|
Hannu is a 32 year old Swedish male who as been on the road
since April 1998. He has visited the Middle East, Africa and now
south Asia, and then the rest of the world. Watch for updates on
Hannu's whereabouts, thoughts and experiences.
February 17, 2000
Hi there everybody!
FINALLY I have managed to find an Internet cafe with a connection,
so now, a few days delayed, I will send this message. Hope you enjoy
it. (GOD it became a long one!)
One of the delights of being a man in India is the economical possibility
of a real old-time shave at a barbershop. I have no clue what it
would cost to have a barber shave you in Sweden, but in India the
cost is very low indeed. Depending on if you are in a town or smaller
village, inside a real shop or out on the street holding the small
mirror up yourself while squatting down, the cost varies between
12 to 45 US cents (1-4 Swedish krona).
First of all, lather is richly applied to your cheeks and chin.
Then a new sharp blade is put into the razor (better be sure about
that part due to AIDS!). Then the shaving starts, so close to your
skin it almost hurts. When this is done once, lather is applied
again and the process is repeated. If you have a goatee and a moustache,
like I do, then the borderlines of it is shaved very exactly, with
great care taken to the shape of the beard and moustache and their
outer lines. You are even shaved the millimeter between you nose
and moustache, the millimeter between your moustache and upper lip,
and the millimeter between your lower lip and beard. The barber
feels with the upper side of his hand if he has missed anything
anywhere on your cheeks and chin, and if he has, plain water is
applied and that area is shaved again with extra care, stretching
the skin out as if your face was made of rubber.
Then soothing cream is applied, in dots, not only where you have
been shaved, but also on your nose and forehead. The barber massages
the cream into your skin, quite briskly, giving your eyebrows and
forehead a separate massage. Then your cheeks and chin gets the
same attention. Finally, after-shave is applied, and you may leave
the saloon/street-side stall barber feeling smoother than ever before.
It actually takes you a day or two to feel the straws grow out again.
Aaah, it is a lovely feeling.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
One could actually, if one would like to and at least in theory,
live one's whole life on Indian trains, only leaving them for a
wash at the platform taps during a longer time on some bigger station.
What I mean is that everything is supplied for by salesmen running
through the trains, both at and between stations, and they are offering
anything imaginable to the passengers. First and foremost we have
the chai, or tea sellers. Chai is, once you get used to it, quite
alright, but the first few times one tries it one might think it's
TOO sweet or TOO milky. Chai is basically tea boiled with milk and
sugar for a few hours before it's sold and drunk, but it does warm
you up on cold trips. And, I must admit, I am starting to like it.
But there is one thing I will never get used to -- the fact that
these guys are let on board the train at any hour to go through
it shouting CHAI! CHAI! With an irritably high-pitched or weaning
voice that could wake up dead. Sometimes, when they see a foreigner
sleeping, they might even stop and wake you up, just to ask if you
didn't actually just dreamed about a nice cup of chai...
And of course selling other edible things train attendants serve:
cold drinks, biscuits and snacks, railway meals (often rather mashy),
snack mixtures of peas, onion, lime juice, puffed rice and god knows
what else spices and herbs and ingredients in newspaper cones...
Then there is the tobacco and snuff guys, also selling the Indian
pan. Pan is a leaf smeared with some kind of juice and then filled
with betel nut, spices, herbs, in classy shops (not on trains though)
even with gold or silver leaf (yes!). Then this leaf is folded and
put into the mouth to be chewed. The betel nut juice colors your
lips and mouth "nicely" red, and your saliva production increases
by 10,000%, so that you constantly have to spit out big splashes
of this red juice. No, I haven't even tried it myself; it just looks
disgusting.
