Date: Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Location: Spring Valley Hotel, Mannarkkad, Kerala State, India
Accomplishments: We cycled 80 miles from Gudalur to Mannarkkad, India
It has been a long day. We finally thrust the last drop of energy over one final hill-- the last two kilometers and suddenly the green painted hills give way to a congested artery of a town. It is 4:35 p.m. I let me bicycle come to a stop at the first hotel that I see. A large clean building with a sign that advertises, "Spring Valley, Rooms A.C. and Non A.C." My legs are tight and my butt hurts badly from the seat. It looks as though somebody spray painted my back with mud. I lean into my bicycle while Steve goes inside to inquire about the price. The hotel looks like a really fancy hotel from the outside. I hold my breathe until Steve returns with good news. "Only 500 rupees a night!" he announces (ten dollars).
In minutes, we are tossing buckets of water onto ourselves, removing the spray-paint of mud. I lay on the bed. After a long day, and so many other days with no other tourists in sight, I feel lonely. I begin to miss home and friendship. "Why are we here, so far away?" I feel for a moment that everyone here is so different from me. At 7:30 p.m, we walk downstairs to the hotel restaurant. We sit in a booth against the wall and order vegetable curry, roti, and rice. I notice a group of three teenage boys that enter the restaurant. As usual, they stare at us and then converse in their mother tongue. I am surprised when they approach us.
"Do you mind if we sit to talk with you? We love to learn about foreigners and their places. I am Sonu. He is Shahul, and he is Muhsin." Sonu shakes our hands warmly.
I compliment Sonu on his English.
"It is because I am an English teacher. Maybe you would like to come and see my school tomorrow where I teach," Sonu offers,
Sonu's friend, Shahul is his student. Their friend Muhsin shares his exciting news that he will be on the Indian version of American Idol on July 2nd at 8:30 p.m.
We show them our India maps and explain to them our travel plans.
I ask if they are married of have girlfriends. They giggle and reply that it is badly perceived to have a girlfriend. here they don't see the girl until it is arranged by their family.
"When I want to marry, I tell my family and they maybe will have an agency find a girl for me. It is arranged and both families prepare for the big celebration. It will be a special day for the two families to unite."
Sonu, Shahul, and Muhsin are very curious about our lives at home and our marriage life. When we tell them that we met in highschool, they are surpised that our marriage was not arranged. They ask if we dishonored our family by being girlfriend and boyfriend and marrying each other. We explain that in our culture, dating and having girlfriends and boyfriends is acceptable.
"You want to meet our families?" Sonu offers, "Maybe you can stay in Mannarkadd, visit my school, meet our families. you can see and learn about our culture. We have Saturday and Sunday free. We can take you to see many places."
Steve's eyes meet mine. Originally, we had planned to get in a lot of miles tomorrow to Palakadd and South bound to the more touristy areas in hopes of connecting with more tourists.
Through our eyes, we connect. In silent agreement, we agree that it is important to really know the culture rather than to make miles.
"Yeah," Steve says.
"Yeah," I add, "It sounds like a good idea."
"We would love to meet your family,"Steve adds.
"And meet your students. It would be a pleasure."
A town that we thought we would just stay in for a night and pass through becomes a destination.
Sonu, Shahul, and Muhsin, It is a pleasure meeting you. We look forward to meeting your families and making you a part of our journey in India, in life!
And so destiny has it that my loneliness is dissolved. Strangers become acquaintances. Acquaintances become friends. Friends become brothers.
jueves, 25 de junio de 2009
Cycling narrow mountain roads
Date: June 21, 2009
Accomplishments: We cycled 50 miles uphill from Madikeri to Ponnampet
Date: June 22, 2009 Ponnampet to Sultan Bathany Estimated 50 miles
Imagine the celery flats trail or a narrow paved trail like you would see in a park for walkers. It has more potholes than pavement. Rather than only walkers and joggers, buses, jeeps, motorcycles, cars, carts, cows, rickshaws and two crazy Americans on bicycles ind up and down through the jungle from town to town on the narrow road. Each side of the trail/road is hugged by bamboo shoots. An occasional monkey howls and swings on a branch. Occasionally, the road branches off like two narrow roots of a tree, each winding its way through the jungle. We follow one south, miles and miles when we finally ask a man for directions. He points behind us. We are lost in the Indian jungle, 15 miles out of the way!
Spicy curries,
towering bamboo
potholes strung together
wild buses that race around corners
horns that belong in a circus
women in bright beautiful sarees
This is my flavor of India
I am safe now. I have found my way to a comfy bed, bucket shower in the Regency Hotel, Sultan Bathany. The bicycles are relaxing. The legs are resting, until tomorrow when we will work together bicycle and body to crawl up and fly down the hills.
Date: June 23, 2009
Location: Hotel on a bustling crazy street in Gudalur, India
Accomplishments: We cycled 25 miles mostly up hill! from Sultan Bathani to Gudalur
Beautiful views, through the valley,
rising hills,
ascends without end that twist up the mountain,
coffee on my right and tea on my left,
surrounded by my favorite beverages,
cycling through green balanced by the blue skies
Accomplishments: We cycled 50 miles uphill from Madikeri to Ponnampet
Date: June 22, 2009 Ponnampet to Sultan Bathany Estimated 50 miles
Imagine the celery flats trail or a narrow paved trail like you would see in a park for walkers. It has more potholes than pavement. Rather than only walkers and joggers, buses, jeeps, motorcycles, cars, carts, cows, rickshaws and two crazy Americans on bicycles ind up and down through the jungle from town to town on the narrow road. Each side of the trail/road is hugged by bamboo shoots. An occasional monkey howls and swings on a branch. Occasionally, the road branches off like two narrow roots of a tree, each winding its way through the jungle. We follow one south, miles and miles when we finally ask a man for directions. He points behind us. We are lost in the Indian jungle, 15 miles out of the way!
Spicy curries,
towering bamboo
potholes strung together
wild buses that race around corners
horns that belong in a circus
women in bright beautiful sarees
This is my flavor of India
I am safe now. I have found my way to a comfy bed, bucket shower in the Regency Hotel, Sultan Bathany. The bicycles are relaxing. The legs are resting, until tomorrow when we will work together bicycle and body to crawl up and fly down the hills.
Date: June 23, 2009
Location: Hotel on a bustling crazy street in Gudalur, India
Accomplishments: We cycled 25 miles mostly up hill! from Sultan Bathani to Gudalur
Beautiful views, through the valley,
rising hills,
ascends without end that twist up the mountain,
coffee on my right and tea on my left,
surrounded by my favorite beverages,
cycling through green balanced by the blue skies
Enjoying the journey!
Date: June 20, 2009
Time: 9:18 p.m. Indian time
Location: New Paris Restaurant in Madikeri, Karnataka India, drinking hot lemon tea
Accomplishments: 1 km climb to Raj Seat view of the city. 8 km to and 8 km return from Abbey Falls, rest from the bicycle!
I feel the soft hand of the wind on my shoulder. A gentle mist from the gray cloud floating by. I wonder, "Is this the beginning of the monsoon? Later in July will the rain be harsh and angry?" Bright green leaves of the coffee bushes outline the road. The leaves are so bright, they look like the plastic leaves on artificial plants. On the ground, pink polka-dot plants that I would find at a florist shop make a carpet. The background is a painting by a famous painter of a valley and green mountains. We walk for miles, talking about where we think the journey of life will take us. Maybe someday we will hike in the jungles of Borneo, Malaysia. We never know. As a teenager in high school reading the CITY OF JOY never did I imagine that I would someday be cycling around India. The end of our walk uphill brings us to Abbey falls. They are beautiful and breathtaking, but even more memorable--the journey itself and the views.
