Friday, June 27, 2008

The Taj and Varanasi


On Monday February 4th, 2008, I took the 6:10 am Jaipur Gwailor express train to Agra Fort (10:52 scheduled arrival, actual 12pm) so that I could visit the famous Taj Mahal.


My Taj verdict: weak to okay. Certainly from the back, the site is very nice: wide bend in the river, green forest area on the other side. But, the scale of the structure was not impressive (as it seems in photos), the marble pieces not so well chosen, and the reflecting pools lacked sparkle. It's a check mark on the preverbial to-do list. But, I would say that the real reward of a visit here is found through observation of the Indian families in their finest dress posing in front of their national shrine. It is known for being a symbol of Love, and because so many people come here with Love on their mind, the place does have a special feeling.
This might help to put its size in perspective: it is about 186 ft tall, St. Peter's Basilica is 452 ft., and Chartres Cathedral is over 350 ft. high. In layman (prole) terms: if they build a Taj in Las Vegas, it would be the only copy there that is bigger than the original. Yes, I know, it is really hard to believe there isn't a Vegas Taj already (with Russell Peters performing nightly).
The bottom line: The Taj Mahal attracts from 2 to 4 million visitors annually, with more than 200,000 from overseas. Entry Fee for Foreign Nationals : 750 Rs., Entry Fee For Indian Tourists : 20 Rs. I did the math: each year this place takes in 150 million rupees from foreigners, and 80 million rupees from Indians.


Milling about the site are many photographers there to capture the moment for you (on film, no less and get you the prints in less than an hour). This was the only time in India hawkers avoided me (and the other camera ladened foreigners), and focussed on the natives. This isn't completely true, because there are plenty of men wandering about the site about who try and become your personal "guide", which includes showing you where to stand to take pictures so that your own picture will look just like the one you've seen a hundred times before.


"Look, I am holding the dome up with my fingers!"
(It may be silly, but least my hair isn't orange)


Here are some notes I made while on site (notes in brackets added today for this blog):
I am sitting outside the south portal of the monument. I was not prepared for the smell of stinky feet that IS the interior and also the exterior area of the interior entrance! Unreal. My advice: dab (Vick's) vapour rub under your nose before going inside the Taj! My photo was just taken by an Indian couple (they actually asked this time). Title: "Whitey at the Taj". Must get out of the sun and away from wafting dirty feet smell. Unreal!


A couple of cows at the edge of the Ganges River in Varanasi

If you thought my words on the Taj were harsh, then you may not want to know what I think about Varanasi, or as my friend David Packer so cleverly calls it: Very Nasty.
This is one of the holiest cities for the Hindi. And, because of this, I am not going to say much. (perhaps at a later date on harshmagazine.com)




On my way to Agra Fort train station my bicycle rickshaw was caught up in traffic due to this wedding procession. The lights are powered by a small diesel engine that moves along with the procession.




Because I had given myself ample time to get to the station, I was able to sit back and enjoy the passing festivites. Varanasi is a city of weddings, prayers and cremations; and in the week I spent there one day, I had seen them all.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Jaipur, Rajasthan


After visiting the desert, I decided I would make my way back to Calcutta by train: Jaislamer-Jaipur-Agra-Varanasi-Bodhgaya-Calcutta. I arrived in Jaipur from Jaisalmer at five in the morning, had a nap, and then hired a car and driver for the day to take me to Abanheri, about 95 km from Jaipur, so that I could see the stepwell there. The first stop was a long one, at the train station to get my tickets booked for my chosen route. As a travel incentive for foreigners, at Indian Railway stations we get to use the same ticket window as seniors and freedom fighters. This is meant to be the faster line. However, on this day It took quite a while for my tickets to be processed, because the ticket agent made a mistake and had to re-issue all of the tickets. This delay caused one of the old men waiting in line to get cross with me. This certainly was not the kind of behaviour Ben Kingsley had lead me to expect.


The scenery out the car window alternated between lush green fields and fields of dirt.










Rajasthan is a bit like the Carrara of India; in that it is home to many stone carvers, who can be seen throughout the city of Jaipur and in the surrounding towns.


The next day, back in Jaipur, I visited the City Palace, home to these huge silver vessels.





One of the rooms inside the City Palace that is open to the public.




