa. I was traveling by bus across Sumbawa, and we stopped at a restaurant for a break. I immediately headed for the toilet, because I suspected that I might have diarrhea. Before I started traveling, I had read the book Going Abroad, by Eva Newman. This book details the various kinds of toilets one can find around the world and how to use them. So I knew how to use a squat toilet.

I rolled up my pant legs to just below my knees, pushed the waist down to just above my knees, placed my feet where they should go, squat … and … I missed. I was mortified. The attendant who collects the money or the next person to come in after me would know that it was I who deposited this liquid mess on the floor behind the toilet! I did my best to wash it all into an open drain which ran along the front of the stalls and left quietly.

The next thing which complicates toilet use is cleaning up afterward. In Asia, people do not use toilet paper. In tourist areas, you can purchase toilet paper in stores or at the hotel reception, but the drain is not meant to take paper, so you'd have to put the used paper in a basket or trash bin next to the toilet. I decided I would do it like the natives.

From my first day in Indonesia, I set out to perfect my washing technique, in the privacy of my own toilet. I should have read a book written by a man, because Eva's instructions seemed very much for a woman. So I came up with my own technique, which I will not detail for you. The last time I told someone, a friend in Malaysia, he laughed and said that's not how it is done. When he described how it is done, I said well that's not going to clean anything. All I will say is that I became very proficient at cleaning myself without getting water everywhere, and my hand doesn't stink afterward.

The cup, is held in the right hand, and the left hand is used for cleaning. That's why it is culturally unacceptable to eat with your left hand or greet people with your left hand. Some places will have a sprayer. If the spray is strong, it will clean you really well, but then you'll be wet all over and come out of the toilet with wet pants.

Recently, I was in a situation where there was no water. On my overnight bus ride from Leh to Srinagar, we stopped at a restaurant. I used the toilet, assuming that the presence of a tap, a bucket, a cup, and water on the floor, meant that there was running water. I opened the tap, and no water came. What to do? I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card, tore it into 4 pieces and used those. If I didn't have that, I would have used money. But many people go outside, in the open, with no water or paper. They just pull up their pants when they're done. That, I am not yet willing to try.

I have become accustomed to the toilet setup here and may even install a squat toilet when I return to the states. The only problem is that they tend to stink, even when they are clean. I would need to find a solution to that first.

So, there you have it, my obligatory story about the Asian toilet.

Real Money Trouble

I have been pretty lucky, that with nearly two years of traveling, I have not had any major crisis, requiring me to sell my things to avoid imprisonment or anything like that. I had brought along a gold chain for that purpose, but then I forgot it in a hotel room in Varanasi. That was like losing $100. I have had a few slight scares, however.

The first came the day I flew to Melbourne, Australia. I had been used to using my credit card for all transactions while I was in New Zealand. I tried make an online booking of a room at the YHA, but my credit card was denied. Then I received an email from the bank, stating that they had deactivated my card because of fraudulent activity.

I spent the rest of the day on the phone trying to clear things up with the bank. Apparently, someone in Atlanta, was attempting to use my credit card number, to make purchases at Walmart. They agreed to send me a new card, to my YHA address in Melbourne. And I switched to cash only transactions from that point onward.

For cash only transactions, I would have to rely on ATM's to withdraw money from my account. While there are ATM's almost everywhere, not every ATM works with every card. I told the story of my experience in Indonesia in Stuck in Labuan Bajo and Leaving Labuan Bajo.

Before I crossed the border from Thailand into Laos, I read in my guide book that there was only one ATM in Laos, and it was located in the capital city Vientiane. So, I stocked up on Thai Bahts, only to find a brand new ATM as I crossed the border. Laos then became the only country where I had to regularly utilize money changers.

In Cambodia, the US dollar is the main currency. The Cambodian currency is used as change for amounts less than $1. There, I exhausted my stash of US dollars, and it did not occur to me to restock before leaving the country, even though I knew the ATM's dispensed US dollars.

During my first week in India, the world economic crisis captured the headlines with the failed US banks. One of the banks that failed was Washington Mutual or WaMu, for short. That was my bank. A slight panic set in. What was going to happen to my money? A couple days later, Chase bought them out. My money was safe. But what about my ATM card?

WaMu's website indicated that there will be a smooth transition. Account numbers will be the same. ATM cards will continue to work. No need to panic. But a few weeks later, I had cause to panic in Ernakulam. I was frantically running from one ATM to another and getting error messages like, “Card not valid” and “Transaction canceled, contact issuing branch”. Eventually, I found an ATM that worked. The State Band of India, SBI, turned out to be the only bank, in India, I could reliably count on to give me money when I wanted it.