And then last but not least the fourth type of salesmen competing
for the passengers attention. (It's incredible how much one person
can carry!) These guys have specially sewn vests or jackets, with
about 50 pockets or so each to fill with (mainly, I'd say), junk,
and then a bag on their back and both hands full, before they set
of through the crowds in the carriage. Watches, binoculars, telephones,
trainers, walkmans, radios, torches, waterpistols, batteries, calculators,
cameras, TV-games (!), nylon stockings, underwear, safety pins,
jackets and trousers, blankets, mini organs, flipflops, tigerbalm,
padlocks, battery rechargers, pens and pencils, laser pointers,
necklaces, scissors, tummy trimmers, lighters, 50 cm big dolls saying
"mama" and "papa" when you squeeze their belly, alarm clocks, bags,
family packs of 6 neon green combs. You name it. These guys have
it!
So don't leave the train. It's not necessary. Just sit and wait
and you'll get what you want.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
I am in the northeast of India now, far away from the well-beaten
tracks of "the main triangle", as India's shape is. Three of the
seven states up here were opened for tourism in 1995, before then
having had too much problems with rebels demanding independence,
and these states are still very untouched. Four states are still
considered too dangerous; the ones bordering China and Burma; but
to see the other three is better than nothing.
So on the 7th of March, I left Calcutta for the 24 hour train journey
to the Guwahati state capital of Assam and gateway to the whole
region. The train was 5 hours late that night, and so I arrived
at around 21 and the town was going to bed. Although India is such
a large country, all of it has the same time zone! This makes areas
like the northeast having sunrise at 5, and sunset at 5, and so
the inhabitants are running their lives to this schedule, rising
up early and going early to bed.
Already walking from the platform to my hotel I realized they still
have a lot of security and rebel problems up here. The station had
posters everywhere about not picking up parcels or bags left alone,
instead alerting the authorities, and also propaganda paintings
against the rebels. Soldiers were everywhere, and right outside
the station there was a guard behind sandbags with a machinegun
mounted, and the first house on the left was a house for army staff
coming to this area on transit.
I stayed only one night there, as I knew I would have to come back
through the town anyway, and took the bus to Kaziranga national
park next morning, to see the one-horned Indian rhino. Of course
I wanted to compare it to the African one, before it is extinct.
Because it might actually be in the future. Chinese medicine demands
for rhino horn puts hard pressure on the remaining 1500 animals,
and for a poacher the lure of big money (up to 40,000 dollars per
kilo!) might be too big a lure.
It was the same thing at the bus station as the previous day at
the train station: soldiers and propaganda everywhere. The staff
was very helpful though, and clearly surprised to see a tourist
there, and people at the station, waiting for their buses, openly
stared at this much taller and blond stranger amongst them. The
ones that spoke English approached me one by one, immediately attracting
a crowd to come and listen (but probably not understand?) when I
answered questions about "wherefrom?" and "why here?" etc. etc.
But one could feel that the questions were genuinely curious, not
there to start up a conversation before the punchline about selling
something.
Here it might be appropriate with a little explanation about travels
in India, at least for the ones of you who have never been here
or even never been travelling.
Unfortunately, large parts of India is ruined by the efforts of
abusive backpackers and tourists/salesmen/rickshaw drivers/commission
guys alike. Quite a few travelers arrive here on maybe a little
bit TOO tight a budget, and so have to think about every single
cent spent. Over the years, Indians dealing with tourists have realized
that we are indeed rich (and we ARE always rich compared to the
average Indian!), and so have developed different schemes and scams
to squeeze the most out of you, either in a friendly or in an openly
abusive way. This is, hardly surprising, most common in the tourist
visited areas. The constant hassle in these places is indeed very
annoying, but unfortunately this has made, and makes, some (most?)
backpackers very hostile to ANY Indian person approaching them,
resulting in the fact that no ordinary Indian in tourist areas can
be bothered much about the tourists any more. And the tourists are
very often only meeting "the bad guys" while here, getting a false
impression of Indians in general. It is sad but true.
But here up in the northeast it is totally different. Some of the
states here see less than 100 tourists a year, and the hospitality
and friendliness of the people you meet is true and, as I wrote,
genuine. This is what it must have been like being a traveler in
the days before mass tourism.
But back to where I was going; Kaziranga National Park. Sorry, I
got a bit carried away there.