Then a rickshaw driver offers us a ride back to the town of Madikeri.
"No thank you," we say politely.
Five minutes up the road, he is waiting and again asks, "You want a ride? I take you. Rain is coming!"
"No thank you," we say this time more firmly.
He drives off, but not for long. The rain comes and it is a gentle mist.
Again, the rickshaw is waiting, "Rain is here. I can take you!"
"NO THANK YOU! Good-bye," we say firmly.
The rain does come, but we enjoy our journey and each and every flower and coffee plant on the way. We hope you enjoy your journey today, wherever it may take you!
Time: 9:18 p.m. Indian time
Location: New Paris Restaurant in Madikeri, Karnataka India, drinking hot lemon tea
Accomplishments: 1 km climb to Raj Seat view of the city. 8 km to and 8 km return from Abbey Falls, rest from the bicycle!
I feel the soft hand of the wind on my shoulder. A gentle mist from the gray cloud floating by. I wonder, "Is this the beginning of the monsoon? Later in July will the rain be harsh and angry?" Bright green leaves of the coffee bushes outline the road. The leaves are so bright, they look like the plastic leaves on artificial plants. On the ground, pink polka-dot plants that I would find at a florist shop make a carpet. The background is a painting by a famous painter of a valley and green mountains. We walk for miles, talking about where we think the journey of life will take us. Maybe someday we will hike in the jungles of Borneo, Malaysia. We never know. As a teenager in high school reading the CITY OF JOY never did I imagine that I would someday be cycling around India. The end of our walk uphill brings us to Abbey falls. They are beautiful and breathtaking, but even more memorable--the journey itself and the views.
Then a rickshaw driver offers us a ride back to the town of Madikeri.
"No thank you," we say politely.
Five minutes up the road, he is waiting and again asks, "You want a ride? I take you. Rain is coming!"
"No thank you," we say this time more firmly.
He drives off, but not for long. The rain comes and it is a gentle mist.
Again, the rickshaw is waiting, "Rain is here. I can take you!"
"NO THANK YOU! Good-bye," we say firmly.
The rain does come, but we enjoy our journey and each and every flower and coffee plant on the way. We hope you enjoy your journey today, wherever it may take you!
Cycling from Mysore to Madikeri
Date: Friday June 19,2009
Location: Green Hotel, Madikeri, State of Karnataka India
Accomplishments: We rode 85 miles from Mysore to Madikeri! We left the city and flat rolling farms for the climbing hills!
Change is always everywhere and forever. It is in people from birth to baby to child to adult. It is in a seed of grass. I plant it and water it. I stand watching the vacant dirt. Minute after minute goes by and I feel that the seed will never sprout. However, in every second ever so small, change is happening in the seed and before long, it will sprout. As if by magic, a few days later there is a small blade o grass that multiplies into two blades of grass and finally a patch of grass.
Change is the scenery/landscape between Mysore and Madikeri 85 miles later. We leave at 6:30 a.m. hoping to avoid the mob of Indian traffic. However, the rickshaws, buses, taxis, and school children are already awake and zooming about. We maneuver around in and out of the city. Every so subtle, the big buildings and smog cannot keep up with our pedaling. Flat countryside, cows pulling wooden carts...We glide easily on the paved road in and out of a mobbed pueblo. Then the road is narrow. There are more potholes than pavement. The road begins to wind up, up, and up some more. My energetic legs become heavy and sore. The sun takes a nap behind the darkness of clouds. It rains and the drops pat my back. The road continues to wind upward. Then just when I think I cannot pump my bike, packs, and body up one more hill, the rural road curves down, down, down into a small but overcrowded crazy town of MADIKERI. A large lime green building with red trim called GREEN HOTEL becomes our home. I am so happy to have a bucket shower. I am looking forward to the change of replenishing my body and becoming strong again, ready to battle and conquer the next hills another day.
Location: Green Hotel, Madikeri, State of Karnataka India
Accomplishments: We rode 85 miles from Mysore to Madikeri! We left the city and flat rolling farms for the climbing hills!
Change is always everywhere and forever. It is in people from birth to baby to child to adult. It is in a seed of grass. I plant it and water it. I stand watching the vacant dirt. Minute after minute goes by and I feel that the seed will never sprout. However, in every second ever so small, change is happening in the seed and before long, it will sprout. As if by magic, a few days later there is a small blade o grass that multiplies into two blades of grass and finally a patch of grass.
Change is the scenery/landscape between Mysore and Madikeri 85 miles later. We leave at 6:30 a.m. hoping to avoid the mob of Indian traffic. However, the rickshaws, buses, taxis, and school children are already awake and zooming about. We maneuver around in and out of the city. Every so subtle, the big buildings and smog cannot keep up with our pedaling. Flat countryside, cows pulling wooden carts...We glide easily on the paved road in and out of a mobbed pueblo. Then the road is narrow. There are more potholes than pavement. The road begins to wind up, up, and up some more. My energetic legs become heavy and sore. The sun takes a nap behind the darkness of clouds. It rains and the drops pat my back. The road continues to wind upward. Then just when I think I cannot pump my bike, packs, and body up one more hill, the rural road curves down, down, down into a small but overcrowded crazy town of MADIKERI. A large lime green building with red trim called GREEN HOTEL becomes our home. I am so happy to have a bucket shower. I am looking forward to the change of replenishing my body and becoming strong again, ready to battle and conquer the next hills another day.
martes, 23 de junio de 2009
Sharing chai tea and sharing friendship
Date: June 18, 2009
Time: 6:57 p.m. India time
Location: In a veg restaurant ordering chai tea
Accomplishments at a glance: Sight-seeing summer palace, Chamundi Hill, Mysore Palace, with John Veith and his driver Manju
I am already half way finished with a tall glass of hot chai tea and my canvas of a story is still empty. I want so badly to show you and to take you with me on my cycling adventure in India rather than just tell you about the events in a boring blog.
I could start off be describing the events of waking up, eating breakfast, but these are all everyday tasks. People really are people all over the world. One thing that I sometimes forget is that the Indians are just as curious about me as I am of them. Sometimes I have Steve pose and I don't actually take a picture of him. I take a picture just to the right of him of a few ladies walking in their beautiful sarees (local bright colored dresses). I want to capture them in my photograph to share with others.
I am walking on Gandhi Square just a block from our hotel with Steve and John who arrived from Bangalore with his driver Manju to spend the day with us. A man dressed in white and a red Hindi dot on his forehead approaches me. "Excuse me, please," he says, touching my arm lightly. At first, I am confused and a bit alarmed.
"No rickshaw. I have driver coming," John exclaims, assuming that the man must want to offer taxi or rickshaw.
"Just a moment," the man continues and he flashes his cell phone on photograph mode. It clicks in my mind simultaneously as his cell phone clicks.
"Yes," I say, "No problem. You may have photograph." Then suddenly, the men seem to multiply into about ten. They gather around me taking turns taking photographs with me. I feel like a famous celebrity with Steve and John as my body guards.