In Nepal, I had to delay my departure from Katmandu by one day, because I was once again getting those error messages, and I didn't have enough money to pay for my hotel room. There is an SBI branch in Katmandu, but it accepts only VISA cards. Mine was Mastercard. But the next day, one of the other ATM's worked. It must have been a temporary disruption of service. Katmandu, after all, gets just 4 – 8 hours of electricity a day.

I continued my travels without a care in the world until June 30th, in Chamba. There are two ATM's in Chamba, and they are both at the same SBI location. One said “Card not valid”, the other “Transaction canceled, contact issuing branch”. Same thing the next day. The bank insisted there was nothing wrong with the machines or the communications. Other people had no trouble.

I spent the day in the manager's office trying to get money. “If I show you my bank statement, can I write a check?” “No, we are not authorized to accept personal checks.” “Can I apply for a loan?” “No, we can not give you a loan. You have to be a resident.” “What are my options? Do I have to go out on the streets and beg for money?” “We're sorry, there is really nothing we can do to help you.” For the first time, SBI failed me.

I eventually asked my brother to send me money via Western Union, so I could get out of Chamba. But the question remained. Was it the ATM or was it my card? I decided to go to Dharamsala. This is where the Dalai Lama lives, and lots of tourists visit, so I figured it would be a better place to be to fix whatever was wrong.

On the 4th of July, after checking into a guesthouse, in McLeod Ganj, the “busy little traveler town”, according to my guide book, just north of Dharamsala, I went in search of the SBI ATM. “Card not valid.” So, I asked my brother to check if, by chance, Chase had sent me a new card. He checked and replied that they had, and that my old card would stop working at the end of June. Now, I can't be angry with my brother. It would be unreasonable for me to expect him to check my mail everyday to let me know when something important comes. I couldn't keep up with it, myself, when I was back in Indiana.

That night, I called the bank and explained my situation. They agreed to send me a new card, at my address in McLeod Ganj. I should receive it in 3 – 4 days. 3 – 4 days later, I asked the monks if they had received a package for me. (My guesthouse is run by a Tibetan Buddhist monastery.) After a week, it still had not arrived. I logged into my account and found a message saying they were sorry for the inconvenience, but they could not issue a card to an address outside the US. What?!

I called the bank again. I was told, by the lady on the line, that the card had not yet been sent, but would be sent a a few days to the address on file. No, no no. I explained about my call the previous week. I was put on hold. She came back and said it will be sent to the address in India. I asked her how it will be sent. She said by regular mail. I said no, that will take four weeks, I need it to be expressed. I was put on hold again. A manager came on the phone and said that it had already been sent via FedEx, it was already in India, and she gave me the tracking number.

I felt better. The package was in Chandigargh. I should get it within 2 days. But then I started to wonder, why is it sitting in Chandigargh for 2 days? It was sent on July 6th, arrived in Delhi on the 8th, arrived in Chandigargh on the 9th. It was now the 11th. It does not take 2 – 4 days to travel from Chandigargh to Dharamsala!

I tried contacting FedEx. Finally on the morning of 13th, I got an answer from them. Dharamsala is not on a regular delivery route. I should expect to receive it on the 17th. They will try for the 16th, but definitely by the 17th. So, Dharamsala was not a better place to be. A few hours later, while I was in the shower, there was a knock on the door. It was FedEx delivering my package, 9 days after I requested it. FedEx is not express everywhere, but I had received my card, it worked, and all was well with the world – my world, that is.

India: Images 86

Hey, they put down a tack coat before filling the depressed areas.

I have given up on trying to workout, so I didn't even look inside this gym.

I returned to Dalhousie and took this photo of the view from my hotel. See the burnt out areas.

Sunset in Dalhousie

Yes, more Punjabis in turbans. On weekends, they invade the hill stations in Himachal Pradesh, and drive like maniacs on the narrow winding roads.

India: Images 85

People relaxing in the park, in Chamba.

A temple in Chamba.

This temple had these images, three on each side, but they seemed out of place, like someone added them later.

Lord Shiva

A street scene in Chamba.

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Buddhist rock paintings.

More Buddhist rock paintings.

I don't know what the deal is with these horses, but whenever they returned from giving someone a ride, there were a little too excited.

I dare you to drive around this corner fast and hit me. I own this place.

On the way to Chamba, waiting for a flat tire to be changed.

India: Images 83

On the way back to Srinagar, there was a landslide. We had to wait quite a while for a backhoe to clear the roadway.

On the way back to Jammu. This was the place where I had first met Shabir's brother. This place is known for their cricket bats. And I don't remember its name.

Just across the border in Punjab, military tanks being transported, while we wait for a flat tire to be changed.

My first night in Dalhousie was enlivened by forest fires. The corner of the building, at the left of the photo, was my bathroom. It was a little funny to see them fighting a forest fire with a little pink hose.