It took me 5 hours to reach the park head quarters, and a little
bit reluctantly they let me stay in the 15 rupees dorm (30 US cent)
instead of continue to insist on me taking a room for 5 dollars.
But I have to let other people stay there too, if someone would
arrive, they made me promise. As if that is not the rule with a
dorm! But, I was alone for the 2 nights there.
I walked around in the surroundings, attracting long looks from
passersby and smilingly answering the same sort of questions again
as before in Guwahati. I had a shave AND a haircut for 50 US cent,
and ate a good local thali in a restaurant, chatting away with the
owner of the place, who was openly quite delighted having a foreigner
eat at his place. A thali, I should explain, is not really ONE sort
of dish, instead it is a plate with rice and a few, 2-3 up to 6-7
(that many is more common in the south of India), different vegetable
and/or meat dishes. The bowls of vegetable and/or meat dishes are
filled up if you want more to eat, and so a thali can be a very
economical meal!
The next morning I went on a safari on elephant back at 5:30 in
the morning. There was about 20 of us in total, 2-4 on each elephant,
and also 3 other foreigners. But they must have been staying in
the tourist lodge and having their (certainly much more expensive
than mine from the previous day!) meals there, as I hadn't seen
them around "town" the previous day. I talked with an Indian family
of 5, the man speaking English, and of course once again asking
the same questions. They found it a disgrace that I, as a tourist,
had to pay more than 10 times as much as the Indians for the entrance
fee, elephant ride and camera fee. That's sometimes a rule in some
countries and parks in more poor countries -- as a way to get more
money for maintenance -- I hope -- and not into the pockets of the
local politicians. But it wasn't THAT expensive anyway. 20 dollars
all in all for me. They were friendly enough to invite me to join
them on their 2-hour jeep safari they would do right after the elephant
safari, which was going to last for only 1 hour. At first this disappointed
me, but at the end of the riding I was happy it wasn't any longer
- elephants are NOT the most comfortable form of transport I have
taken!
The ride/safari itself was good though, and we got quite close to
several rhinos on several different occasions. I also saw sambal
deer and wild buffalo, wild boar and several species of birds. I
was satisfied. I hadn't really counted on seeing tiger, although
of course I had been hoping.
The jeep safari didn't actually start right after the elephant ride.
At first, I and the family went to the tourist lodge where they
were staying (and where I now in the dining hall got proof of where
the other tourists stayed) and had breakfast, and although it was
comparatively pricey, I ordered toast and hot chocolate and corn
flakes with cold milk. Then the jeep took off back into the park
and I asked the man in the family how much my part of the rental
of the jeep would be (I wouldn't want to have to pay entry and camera
fees more than once). But he just shook his head and said "oh no,
you are the honoured guest of my country, and besides, if you wouldn't
have been with us I would have paid the same money anyway". That
kind of comment is unfortunately almost unheard of in India (and
indeed anywhere in the world!) today.
The safari didn't bring any new animals in sight, but it was nice
going further into the park than on elephant back. The midday, I
spent resting, before in the afternoon again I went for another
2-hour jeep safari at sunset, but still no tiger. This time I had
to pay my share though; 3 dollars; and the Indian family this time
just didn't know how to behave on a safari: talk and laughter doesn't
really attract wild animals.
The following day I left for the biggest river island in the world:
Majuli in the mighty river Brahmaputra. The main reason to visit
this island are the so called "Satra:s" there; religious schools
or ratehr monasteries for hindu teaching, of which there are several.
200.000 people live on this island, and a big part of them are plain
tribe people (as opposite to hill tribe people, living in the hills).
Actually, this change of people's looks had already started in Guwahati,
Assams capital: not all people looked "Indian" any more (as if there
was only one Indian look.). Up here more and more people start getting
slanting eyes and more yellowish skin. Remember, we are getting
close to Burma, Thailand and Southeast Asia!
On the boat across to the island I met a man of the Mishing tribe,
Harang Kanta Pegu, and he was friendly enough to invite me to come
and stay at his house in his village on the northern side of the
island (we were approaching from the south). Maybe some other day,
I said, and wrote down his name on a piece of paper, but that night
I would stay at the islands capital Garamur; the man's village being
another few hours very bumpy bus ride away and me being very tired.