In the summer palace about 15 km outside of Mysore, Steve and John marvel at the paintings of the Indian Sultans and war artifacts. I am absorbed in the flowing sarees and the woman's bright apparel. To my surprise, one of the women tugs at my arm and shows me her camera. I respond by showing her my camera. We both smile. About ten Indian women surround me and our husbands take our photographs. We giggle like middle school girls. A true culture exchange of photographs, smiles, laughter, and a moment of crossing each other's paths.
Crossing paths, walking the same journey together--sharing is beauty in life. Sometimes I ask myself, "What is life? What is the purpose of life?" I ask those big questions sometimes while I cycle for hours on the winding road. The answer for me is LOVE. Loving strangers, loving strangers that become acquaintances, loving acquaintances that become friends, loving friends that travel the journey with you.
Time: 6:57 p.m. India time
Location: In a veg restaurant ordering chai tea
Accomplishments at a glance: Sight-seeing summer palace, Chamundi Hill, Mysore Palace, with John Veith and his driver Manju
I am already half way finished with a tall glass of hot chai tea and my canvas of a story is still empty. I want so badly to show you and to take you with me on my cycling adventure in India rather than just tell you about the events in a boring blog.
I could start off be describing the events of waking up, eating breakfast, but these are all everyday tasks. People really are people all over the world. One thing that I sometimes forget is that the Indians are just as curious about me as I am of them. Sometimes I have Steve pose and I don't actually take a picture of him. I take a picture just to the right of him of a few ladies walking in their beautiful sarees (local bright colored dresses). I want to capture them in my photograph to share with others.
I am walking on Gandhi Square just a block from our hotel with Steve and John who arrived from Bangalore with his driver Manju to spend the day with us. A man dressed in white and a red Hindi dot on his forehead approaches me. "Excuse me, please," he says, touching my arm lightly. At first, I am confused and a bit alarmed.
"No rickshaw. I have driver coming," John exclaims, assuming that the man must want to offer taxi or rickshaw.
"Just a moment," the man continues and he flashes his cell phone on photograph mode. It clicks in my mind simultaneously as his cell phone clicks.
"Yes," I say, "No problem. You may have photograph." Then suddenly, the men seem to multiply into about ten. They gather around me taking turns taking photographs with me. I feel like a famous celebrity with Steve and John as my body guards.
In the summer palace about 15 km outside of Mysore, Steve and John marvel at the paintings of the Indian Sultans and war artifacts. I am absorbed in the flowing sarees and the woman's bright apparel. To my surprise, one of the women tugs at my arm and shows me her camera. I respond by showing her my camera. We both smile. About ten Indian women surround me and our husbands take our photographs. We giggle like middle school girls. A true culture exchange of photographs, smiles, laughter, and a moment of crossing each other's paths.
Crossing paths, walking the same journey together--sharing is beauty in life. Sometimes I ask myself, "What is life? What is the purpose of life?" I ask those big questions sometimes while I cycle for hours on the winding road. The answer for me is LOVE. Loving strangers, loving strangers that become acquaintances, loving acquaintances that become friends, loving friends that travel the journey with you.
Good people, good karma
Date: June 17, 2009
Time: Reflecting on the day at 10:00 p.m. Indian time
Location: In a quaint hotel in the central of Mysore
Walking outside in the afternoon, the sun is like a stove burner on high, and it fries our white skin well, over-done. We don't stay refreshed long! Steve poses and I take his picture. I cannot help but notice how much he stands out. Strangely, the only foreigner I have seen is Steve! An Indian man approaches us and asks, "Where are you from?"
"America!" I reply.
"What is your good name?" he asks.
"Teresa and he is Steve. What is your name?"
"Samir!"
"Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, Samir."
"Where are you going?" he asks.
"We are walking to the market."
"How long are you in India," Samir inquires.
...and so we tell Samir our story of arriving to Bangalore and cycling to Mysore. His eyes grow wide and he smiles.
"How do you like India?"
"I love it! The people are so friendly. We love the vegetarian food. The country is so beautiful."
"Thank you!"
"Are you from Mysore?" I inquire, "What do you do?"
"I am a sports teacher for small children. I was born in Mysore," Samir informs us.
Bright colored decorations outline the entrance to a building. "It is a wedding," Samir remarks, noting my interest. "You like to enter?" he asks.
"Sure!" I reply. He leads us inside the banquet hall. Eyes turn away from the bride and groom on the steps and on us. I get the alien landing feeling. For just a moment I feel scared, sad for crashing the wedding. Then, a man smiles and grabs our hands. he pulls us forward and in moments we find ourselves on the stage standing next to the bride and groom. At first, I am shocked and I don't know what to say. Then, easily, it comes to me. "Congratulations!" I say to the groom on the right side of me while camera flashes go off, "Your wife is beautiful. Good luck!"
"Thank you! Thank you," he replies with a smile. The bride and groom both shake our hands. The smiles of acceptance feel warm and welcoming. Then, the same man that led us on stage, leads us to a separate room and demands that we sit down for some Indian sweets and bananas. Never would I have guessed that I would crash a wedding in India!
Samir joins us for sweets and bananas. "You like the wedding?" he asks.
"Yes, very much. Very beautiful!"
"I am married for two months," he offers.
Next, Samir leads us down the street a couple of blocks and then enters a small dwelling and we follow him inside. "Here is a wood carving place. You can see the men carving! Mysore is famous for the wood carving!" A long hallway opens into a room full of wood chips where two men sit at tables chipping away at an intricate design by hand. I take their picture. Samir holds up a carved elephant. It requires so much patience.
Outside the wood carving shop, Samir explains that he knows a friend that extracts oil from flowers and wants to know if we would like to visit him.
"Mysore is famous for four things, the beautiful palace, the wood carvings, the herbal oils and incense,and the silks. I will take you to see all of them. I like to take you. It brings me good karma, you know."
Samir darts into another small dwelling. I can smell the burning of sandalwood incense. An Indian man with a round face welcomes us with a smile and chai tea.
"Welcome," he says.
Samir explains that we are from America and that we are cycling through South India.
"You know, we like bicycle. It is different from other tourists. You are like the real people. We respect you. Welcome to India."
He beckons me to put my arm out and lets me sample all the oils from Lotus extract, rose extract, and jasmine extract. All have a distinct use. Some are used to reduce stress or headache. Others are used to inhale for a cold or sickness. We are there for an hour sharing stories, culture, and chai tea.
"Now you know the wood and the oil. You must see the silk of Mysore. I have a good friend. He sews well with the best fabric. It is a government store. You can buy it if you like."
Needless to say, I am enamoured by all the bright colors. The man in the shop measures our arms, necks, waist, legs, thighs and so forth. Steve orders a pair of dress pants and a dress shirt. I order a saree, a shirt, and pants Indian style!
Thank you, Samir for showing us your city, Mysore and all its inside beauty. May you have good karma!
Time: Reflecting on the day at 10:00 p.m. Indian time
Location: In a quaint hotel in the central of Mysore
Walking outside in the afternoon, the sun is like a stove burner on high, and it fries our white skin well, over-done. We don't stay refreshed long! Steve poses and I take his picture. I cannot help but notice how much he stands out. Strangely, the only foreigner I have seen is Steve! An Indian man approaches us and asks, "Where are you from?"
"America!" I reply.
"What is your good name?" he asks.