Looking out from the Palace of the Winds in Jaipur. The small openings were designed so that the women of the palace could look out but not be seen.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Jaisalmer


I decided to travel to the desert in Rajasthan with Adam, who wanted to go there and photograph the stars. So off we went: by plane from Calcutta to Jaipur, then by overnight train to Jaisalmer.


Adam trying to get some zzz's in the morning after a very cold overnight train ride through the desert from Jaipur. He has a copy of V.S. Naipaul's An Area of Darkness on his lap. Dave gave us each a copy and we were both reading it on this trip. I highly recommend it if you are at all interested in India.
We hadn't anticipated the degree of cold air, or the fact that in sleeper class you have to bring your own blankets. So, basically, I spent the coldest night of my life in India. At least I didn't get frostbitten, like I did in Kenya years ago. I can't wait to be back in Canada where these things don't happen to me.


Kudos to Adam for finding this guest house with a view. It is called the Fifu Guest House, and was nice, new-ish and clean, with hot showers to boot. What luxury!


I liked Jaisalmer because it was a living fort city, even if the holy cow does seem to have the run of the place.


San getting a yard of sweet milk inside the fort city of Jaisalmer. We met San who was visiting from Bangkok, and Mark from Australia, on the train from Jaipur. We all decided to stay at Fifu, and I went on a desert safari with San and Mark.


Looking out across the desert in western India, about an hour from Jaisalmer


Mark and San on their camels


The first time I tried to upload this picture my web browser started going all wonky like its wires were crossed. Perhaps it's because there are so many things that seem wrong in this photograph: I am wearing a hoody with a sports team's colours, I am wearing a wool scarf in the desert, and yes, I do, in fact, have a mustache. I left the 'stache in India.

Calcutta Vintage Car Rally


When it comes to machines, I believe in the afterlife. Specifically, I believe in the resurrection of old cars, trucks and motorbikes that have had life breathed back into them by their loving owner's passion and hard work. And, when these re-born vehicles and their owners congregate, I go to worship; even if it means getting out of bed at 7 am on a Sunday morning. January 20, 2007 A.D. was one such morning, and found me headed towards The Statesman newspaper's annual vintage car rally in Calcutta. Below, fellow worshippers bow their heads in honour of vintage motorbikes.




This was a true rally, which meant in order to participate you had to run your vehicle through the full driving course that meandered through Calcutta's many diverse neighbourhoods. I think it was a combination of whiteness and precociousness that landed me a seat in this 60's Dodge convertible, which just happened to be the closest thing to a muscle car in the whole rally. The car belonged to Mr. Mukerjee, who was driving his 1927 Austin Seven with his wife, while his driver drove the Dodge. The navigator had a computer in his lap and had figured out what our speed should be for each section of the course. With such advanced technology, how could we not win?


Being a Sunday, the roads were relatively quiet.


Mr. Singh is a high priest in the Art of Resurrection. This old Ariel was nothing but a pile of rust before he got to it. The various handlebar levers were all made by hand, cast in bronze, machined, polished, then chrome-plated. Prohibitively expensive at home, but possible in Calcutta.


A flat tire was the first thing standing between our car and Victory. Notice the group of people that instantly surrounded us in this residential neighbourhood. In Calcutta, it seemed that there were always at least 50 people just standing around, ready to give their attention to anything that might pop up.


The second thing to thwart our inevitable victory and champagne celebrations, was the lifting of the car with the jack positioned under the leaf springs (which meant the wheel couldn't drop down low enough to change the tire). I tried explaining this to the driver-cum-mechanic, but no one was listening to me. The same whiteness that opened the door for a ride in the backseat, now rendered me invisible. What could paleface possibly know about fixing a tyre? White people only know how to give orders. And, hey, given the history of India, that is a fair enough judgement. However, in this case it wasn't good judgement, because so far the locals had managed to pry and pull the flat tire out of the wheel well, and now couldn't get the spare on.


After all kinds of bad advice from everyone standing around, except me; they finally listened to this white boy (who happens to own a 60's American muscle car!) and put a second jack in the correct position. By the time this happened, all hopes of a victory lap had vanished. Instead, the crowd of onlookers watched as the spare tyre was bolted on, then hoisted me on their shoulders and sang a touching rendition of Jerusalem that would have made the Choir Master at Westminister Abbey proud. Of course, this was not the case. In fact, I was never even thanked, and sensed that they were annoyed that paleface was right.