There are no hotels on this island. The only place to stay is with
villagers, or in the so called Circuit house in Garamur. This is
a place to stay for the government workers coming to the island,
a system left to the Indians by the British, who, when they ruled
the country, didn't want to stay with Indians in Indian hotels,
but in more "British style". Nowadays, the upper class Indians --
often the same as thing as government workers -- have adopted the
same system with special places for them to stay (and often even
the same houses as the British built), so called government bungalows,
so that they too wouldn't have to meet the average Indian. Normally
these places are almost empty, but I was unlucky now: There was
local elections going on Majuli, and the place was full with VIPs
and their employed secretary's and staff, and probably also their
families. What to do? The manager, though, took pity for me having
arrived so late (18 o'clock) and having nowhere to go, and so would
see what he could do. Meanwhile, he ordered the chef to bring me,
after I had admitted being hungry, some tea and snacks on his own
expense.
It all ended happily for me: the manager convinced a younger office
worker to move out of his room and into a room to share with his
friends, in order to give me his room at least for that night. I
asked the manager if this wasn't asking for a bit too much, but
he replied "you are my honored guest and I must take care of you".
Splendid. Excellent. But would we do the same thing for tourists
in our countries? Anyway, I slept like a log after the hard day
of travelling.
Early next day, after the morning showers in COLD water, I checked
out and asked how much I would have to pay for the room, and the
enormous thali I had been served the previous night - one dollar
total. I asked if I may leave my big bag there for the day, while
I went to see some of the Satra:s, and there was no problem with
that. I stepped out on the street and wondered how to get around
-- the island had only public transport between the main villages,
and an auto-rickshaw or taxi for the whole day would cost 12-25
dollars. Oh well, I started of by going to the Satra there in Garamur
village, about 2 kilometers away. It was a nice road through a forest
with houses by the side of the road, and I smiled at all the wondering
people. Some people stopped their bikes and walked along with me,
chatting away, and they also helped me find the Satra. It wasn't
maybe the greatest Hindu sight, but the students and priests eagerly
showed me around the place and were very friendly.
Back to Garamur "city", where I bought some cakes and tea and Kit
Kat for breakfast. While doing so, a young man approached me and
asked the usual questions, and when I said I had come to see the
Satras he asked if he might come along. If this would have been
in, say, Rajastan, he would probably have been someone only pretending
to be a student but actually wanting to lead me to his uncle's/father's/brother's
shop, so my first reaction was, unfortunately, (because I don't
want to react like that!) to say no. But within a tenth of a second
I realized where I was and said "O.K". If he would turn out to be
a burden having around, I could always ask him to leave me later,
I thought.
His name was Mon, and he was a 22 year old student. We took the
bus from Garamur to the town nearest to the next Satra I wanted
to see. The bus was going to Kamalabari (and to all you Finns out
there; the last "a" in the name is pronounced long, so the name
in Finnish sounds like, translated into English, "terrible bar"),
and already on that bus I got proof of Mon being a nice guy and
me NOT being squeezed of money: he insisted on paying the small
busfare for us both. In Rajastan (if I might say, the maybe most
tourism-ruined state of India) the guy would have expected the rich
tourist to pay for everything during the whole day.
In Kamalabari, 20 minutes later, we started a 5 kilometer walk towards
the Satra, equally quite simple in its design but the students there
being very friendly, showing us around.
And so the day continued. We walked a lot, maybe a total of 20-25
kilometers, and I saw a total of 4 Satras, then deciding they were
so much alike I needn't see them all anyway. In one village Mon
borrowed one bicycle from a friend, but we were just too big together
to ride it the Indian way: one cycling and the other sitting on
the strut between the saddle and the handle, so he returned it to
the owner. Instead, an Indian man on a motorcycle gave us a lift
for 5 kilometers. We walked back through the fields, waving hands
(at least me) to the villagers, or, if we were close enough, greeting
them the local way with palms together saying "Namaskar" (which
is Assamese; in Hindi language it is "Namaste"). Mon walked quietly
next to me, and I sometimes wondered what was the great adventure
in it for him. But he enjoyed borrowing my walkman listening to
Pet Shop Boys for a while, and just generally tagging along. And
the things he did say made sense, and were not just small talk.