"Teresa and he is Steve. What is your name?"
"Samir!"
"Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, Samir."
"Where are you going?" he asks.
"We are walking to the market."
"How long are you in India," Samir inquires.
...and so we tell Samir our story of arriving to Bangalore and cycling to Mysore. His eyes grow wide and he smiles.
"How do you like India?"
"I love it! The people are so friendly. We love the vegetarian food. The country is so beautiful."
"Thank you!"
"Are you from Mysore?" I inquire, "What do you do?"
"I am a sports teacher for small children. I was born in Mysore," Samir informs us.
Bright colored decorations outline the entrance to a building. "It is a wedding," Samir remarks, noting my interest. "You like to enter?" he asks.
"Sure!" I reply. He leads us inside the banquet hall. Eyes turn away from the bride and groom on the steps and on us. I get the alien landing feeling. For just a moment I feel scared, sad for crashing the wedding. Then, a man smiles and grabs our hands. he pulls us forward and in moments we find ourselves on the stage standing next to the bride and groom. At first, I am shocked and I don't know what to say. Then, easily, it comes to me. "Congratulations!" I say to the groom on the right side of me while camera flashes go off, "Your wife is beautiful. Good luck!"
"Thank you! Thank you," he replies with a smile. The bride and groom both shake our hands. The smiles of acceptance feel warm and welcoming. Then, the same man that led us on stage, leads us to a separate room and demands that we sit down for some Indian sweets and bananas. Never would I have guessed that I would crash a wedding in India!
Samir joins us for sweets and bananas. "You like the wedding?" he asks.
"Yes, very much. Very beautiful!"
"I am married for two months," he offers.
Next, Samir leads us down the street a couple of blocks and then enters a small dwelling and we follow him inside. "Here is a wood carving place. You can see the men carving! Mysore is famous for the wood carving!" A long hallway opens into a room full of wood chips where two men sit at tables chipping away at an intricate design by hand. I take their picture. Samir holds up a carved elephant. It requires so much patience.
Outside the wood carving shop, Samir explains that he knows a friend that extracts oil from flowers and wants to know if we would like to visit him.
"Mysore is famous for four things, the beautiful palace, the wood carvings, the herbal oils and incense,and the silks. I will take you to see all of them. I like to take you. It brings me good karma, you know."
Samir darts into another small dwelling. I can smell the burning of sandalwood incense. An Indian man with a round face welcomes us with a smile and chai tea.
"Welcome," he says.
Samir explains that we are from America and that we are cycling through South India.
"You know, we like bicycle. It is different from other tourists. You are like the real people. We respect you. Welcome to India."
He beckons me to put my arm out and lets me sample all the oils from Lotus extract, rose extract, and jasmine extract. All have a distinct use. Some are used to reduce stress or headache. Others are used to inhale for a cold or sickness. We are there for an hour sharing stories, culture, and chai tea.
"Now you know the wood and the oil. You must see the silk of Mysore. I have a good friend. He sews well with the best fabric. It is a government store. You can buy it if you like."
Needless to say, I am enamoured by all the bright colors. The man in the shop measures our arms, necks, waist, legs, thighs and so forth. Steve orders a pair of dress pants and a dress shirt. I order a saree, a shirt, and pants Indian style!
Thank you, Samir for showing us your city, Mysore and all its inside beauty. May you have good karma!
sábado, 20 de junio de 2009
Simple pleasures!
Date: June 17, 2009
Time: 10:00 p.m. Indian time
Location: In a quaint hotel in the central of Mysore, India
Accomplishments: We cycled 55 km or 33 miles from Madya to Mysore!
Traveling is so exciting because you really do not have any idea what will happen or what the next corner will look like. At 5:45 a.m. we started our adventure rolling out of bed and refueling our bodies with good old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. As an American girl, I was sure to hunt down peanut butter, my old stand-by, at a supermarket in Bangalore. Bikes and bodies are ready to pedal and roll by 6:45 a.m.
What is it like pedaling along in South India? A blur of sacred cows, hoking buses, zooming rickshaws, rice, palm trees, and men in motos waving hello. In just a couple of hours, traffic thickens.
Welcome to Maysore, a maze of winding alleys. The maze swallows us. Using our Lonely Planet Guidebook, an X marking the spot of our selected hotel, we untangle the confusion. The huge Mysore Palace is a clue. Since streets are never labeled, we use landmarks to orient ourselves. Fianlly after an hour of circling and roaming the maze of a city, we find it, Dasaprakashi hotel. Only to discover that there are no double beds available. A friendly man over hears our hotel dilemma and offers to show us another cheap but clean hotel only a block away. We follow him and are pleasantly surprised. We make Surya Vatri Nivas Hotel our little home for the next few days.
I love how everything just works out. Life really is like that old grandfather clock, ticking slowely, patiently, consistently and behind the solid face, each gear of the individual effects the other.
Before departing for our India cycling adventure, people asked me, "So where will you stay? What is your plan?"
"I am not exactly sure." I am only one small gear. I cannot see the great plan, but it is there. It is destiny and it will work itself out tick by tock, moment by moment.
We register our passport numbers and visa numbers at the front desk. We pay 400 rupees (less than $10) and the guard assures us that our bicycles will be safe in the lobby. Upon reaching our clean humble room, the first thing we do is fill up the large plastic bucket with water from the spicket. We use the smaller bucket to toss water onto our sticky sultry bodies. I feel like a child on the beach rinsing myself after making a huge sandcastle.
Refreshed and clean, I ask the man at the receptionist desk where we can find a vegetarian restaurant.
"Anywhere, you can find," he smiles, "To the right is a very good one."
Sure enough, two minutes walking from the hotel, we find the vegetarian restaurant. It is full of local people. They welcome us with a smile and beckon for us to sit down. A waiter comes to our table and says, "Bla, bla, bla, bla!"
Steve and I look at one another, clueless.
"Veg plate?" Steve attempts.
"Bla, bla, bla?" the man replies.
He waits. We wait. Words without meaning, as if he said, "moo," and we said, "meow!"
He smiles shyly. There is a moment of silence and awkwardness. Then the answer comes to me, "Chai tea!" I exclaim.
"Chai tea!" he reconfirms. The man smiles and his eyes sparkle with the accomplishment of understanding, "Yes!"
Whenever in doubt, chai tea is our password to understanding. It is the backbone to culture. It is the building block to breakfast, friendship, relaxation after a long day. Like America and apple pie, England and black tea, India and chai tea balance one another.
We don't give up our quest for food. Just a few blocks down, "Hotel RRR Veg Restaurant," catches our attention.
"Let's give it a try,"Steve suggests.
"It's in English!" I confirm.
We enter and immediatly all the local people stare at the two aliens from space that have mysteriously appeared in their normally lame restaurant. The waiter smiles gently and motions for us to sit down by a table.
"Veg meal," I say clearly and slowly. I stare at the waiter's face for a response and am super delighted when his eyes sparkle.
"Yes!" He confirms.
"Two veg meals," Steve adds.