As expected, the vintage vehicles were almost all from England, like these three lovely BSAs.


Hand-painted marquees are one of the benefits of not being able to find the original decals.


Sayan, a college student from Dehli snapped this picture of me about a month before we actually met through Sidhartha, who was also part of the college's camera club. As a paleface in India, it is not uncommon to have your picture taken by strangers, usually on a cellphone.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Calcutta


I originally posted this picture without any description, but have since been asked to say what it is. Perhaps some of you may have thought these men piloted my plane to Calcutta. In fact, they are members of a mahboob band, dressed and waiting in front of a closed shop, a quite typical scene on M. Ghandi Road on a Sunday in Calcutta.

Finally, India! The main reason why I decided to buy a Round-the-World ticket. Originally I was going to spend the whole year in Italy, but was convinced by my friend David Trattles to go to India. Once India became part of the equation, it made sense to either travel around the whole globe, or to all the places that began with the letter "I", which didn't seem as appealing. I was tremendously fortunate to have Dave and his friend Jada in residence in Calcutta when I arrived. They booked my room at the Neelam Hotel for me and picked me up at the airport. I'll never forget that nighttime drive from the airport to the city centre. The noise and air pollution was like nothing I'd ever seen or heard before, or since. The taxi headlights lit up a dark fog of diesel exhaust and the horn honking was literally non-stop. And even though it was after 8 pm, there were cars and people and rickshaws as far as the eye could see.


After my arrival and check-in (all my life's information filled out in triplicate), I was immediately thrown into the madness of the streets of Calcutta. I rode one of Dave's bikes for the first few days until I bought my own from Mr. Ghosh. It was quite a rush trying to navigate the streets of Calcutta and not lose Dave, who has cycled and photographed in over 60 countries.


This is Mr. Ghosh standing in front of his shop. His father, also called Mr. Ghosh is sitting inside the shop.


As a pale face, there are always eyes on you in India, even when you think you are safely hidden behind a taxi cab.


Dave Trattles is seen here beside his photograph "Mr. India" from his exhibition The Boxing Ladies.


The exhibition documented the lives of muslim women boxers in Calcutta. The three girls pictured here with their mother were featured on the poster for the exhibition. One of my many great days in Calcutta was spent with Dave and Jada putting up posters with this family in their neighbourhood.


Dave twirling a couple of the kids who live on the street out front of the gym where the boxers train alongside vintage Arnold Schwarznegger posters. The girl standing behind is the same girl in the Mr. India picture above.




The owner and artist of Jayshree printers in Calcutta, where Dave had the posters for his exhibition printed. They are holding a poster emblazoned with the image of Goddess Kali, the goddess of Calcutta. When Dave, Jada and John got on their bicycles and headed down to Chennai, I stayed in Calcutta and made my Contempt poster here.


Be Cheerful Always To Get Handsome Most
Dave's friend Adam arrived from Toronto and is seen here midway through a head massage (a Calcutta welcoming ritual for all of Dave's friends). Adam and I went to Jailsalmer together via plane and freezing cold night train.


This is my indian bicycle: an Atlas Goldstar. It cost about 60 dollars and weighed about 60 pounds. Here, in week 2 of ownership, you can see the chain guard has already come loose and I have tied it to the frame with twine. The seat has also begun to tilt back. Soon, the seat would get a few welds to stop the tilting, until finally the post bent and snapped off. In my two months of riding I went through three seats and had the chain break three times.



Hotel Neelam: my home on Kyd St. in Calcutta for 2 1/2 months
(click on this -or any picture posted- to view it larger)



A puja here, a pooja there, everywhere a puja, yeah, yeah, yeah! Mr. Ghosh Sr. looks on as worshipers try and wave their hands through the flames of the candles.


A shrine in the temple featuring Ramakrishna on the right, and my favourite, Swami Vivekananda on the left.


In addition to the many poojas that went on while I was in India, there was also this muslim celebration where the men run through the streets play-fighting. I have no idea what it means, but the drumming and running was pretty intense. I managed to catch on camera just a glimpse of the action between two trams, with the famous green mosque in the background.



India: home of Cosio, Hudo Boss, and Woodland. (Casio, Hugo and Timber)