It was past four o'clock in the afternoon before we returned to
Garamur and I collected my bag from the Circuit House. VIPs were
running in and out of the house, and small fifties-style Indian
Ambassador-cars with election propaganda flags and stickers and
posters on them were coming and going. I had made up my mind during
the day to go to Jangraimukh village and Harang Kantas house with
the evening bus at six; since I was only allowed to stay one night
at the Circuit house. Mon and I had 1 1/2 hours left for a late
lunch/early dinner, and I had decided to invite him, as a thank
you for showing me around and being good company during the day.
Mon helped me order a vegetable thali in a restaurant, but when
the servant appeared with only one plate I got surprised and asked
Mon if he didn't order any food for himself? No, he said, and I
had to say "please, I want to invite you because you were so friendly
today". His reply once again made me aware of where I was: "I only
did my duty to you." But I did manage to convince him it was okay
with me to order himself food. After all, he too had been living
on biscuits and snacks the whole day...
In the end the cost for the two meals ended up to a mere total of
45 US cent...
The bus came and I thanked Mon profoundly, and said goodbye to 7-8
other students that had gathered around me while I was waiting for
the bus. They all laughed and were truly happy just from having
met me briefly. In the bus a man approached me, and after the usual
questions were answered, he, after having heard where I was going,
Said he was going there too. He promised to help me find Harang
Kanta's house, although he thought I might have gotten the name
wrong as it didn't sound familiar to him. And he should know the
inhabitants of the village š there are only 200 people in the whole
area living in Jangraimukh.
It was a VERY bumpy 2 1/2 hour trip, and only one kilometer from
the village the gearbox broke down. Luckily it didn't happen earlier!
All the remaining passengers had to walk. At the village "center,"
named (in English) "3-junction" (of course logically, because 3
roads meet there), there was only one shop open, and the man from
the bus asked around. Some other, non-English speaking, passengers
from the bus, also stayed along and tried to help figure out who
Harang Kanta was -- the name just wasn't familiar. One man walked
away for 20 minutes, and when he returned he explained that Harakanta,
a man he knew, was probably whom I was looking for. Unfortunately,
though, he had left for another village 5-6 kilometers away and
would not return before tomorrow, but I would be shown to his family's
house, and they would for sure take care of me. We walked off, and
yes indeed, they took care of me! About 10 people; brothers and
sisters in laws and nephews and Hara Kanta's old mother; were all
delighted to have a foreigner in their house, and asked if I was
hungry or thirsty or needed anything. Only 2 men there spoke English,
but everybody smiled and greeted me with "Namaskar". Neighbors and
friends gathered as the rumor of my arrival spread, and soon I was
looked upon by 25 people or so. Everybody smiled and the English
speakers translated as quickly as they could. I was forced to accept
a bowl of rice vodka at least, after having explained that I had
eaten a lot before the bus ride, in case everybody was already sleeping,
and everybody wondered what I thought of it. I have never felt so
welcomed, anywhere! Some of the people around me kept asking if
I was Italian, which at first surprised me, but it turned out that
the previous male tourist who had come through the village was an
Italian man, and so they wondered if I was him. As that was 2 years
earlier, I might have changed my looks...
Soon everybody but the family said goodnight, they all mostly being
farmers and having to get up early next day. I was shown to Harakanta's
room, and the bed was made. I fell into deep sleep, tired after
all the walking during the day.
The next day Robin Pegu, Hara Kantas nephew, started showing me
around to the river and the villages. Almost everybody we met asked
him something in Assamese when we came passing by, and Robin's answer
was always "Sweden". We got people tagging along almost the whole
time, when someone left us someone new came along. Just to look
at the newcomer. I was invited into 2 different houses for tea and
biscuits, and was treated as the king coming to town.