The waiter returns shortly with two large banana leaves and places them in front of us. Next, he puts a monsterous glob of rice on each banana leaf. Then he globs on serval vegetable curry mixtures around the rice on the banana leaf. No plates, no utensils...We glance around at the local people eating. Their left hands stay on their laps (it is for your bathroom business). Side note: It is not custom to use toilet paper. Beside each toilet, there is a water bucket and a hose. The left hand is used to cleanse your bottom and it is NOT polite to greet people or to eat with the left hand. Everyone uses the right hand to grab the rice and mix it with the various vegetable/bean curries and bring them to your mouth. So in the bathroom, I was a child at play with the buckets. In the restaurant, I am a baby at play with the food. The banana lef is the tray on my high chair! I begin to love the simple culture! I enjoy every bit of my Indian lunch!
Time: 10:00 p.m. Indian time
Location: In a quaint hotel in the central of Mysore, India
Accomplishments: We cycled 55 km or 33 miles from Madya to Mysore!
Traveling is so exciting because you really do not have any idea what will happen or what the next corner will look like. At 5:45 a.m. we started our adventure rolling out of bed and refueling our bodies with good old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. As an American girl, I was sure to hunt down peanut butter, my old stand-by, at a supermarket in Bangalore. Bikes and bodies are ready to pedal and roll by 6:45 a.m.
What is it like pedaling along in South India? A blur of sacred cows, hoking buses, zooming rickshaws, rice, palm trees, and men in motos waving hello. In just a couple of hours, traffic thickens.
Welcome to Maysore, a maze of winding alleys. The maze swallows us. Using our Lonely Planet Guidebook, an X marking the spot of our selected hotel, we untangle the confusion. The huge Mysore Palace is a clue. Since streets are never labeled, we use landmarks to orient ourselves. Fianlly after an hour of circling and roaming the maze of a city, we find it, Dasaprakashi hotel. Only to discover that there are no double beds available. A friendly man over hears our hotel dilemma and offers to show us another cheap but clean hotel only a block away. We follow him and are pleasantly surprised. We make Surya Vatri Nivas Hotel our little home for the next few days.
I love how everything just works out. Life really is like that old grandfather clock, ticking slowely, patiently, consistently and behind the solid face, each gear of the individual effects the other.
Before departing for our India cycling adventure, people asked me, "So where will you stay? What is your plan?"
"I am not exactly sure." I am only one small gear. I cannot see the great plan, but it is there. It is destiny and it will work itself out tick by tock, moment by moment.
We register our passport numbers and visa numbers at the front desk. We pay 400 rupees (less than $10) and the guard assures us that our bicycles will be safe in the lobby. Upon reaching our clean humble room, the first thing we do is fill up the large plastic bucket with water from the spicket. We use the smaller bucket to toss water onto our sticky sultry bodies. I feel like a child on the beach rinsing myself after making a huge sandcastle.
Refreshed and clean, I ask the man at the receptionist desk where we can find a vegetarian restaurant.
"Anywhere, you can find," he smiles, "To the right is a very good one."
Sure enough, two minutes walking from the hotel, we find the vegetarian restaurant. It is full of local people. They welcome us with a smile and beckon for us to sit down. A waiter comes to our table and says, "Bla, bla, bla, bla!"
Steve and I look at one another, clueless.
"Veg plate?" Steve attempts.
"Bla, bla, bla?" the man replies.
He waits. We wait. Words without meaning, as if he said, "moo," and we said, "meow!"
He smiles shyly. There is a moment of silence and awkwardness. Then the answer comes to me, "Chai tea!" I exclaim.
"Chai tea!" he reconfirms. The man smiles and his eyes sparkle with the accomplishment of understanding, "Yes!"
Whenever in doubt, chai tea is our password to understanding. It is the backbone to culture. It is the building block to breakfast, friendship, relaxation after a long day. Like America and apple pie, England and black tea, India and chai tea balance one another.
We don't give up our quest for food. Just a few blocks down, "Hotel RRR Veg Restaurant," catches our attention.
"Let's give it a try,"Steve suggests.
"It's in English!" I confirm.
We enter and immediatly all the local people stare at the two aliens from space that have mysteriously appeared in their normally lame restaurant. The waiter smiles gently and motions for us to sit down by a table.
"Veg meal," I say clearly and slowly. I stare at the waiter's face for a response and am super delighted when his eyes sparkle.
"Yes!" He confirms.
"Two veg meals," Steve adds.
The waiter returns shortly with two large banana leaves and places them in front of us. Next, he puts a monsterous glob of rice on each banana leaf. Then he globs on serval vegetable curry mixtures around the rice on the banana leaf. No plates, no utensils...We glance around at the local people eating. Their left hands stay on their laps (it is for your bathroom business). Side note: It is not custom to use toilet paper. Beside each toilet, there is a water bucket and a hose. The left hand is used to cleanse your bottom and it is NOT polite to greet people or to eat with the left hand. Everyone uses the right hand to grab the rice and mix it with the various vegetable/bean curries and bring them to your mouth. So in the bathroom, I was a child at play with the buckets. In the restaurant, I am a baby at play with the food. The banana lef is the tray on my high chair! I begin to love the simple culture! I enjoy every bit of my Indian lunch!
viernes, 19 de junio de 2009
We survived our first day of cycling!
Date: June 16, 2009
Time: 8:05 p.m. Indian Time
Location: Sitting in a hotel restaurant waiting for something mysterious to arrive, Hotel Amaravathi just past the Sanjo Hospital)
Accomplishments: We survive our first day of cycling about fifty miles from our drop off point just outside of Bangalore to Mandya, India!
I have trouble sleeping-- my first night of sleeping in this strange country. I still have days and nights mixed up, so I toss and turn. Every little while, I take a peak to see, "Is it daylight yet?" Nope, still dark. I feel Steve reach over and touch my wrist to push the light on my cheapo Meijer watch. "It is five o'clock. One more hour." We roll into one another attempting to turn the switch to life off. However, it seems to switch into the on mode all on its own. "How will cycling be?" I wonder. "Will people be nice and accept me as part of their country, riding past? Will the traffic care for this little white girl cycling slow on the left hand side?" (Yes, they drive on the left hand side."
Then finally, I see it-- a ray of light announcing the arrival of day. I thank the grater spirit for it. Once more chance to participate in this wheel of life, constantly moving, effecting all the lives of others, sending each and every soul in movement in unison like the gears of an old grandfather clock.
At 6:40 a.m. our bicycles are fully dressed with one pack on each side. We officially start our first bike ride in India! We cycling down MG road from our hotel to John's hotel to meet for breakfast! Traffic is light, but already a steady flow with rickshaws, taxis, and buses. My directions say to turn right at Miller Road, but there are no street signs. One road branches into three. I am overwhelmed by the mob of rickshaws. When I am overwhelmed, I act as Forest run and I go, go, go forward!
"I think that we passed it," Steve says.
"I am not sure," I say as I keep pedaling forward.
"How would I know where I am at when there are no road signs!"
After ten more minutes of run Forest run, we stop at an intersection. We agree that three kilometers would not take a half an hour. Definitely, we must have passed John's hotel long ago! A large building labeled "Turf Club" is in our Lonely Planet Guide book and helps us locate ourselves. We circle around and finally at 7:45, we arrive at John's hotel. The guards are ready for us and open the front gate. Two managers of the hotel welcome us and vale park our bicycles. Once again, it is strange to meet John half way around the world, but there we are together drinking mango juice together in his hotel restaurant. We sip on chai tea and mango juice that we will never forget because of the friendship that it represents.