Fire coming from another direction. They were up until 5am. I went to bed at 1am. I wasn't worried.

Millionaire Beggar

When I first came to India, my hosts, Dilip & Krishna, advised me to never give to beggars. Beggars, they said, made lots of money, were part of an organized racket, complete with doctors who specialized in maiming, so they could fetch more money.

Should I believe this? Should I just ignore the beggars? Well, that's a difficult thing to do. There are beggars everywhere in India. In every tourist area, at every temple, at every bus or train station, outside every restaurant, and at every ATM, you will find outstretched arms, maimed limbs waving at you, little old ladies pleading for chapati (a type of bread), women with babies, children, or the family, from some far away city, in need of a few thousand rupees to get home.

You may, to ease your conscience, set aside a small sum of money to give everyday. But this does not make you feel any better for two reasons. First, you still have to ignore most of the beggars you see each day, and second, the ones you do give to, look at the money and at you with an expression that says “What's this? Is this all? I can't buy anything with this.”

So I decided, I'm not giving anything. But then I meet a different kind of beggar. “Hi! My friend, where from?” “USA” “Ah! USA, capital, Washington DC.” “Yes, that's correct.” “President Obama – great man, isn't he?” “Yes, indeed.” “Can you buy me dinner. I'm hungry.” “What?” Once they get you talking, it is difficult to shake them. Some ask for money to buy food, but they just hang around tourist areas and beg in this way.

When I was in Malaysia, I met another traveler, who said he had lost his soul in India. He was referring to the callousness he had to develop to ignore begging. I now know what he meant. But then today, while eating in a restaurant, I was flipping thru the newspaper and came across an article about a millionaire beggar. I felt much better after reading it.

This is not the same article. It is from a different news paper, but about the same beggar. Beggar nets Rs 13 lakh in a 30-year "career", from the Hindustan Times.

Abdul Ghali, the 70-year-old ailing beggar who usually wore dirty clothes, has Rs 13 lakh worth deposits besides Rs 80,000 in cash.
Hailing from Tuticorin in Tamil Nadu, Ghali's riches came to light when some locals in Kozhikode ventured to examine his dirty baggage following some suspicion and later handed him over to police early this week.
Following media reports, his son, a software engineer in Chennai, got in touch with the authorities in Kerala and Ghali was handed over to his relatives yesterday, police said.

If my Indian math is correct, 1 lakh is 100,000. So, Rs 13 lakh would be Rs 1,300,000 or about $26,000 USD. Not bad for a beggar. I left the restaurant and saw a man sitting on the side of the street. His legs were cut off below the knees. He was waving the stump at people passing by. I pretended not to see him.

One Last Word and I let it go...

If you thought I was being bit harsh when I said the people of Kashmir "are very willing to believe in any report about police violence against the people", here is an example that happened not long after I left. Read this news report, 13 injured in clashes, grenade attack in Kashmir, from the Times of India.

Pitched battles between a stone-pelting mob and police were witnessed in some localities that left seven persons, including a policeman injured. Trouble started when residents of Maisuma locality blocked the main road after the disappearance of Asrar Mushtaq Dar, a 2nd year student of Islamia College, since Friday.

Then read this report, Attack on cafe exposes vulnerability of ‘posh’ Srinagar, from the Indian Express.

A stunned silence now inhabits Coffea Arabica, Srinagar’s most famous cafe, after a furious mob vandalised it on Wednesday.
The mob’s immediate provocation was the murder of a 19-year-old youth, Asrar Mushtaq, from Maisuma by still unidentified persons. His body was recovered from a graveyard in the downtown city.

Then this report, Passion crime killed Asrar, from the Hindustan Times.

The curious case of Asrar Mushtaq, 20, who went missing on July 3 and was found with his throat slit four days later, was cracked on Tuesday night.
Police informed he was killed by two jealous rivals, who resented his growing friendship with a local girl on the social networking site Orkut.
Mushtaq’s disappearance sparked furious anti government protests in Srinagar, which reached their peak when his body was discovered. The People’s Democratic Party called a three-day bandh as speculation ran rife about his having been illegally
detained and tortured to death by the security forces.

UPDATE: To finally put this topic to rest, here is the Chief Minister in a report in the Times of India.

CM Omar Abdullah on Friday said those who raise a hue and cry whenever something wrong is done by security forces are maintaining a ‘‘stoic silence’’ on
Thursday’s killing of a child and his father by terrorists.

‘‘They prominently organize marches and give ‘chalo calls’ to highlight violation of human rights,’’ he said. And, fairness, morality and respect for human rights demand these elements should raise same voice whenever terrorists kill civilians, he said.