At the riverbank, we saw a boat crossing the waters, and when getting
closer we saw it was Hara Kanta arriving back from where he had
been last night. We walked back to his house where he quickly washed
himself before we set of around the surrounding fields and villages
again. Harakanta met relatives all the time; he said he had somewhere
between 60-100 relatives in the villages nearby, and every time
they wanted to invite me/us for tea, at least. And I drank, more
than ever. People were more than happy to be photographed, while
weaving, pounding rice, or just sitting around. I think I got some
perfect portrait pictures there.
We walked a lot, as I wrote, and talked a lot too about various
aspects of life. It turned out that although we came from totally
different cultures and had totally different backgrounds, we often
agreed on a lot of things... We both liked each others company,
I could feel...
And so the day went on. The village center, "3-junction", was full
of election propaganda that day, and I joked with the parties and
their spokesmen in their booths, going in visiting and asking about
what they planned to do for tourism in the area . After some mumble-jumble
about "promote" and "increase" the party spokesmen often excused
them selves and had to leave the office for some other business...
Hmmm... I was also invited into a shop for tea, and spent an hour
there chatting away with the shopkeeper.
Back at Harakantas house, his brother in laws wife had especially
prepared a vegetarian thali for me. Fish is otherwise, quite naturally,
the main food on the island, but as I am not particularly fond of
it I had told them during the day, in as nice a way as I could without
offending, that I was a vegetarian. Although I am not, and I had
at least tried the fish they had offered me. Now, the woman had
boiled a potato stew especially for me, and I thanked her profoundly.
Then after the meal I invited everybody for a photo session. The
women wanted to dress up in their finest clothes, made from the
woven cloth I had seen so many village women work on during the
day. Of course I didn't mind waiting for that! Some of Harakanta's
brothers were missing, but there was enough people to photograph
anyway, some friends having turned up. Probably very few of them
had ever been photographed, and I promised to send copies to each
and everyone.
Unfortunately I felt I had to leave the next day already. I have
a slightly tight schedule at the moment, and it was too bad I didn't
arrive to the village at the 16th instead, when there would be held
a festival of some sort. But, after dwelling in the village for
2 days, I had to get on. But I thanked Harakanta very very much
for having invited me, and I feel I might have a friend for life
there.
Another thing that affects me in the receiving from the family and
the welcome they gave me was also the thing of never feeling that
the people around me were more than curious about me being able
to travel for so long and so far away. Sometimes when I tell local
people about my travels one can feel how my story builds up the
image of west being the paradise, me having so (in their eyes) incredibly
lots of money to spend on days without having to work. I, myself,
just can't make up white lies about me being a poor student and
the length of my travels and the amount of money I saved up etc.
etc, in order to conceal my relative wealth and not give people
a false impression of the western world. Instead I tell people openly
about my life, but I try to explain that this sort of life is not
common in the west. It is only the result of my being so very determined
and obsessed with travelling, having worked my ass off, never spending
money back home, not having much possessions (but, of course in
their eyes, owning a lot of things), not having a family to feed,
not living in a fancy house or having a car, and so on. And in the
case of Harakanta and his family, I felt no jealousy or awe at all
-- just plain acceptance. That too added to the pleasant feeling.
And now I am back in Assam's capital, Guwahati. I managed to find
this newly opened internet café (with 2 computers!), and
so decided to spend some time here. Turned out I've been here for
8 hours, answering letters, writing this, checking Swedish newspapers.
But it's not very expensive here -- 1.4 dollars an hour. And you
guys are worth a long letter every now and then, aren't you?
Anyway, it's nine o'clock in the evening and we've had connection
problems. Hope I get this sent away, before I go to bed. Tomorrow
morning at six I'll leave for another state here in northeast, the
semi-Scottish Meghalaya and it's capital Shillong, at 1490 meters.
Might also go from there to the wettest place on earth. A nice contrast
to all the desserts in Africa.
So good night and hope to hear from you soon!
Hannu
Read more of Hannu's adventures.
|
|