At 8:15, Manju, the driver, arrives in his jeep. We take the tires off the front and the back of the bicycles to make them fit in the back. Traffic is heavy now. Rickshaws swerve between motorcycles. Cars, trucks, and buses HONK HONK HONK. It is an obnoxious conversation of the vehicles translating to, "I am coming! Get out of my way!"
The drive is a blurr of women in bright colored sarees complementing the bright range of green, pink, and blue buildings. I contrast the scenery against the dull beige malls and cookie cutter neighborhoods where everything looks the same in suburbia United States. I take a few photographs through the car window, like a spy. The road splits into Mysore road and the city road. Manju pulls over to the side and John helps us pop on the tires and packs. A few more photographs and at 10:00 we are on our own to conquer each mile and take India as our own experience. While it is not overwhelming, traffic is constant and moderate. Each truck, bus, cart, rickshaw that passes, I see the passengers take a double-take, stretch their head way out to take in an extra long stare at the strange white aliens.
"Hi!" I say.
They respond with a big grin and most often, "Hi, how are you!" A few motorcyclists even slow down to ride beside us. "Where are you from?" They ask.
"America!" I reply.
"Good luck!"
At 11:30, it is time for a break. Everywhere there are Veg Restaurants. We pull off into one, guzzle water and order a couple of chai teas. I casually glance at the pictures we have taken so far and casually take some more photographs of the men curious about our bicycles, touching my bike seat gently and touching the grips of the handlebars.
As we ride again, continue forward, we have an uninvited guest-- the sun! It reaches down from the sky with all its rays to paint us red.
At 3:30, we are over cooked toast. A head-ache has my head on fire. We pull into a nice road-side hotel/restaurant. In exchange for 1,000 rupees (twenty dollars), we have our place of rest with air-conditioning, a large super clean room, and of course, a bucket shower. The mystery of the day has been revealed. The mystery food has arrived-- fresh roti wheat round bread and Dal beans to dip it in. The winning four favorite moments of the day are....
1. Friendship, mango juice, and chai tea equals a great recipe with John this morning
2. If you are traveling with a slow moving cart going the wrong direction on a one way traffic road, how would you avoid getting killed? You could drive with cows pulling you, of course! Cows here are sacred. People are really careful to not hit the cows because if they hit one it could bring them bad karma!
3. The "Hi and Hellos" and kind waves really do motivate us and remind us of the good foundation in people.
4. Arriving at our hotel for the day, feeling the satisfaction of survival of day one!
Time: 8:05 p.m. Indian Time
Location: Sitting in a hotel restaurant waiting for something mysterious to arrive, Hotel Amaravathi just past the Sanjo Hospital)
Accomplishments: We survive our first day of cycling about fifty miles from our drop off point just outside of Bangalore to Mandya, India!
I have trouble sleeping-- my first night of sleeping in this strange country. I still have days and nights mixed up, so I toss and turn. Every little while, I take a peak to see, "Is it daylight yet?" Nope, still dark. I feel Steve reach over and touch my wrist to push the light on my cheapo Meijer watch. "It is five o'clock. One more hour." We roll into one another attempting to turn the switch to life off. However, it seems to switch into the on mode all on its own. "How will cycling be?" I wonder. "Will people be nice and accept me as part of their country, riding past? Will the traffic care for this little white girl cycling slow on the left hand side?" (Yes, they drive on the left hand side."
Then finally, I see it-- a ray of light announcing the arrival of day. I thank the grater spirit for it. Once more chance to participate in this wheel of life, constantly moving, effecting all the lives of others, sending each and every soul in movement in unison like the gears of an old grandfather clock.
At 6:40 a.m. our bicycles are fully dressed with one pack on each side. We officially start our first bike ride in India! We cycling down MG road from our hotel to John's hotel to meet for breakfast! Traffic is light, but already a steady flow with rickshaws, taxis, and buses. My directions say to turn right at Miller Road, but there are no street signs. One road branches into three. I am overwhelmed by the mob of rickshaws. When I am overwhelmed, I act as Forest run and I go, go, go forward!
"I think that we passed it," Steve says.
"I am not sure," I say as I keep pedaling forward.
"How would I know where I am at when there are no road signs!"
After ten more minutes of run Forest run, we stop at an intersection. We agree that three kilometers would not take a half an hour. Definitely, we must have passed John's hotel long ago! A large building labeled "Turf Club" is in our Lonely Planet Guide book and helps us locate ourselves. We circle around and finally at 7:45, we arrive at John's hotel. The guards are ready for us and open the front gate. Two managers of the hotel welcome us and vale park our bicycles. Once again, it is strange to meet John half way around the world, but there we are together drinking mango juice together in his hotel restaurant. We sip on chai tea and mango juice that we will never forget because of the friendship that it represents.
At 8:15, Manju, the driver, arrives in his jeep. We take the tires off the front and the back of the bicycles to make them fit in the back. Traffic is heavy now. Rickshaws swerve between motorcycles. Cars, trucks, and buses HONK HONK HONK. It is an obnoxious conversation of the vehicles translating to, "I am coming! Get out of my way!"
The drive is a blurr of women in bright colored sarees complementing the bright range of green, pink, and blue buildings. I contrast the scenery against the dull beige malls and cookie cutter neighborhoods where everything looks the same in suburbia United States. I take a few photographs through the car window, like a spy. The road splits into Mysore road and the city road. Manju pulls over to the side and John helps us pop on the tires and packs. A few more photographs and at 10:00 we are on our own to conquer each mile and take India as our own experience. While it is not overwhelming, traffic is constant and moderate. Each truck, bus, cart, rickshaw that passes, I see the passengers take a double-take, stretch their head way out to take in an extra long stare at the strange white aliens.
"Hi!" I say.
They respond with a big grin and most often, "Hi, how are you!" A few motorcyclists even slow down to ride beside us. "Where are you from?" They ask.
"America!" I reply.
"Good luck!"
At 11:30, it is time for a break. Everywhere there are Veg Restaurants. We pull off into one, guzzle water and order a couple of chai teas. I casually glance at the pictures we have taken so far and casually take some more photographs of the men curious about our bicycles, touching my bike seat gently and touching the grips of the handlebars.
As we ride again, continue forward, we have an uninvited guest-- the sun! It reaches down from the sky with all its rays to paint us red.
At 3:30, we are over cooked toast. A head-ache has my head on fire. We pull into a nice road-side hotel/restaurant. In exchange for 1,000 rupees (twenty dollars), we have our place of rest with air-conditioning, a large super clean room, and of course, a bucket shower. The mystery of the day has been revealed. The mystery food has arrived-- fresh roti wheat round bread and Dal beans to dip it in. The winning four favorite moments of the day are....
1. Friendship, mango juice, and chai tea equals a great recipe with John this morning
2. If you are traveling with a slow moving cart going the wrong direction on a one way traffic road, how would you avoid getting killed? You could drive with cows pulling you, of course! Cows here are sacred. People are really careful to not hit the cows because if they hit one it could bring them bad karma!
3. The "Hi and Hellos" and kind waves really do motivate us and remind us of the good foundation in people.
4. Arriving at our hotel for the day, feeling the satisfaction of survival of day one!
It is nice to meet you, India!
Date: June 15, 2009
Time: 11:34 p.m. Indian time
Location: Brindavan Hotel on M.G. Road in Bangalore, India
I want you to experience India with me. I want you to see it and feel every flavor of it to the last drop and detail. So I will take you with me. I will paint you a picture with my words spiced with my emotions.
I am here in the mometn when the airplane begins to decend. My eyes are heavy. My mind is finally calm. All the anxiety has been spent. how can this big plane fly through the air, hours and hours over the ocean? Surely, it will just fall out of the sky! I try to remind myself that air travel is the safest form of transport. I know that a person is more likely to have an accident and die on their way to work rather than in an airplane. Yet teh news reports fo the recent Air France flight crash just off the coast of Brazil makes me cringe with fear. Surely, there must have been eager young travelers like ourselves, excited to backpack and spend their summer exploring Brazil on that flight. What terror they must have felt when their plane tumbled and twirled in the air. I cannot imagine. Just the thought of it makes my heart tight and my breath short. My soul cries for those people and even more so for their families that are caught in the should of and could of sorrows.
Really, I am not afraid of the peacefulness of death. Rather, I am afraid of the transition, the terror, and the difficulty of those last moments in life.
So actually, our plane really did not fall out of the sky. Landing! I am so happy to get off the airplane and touch land that I really don't feel the stress and anxiety of meeting India for the first time. As we pass each steward and airline employee, I thank them for the "wonderful" flight. "It is wonderful because we landed," I tell Steve as we laugh half delerious and loopy with jello bodies.
Off the massive airplane, the two hundred plus passengers form a mob of a line. "What is this for?" I wonder outloud. We peer over all the short local Indian people and see four health specialists putting a thermometer into the ear of each arriving person. Then, we see the sign and are given documents to sign regarding the swine flu. I fill out the mandatory survey and sign that I do not have a temperature and have NOT had any symtoms of the flu inthe past twenty-four hours. After the swine flu temperature check and documentation, the line forms once again for a security check.
At 4:40 a.m. local Indian time, I take off my shoes and belt to show that I am indeed not bringing in any bombs. Finally, we pass the swine flu and security checks. We wait anxiously for our cardboard boxes to appear. The conveyor belt seems to be constipated . The mob of 200 arriving passengers eagerly search for their suitcases or duffel bags. Finally a 1/2 hour later we greet our big boxes with hugs, grasping them firmly to place them all on the cart.
We THINK we are headed out the front doors of the airport when an immigration officer stops us.
"What is in the box?" he asks.
"Bicyle" I reply.
"What will you do with bicycle" he demands
"We are excited to bicycle from here to the southern most tip of India"
"Where will you start" he asks confused.
"Here in Bangalore" I re-state.
His eyes grow wide
"How much is bicycle? You have receipt for purchase of bicyle?" He seems confused
"I have no receipt, but I have a route map." I show him our map of where we plan to go. Finally he takes a closer look. He smiles, "I never know anybody that do this," he says, and then, "Good luck! Take care!"
At 5:50, we walk out the doors of the airport and India welcomes us with a pink sunrise outlined by silver clouds...and Manju! Manju is our driver that John set up for us. He is holding a sign "Mr. Steve and Mrs Teresa Cavanagh" He immediatly recognizes us with our large boxes. We immediately connect with Manju and his warm smile. He explains that the airport is new. John calls and Manju affirms our safe arrival.
First impressions of India--- Many small little markets and shops. It strangely reminds me of Honduras, yet everything is written in English because of the British influence. A ghost city-- all shades and doors are drawn closed at six a.m. Then, there is a familiar smile. "John!" He stands on a street corner outside of his hotel. Manju pulls over and it is such a warm welcoming to see John after such a long night/day's worth of traveling. He hops into the jeep and accompanies us to our quaint hotel. Luckely our phone call over skype from home over the internet worked and we have a reservation under STEVE for room number 82 on the third floor. 750 ruppes a night (fifteen dollars)nice bed, large room, windows, television, bucket shower... It is not glamorous, but it is a room. It is where we spend our first few hours in India. Even though we are eager to explore, our bodies tell us that it is night because at home, it IS night. Our eyes will not allow us to keep going. There is no more adrennaline to keep us on emergency awake mode. With an initial greeting of friendship and a safe arrival, we sleep. We dream. We pray for those who did NOT arrive safely to their destination on Air France.
Still lethargic, we wake up and like zombies, we find an internet cafew to write friends and family. We find our first lunch outside of a supermarket- dahl beans, rice, roti wheat bread for 60 rupees (a little over a dollar for everything). We finda book store to purchase maps for the states where we plan to visit.
It is midnight. I must get sleep before we start our first day of cycling tomorrow!
Quick four favorite moments to remember!
1. India's sun rise greeting our safe landing in Bangalore!
2. Seeing John on the street corner, feeling the true beauty of friendship!
3. The simple exchange of smiles while purchasing bread and nuts in a supermarket. The truth that people are people all over the world and that most are filled with goodness.
4. Dinner with Steve and John at a Vegetarian Indian Restaurant. The food was great, but even better the celebration of friendship and the beginning of a new adventure!
Time: 11:34 p.m. Indian time
Location: Brindavan Hotel on M.G. Road in Bangalore, India
I want you to experience India with me. I want you to see it and feel every flavor of it to the last drop and detail. So I will take you with me. I will paint you a picture with my words spiced with my emotions.
I am here in the mometn when the airplane begins to decend. My eyes are heavy. My mind is finally calm. All the anxiety has been spent. how can this big plane fly through the air, hours and hours over the ocean? Surely, it will just fall out of the sky! I try to remind myself that air travel is the safest form of transport. I know that a person is more likely to have an accident and die on their way to work rather than in an airplane. Yet teh news reports fo the recent Air France flight crash just off the coast of Brazil makes me cringe with fear. Surely, there must have been eager young travelers like ourselves, excited to backpack and spend their summer exploring Brazil on that flight. What terror they must have felt when their plane tumbled and twirled in the air. I cannot imagine. Just the thought of it makes my heart tight and my breath short. My soul cries for those people and even more so for their families that are caught in the should of and could of sorrows.
Really, I am not afraid of the peacefulness of death. Rather, I am afraid of the transition, the terror, and the difficulty of those last moments in life.
So actually, our plane really did not fall out of the sky. Landing! I am so happy to get off the airplane and touch land that I really don't feel the stress and anxiety of meeting India for the first time. As we pass each steward and airline employee, I thank them for the "wonderful" flight. "It is wonderful because we landed," I tell Steve as we laugh half delerious and loopy with jello bodies.
Off the massive airplane, the two hundred plus passengers form a mob of a line. "What is this for?" I wonder outloud. We peer over all the short local Indian people and see four health specialists putting a thermometer into the ear of each arriving person. Then, we see the sign and are given documents to sign regarding the swine flu. I fill out the mandatory survey and sign that I do not have a temperature and have NOT had any symtoms of the flu inthe past twenty-four hours. After the swine flu temperature check and documentation, the line forms once again for a security check.
At 4:40 a.m. local Indian time, I take off my shoes and belt to show that I am indeed not bringing in any bombs. Finally, we pass the swine flu and security checks. We wait anxiously for our cardboard boxes to appear. The conveyor belt seems to be constipated . The mob of 200 arriving passengers eagerly search for their suitcases or duffel bags. Finally a 1/2 hour later we greet our big boxes with hugs, grasping them firmly to place them all on the cart.
We THINK we are headed out the front doors of the airport when an immigration officer stops us.
"What is in the box?" he asks.
"Bicyle" I reply.
"What will you do with bicycle" he demands
"We are excited to bicycle from here to the southern most tip of India"
"Where will you start" he asks confused.
"Here in Bangalore" I re-state.
His eyes grow wide
"How much is bicycle? You have receipt for purchase of bicyle?" He seems confused
"I have no receipt, but I have a route map." I show him our map of where we plan to go. Finally he takes a closer look. He smiles, "I never know anybody that do this," he says, and then, "Good luck! Take care!"
At 5:50, we walk out the doors of the airport and India welcomes us with a pink sunrise outlined by silver clouds...and Manju! Manju is our driver that John set up for us. He is holding a sign "Mr. Steve and Mrs Teresa Cavanagh" He immediatly recognizes us with our large boxes. We immediately connect with Manju and his warm smile. He explains that the airport is new. John calls and Manju affirms our safe arrival.
First impressions of India--- Many small little markets and shops. It strangely reminds me of Honduras, yet everything is written in English because of the British influence. A ghost city-- all shades and doors are drawn closed at six a.m. Then, there is a familiar smile. "John!" He stands on a street corner outside of his hotel. Manju pulls over and it is such a warm welcoming to see John after such a long night/day's worth of traveling. He hops into the jeep and accompanies us to our quaint hotel. Luckely our phone call over skype from home over the internet worked and we have a reservation under STEVE for room number 82 on the third floor. 750 ruppes a night (fifteen dollars)nice bed, large room, windows, television, bucket shower... It is not glamorous, but it is a room. It is where we spend our first few hours in India. Even though we are eager to explore, our bodies tell us that it is night because at home, it IS night. Our eyes will not allow us to keep going. There is no more adrennaline to keep us on emergency awake mode. With an initial greeting of friendship and a safe arrival, we sleep. We dream. We pray for those who did NOT arrive safely to their destination on Air France.
Still lethargic, we wake up and like zombies, we find an internet cafew to write friends and family. We find our first lunch outside of a supermarket- dahl beans, rice, roti wheat bread for 60 rupees (a little over a dollar for everything). We finda book store to purchase maps for the states where we plan to visit.
It is midnight. I must get sleep before we start our first day of cycling tomorrow!
Quick four favorite moments to remember!
1. India's sun rise greeting our safe landing in Bangalore!
2. Seeing John on the street corner, feeling the true beauty of friendship!
3. The simple exchange of smiles while purchasing bread and nuts in a supermarket. The truth that people are people all over the world and that most are filled with goodness.
4. Dinner with Steve and John at a Vegetarian Indian Restaurant. The food was great, but even better the celebration of friendship and the beginning of a new adventure!
Ready or not, India,. here we come!
Date: June 13, 2009
Time: 10:30 p.m. Chicago Time
Location: British Airways flight just out of Chicago
My stomach is tight, tighter than a quality boy-scout knot. My finger nails are overly groomed. At take off, my heart bangs its drum against my chest. I squeeze Steve's hand as if I was squeezing orange juice for breakfast!
"What am I doing?" I feel like standing up and running to the pilot's door and screaming, "I am not a terrorist! I am just a crazy fool and I have changed my mind!" I will take my bicycle and I will cycle around the block in my neighborhood instead. I cannot remember what crazy ideas brought me to make the decision to be here today! Why to I crave adventure? I don't know what the hell I am doing but ready or not, India, here I come!
Date: June 15, 2009
Time: 4:00 a.m. Indian time
Location: British Airways flight from London to Bangalore
My body feels like jelly stuck to a plastic mold. I am so lethargic from sitting on the seven hour plus the nine and a half hour flights. I am watching the airplane move across the screen monitor on the back of the seat in front of me. Officially, we are now above India. In just thirty minutes, I will meet my new land to explore and discover. I imagine a smoggy city much like Tegucigalpa in Honduras. I am nervous and anxious. Really, I am less anxious than before. After sitting on the airplane for so long, I am ready. I am ready to meet India in her entirety--her physical strokes of beauty and the scars of poverty.
Time: 10:30 p.m. Chicago Time
Location: British Airways flight just out of Chicago
My stomach is tight, tighter than a quality boy-scout knot. My finger nails are overly groomed. At take off, my heart bangs its drum against my chest. I squeeze Steve's hand as if I was squeezing orange juice for breakfast!
"What am I doing?" I feel like standing up and running to the pilot's door and screaming, "I am not a terrorist! I am just a crazy fool and I have changed my mind!" I will take my bicycle and I will cycle around the block in my neighborhood instead. I cannot remember what crazy ideas brought me to make the decision to be here today! Why to I crave adventure? I don't know what the hell I am doing but ready or not, India, here I come!
Date: June 15, 2009
Time: 4:00 a.m. Indian time
Location: British Airways flight from London to Bangalore
My body feels like jelly stuck to a plastic mold. I am so lethargic from sitting on the seven hour plus the nine and a half hour flights. I am watching the airplane move across the screen monitor on the back of the seat in front of me. Officially, we are now above India. In just thirty minutes, I will meet my new land to explore and discover. I imagine a smoggy city much like Tegucigalpa in Honduras. I am nervous and anxious. Really, I am less anxious than before. After sitting on the airplane for so long, I am ready. I am ready to meet India in her entirety--her physical strokes of beauty and the scars of poverty.
lunes, 15 de junio de 2009
Landing in Bangalore
Love and hugs from Bangalore India! After HOURS and HOURS of flight, it felt good to finally step off the airplane. We were surprised at how strict the security was to get in! They even took our temperature to make sure that we did not have the swine flu. Our bicycles and luggage arrived fine. We walked out the front doors of the airport and we met India for the first time! It was about six in the morning and immediately we saw a sign that read Mr Steve Cavanagh and Mrs. Teresa Cavanagh! Our driver was waiting with a big welcoming grin. He helped us load the bicycles in the jeep/truck. In the early wee hours, traffic was very light and everything was closed. It almost looked like a ghost city. The airport is about ten miles outside the city. We stopped at the hotel where our friend, John, is staying. It was so surreal to see John standing outside on the street. It seems as though he belongs at the Wild Bull or at the Strutt in Kalamazoo. We greeted each other warmly and he jumped into the jeep with us to accompany us to our hotel. Our hotel is very basic with bucket shower, but roomy and in a safe location on the main drag. You would think that after hours and hours of sitting on the airplane we would be loaded with energy. However, somehow we feel utterly exhausted. Since everything was closed anyway and John had to go to get ready for work, we thought we would take a quick nap. Our quick nap tip-toed into hours. Steve woke me up at noon (India time). We took bucket showers and we find ourselves typing to you in this internet cafe just a few blocks from our hotel. It is broad day-light and the streets are bustling now with people scurring to make their purchases and lots of traffic. Yet, my body tells me it's the middle of the night.
The battle plan to combat the jet-lag is to stay awake until ten o'clock then sleep well to prepare ourselves for our first day of cycling tomorrow! We have a ride set to pick us up at 6:30 a.m. and drive us about an hour outside the city.
Let the adventure begin! I am ready to meet India!
Lots of love, Teresa and Steve
The battle plan to combat the jet-lag is to stay awake until ten o'clock then sleep well to prepare ourselves for our first day of cycling tomorrow! We have a ride set to pick us up at 6:30 a.m. and drive us about an hour outside the city.
Let the adventure begin! I am ready to meet India!
Lots of love, Teresa and Steve
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