India in Four Parts

Having spent an eventful week in the subcontinent, I would have to write a very prolific post indeed to do justice to all my adventures. Thus, hence follows a four-part series on my trip to India, a land of culinary wonders, men wearing bell-bottoms, and very little toilet paper. Enjoy the ride, as it is bumpy, and drivers honk a lot. And watch out for cows.

Fail

For the past four days Pramod, Alex, and I have been staying just outside of Melbourne with Alex's relatives. Alex's aunt Deanne and uncle Tom have been amazing hosts, and it's been great to have a taste of home after a month of traveling in mostly developing countries.

Two days ago we decided that we were going to stay in for the day and maybe watch a movie. I set about starting a fire while Pramod set off to the shower and Alex searched for a movie. Unfortunately it's been a while since I've set up a fire, and the first one was a bust. Alex and I continued working on the fire with no success, until Pramod emerged from the shower half an hour later to discover that the fire was still only smoking. We eventually did get the fire going after the judicious use of kindling, but I'll consider the fire the first fail of the day.

Enervated by our fire-starting efforts, we sat back to enjoy the fire for maybe half an hour, when we realize that we're hungry. Pramod was craving Mexican food that day, so we decided to adventure to Taco Bill to try the local cuisine. Alex grabbed the keys to the Toyota Kluger while I found the directions, and we headed out the door. It was at this point that we completely ran out of luck. 

Alex first realized that he had grabbed the wrong keys, that is, the keys to the manual car that it probably wasn't wise to drive on the left side of the road for the first time. "That's no problem," he thought, "I'll just run in to grab the other key." But somehow the doorknob to the front door was locked. We had the key to the deadbolt, but unfortunately the knob required a different key and wouldn't yield to any of us. Realizing the predicament, Alex reached for his cell to ask his aunt or uncle what to do. Sadly, the phone was sitting inside comfortably out of reach.  We circled the house for about twenty minutes looking for a door that would yield to our key with no luck: the house was the residential equivalent of fort Knox. Not to be stopped, we decided to walk the 2 miles to taco bill. It was nice outside and we could stand to stretch our limbs.

Forty minutes later, we arrived at Taco Bill. It was awfully dark inside. We peered into the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of delicious "Mexican" food, only to be greeted by a sign saying that the restaurant opened at 5:30. It was 2:00. Our situation was becoming dire. Driven by hunger and shamed by our inability to get anything right, we trudged to the nearest gas station to ask for some directions to the nearest provider of food. After a wonderfully helpful attendant set us straight, we managed to find the Templestowe hotel. Pramod ran over to the bar and asked if there was food. It was 2:25. The kitchen closed at 2:00. Luckily as we were about to leave, the chef popped out to say that he would keep the kitchen open for us. With a sigh of relief we sat down and waited for our food. Pramod was served a chicken parm as big as his face and with enough fries to feed, well, Pramod. Alex and I were greeted by some rather dry bangers and mash. It didn't matter. We were famished. Over the next hour and a half we enjoyed our food and watched a taped match of Aussie rules football. As I sat back and savored my beer that fittingly had a note of uric acid, I realized that it had been a rather enjoyable day. 

Australia!

After our adventures in halong bay, Mark, Rich, Tony, and Mez headed off to the Hanoi airport for a  stultifying 72 hours of travel back to new York. I hear that the end of their flight was plagued by more delays that prevented them from landing and diverted them to Canada, but it sounds like they've all made it back safe and sound.

Meanwhile, Aseem headed off to India while Alex, Pramod, and I headed off to the Gold Coast of Australia by way of Kuala Lumpur. Our arrival in Australia can be described as nothing less than blissful. It was in the mid 60s. There was no humidity. Everything was in English! And best of all, we could drink the tap water! Before even clearing customs (which is quite intense and includes food-sniffing dogs) we headed off to the bathroom to brush our teeth and take a good long swig of modern convenience.

We stayed in Surfers Paradise, which has two main attractions: the beach and clubbing. In other words it was perfect, since our main goal was to rest up after quite a bit of traveling. Our first, second, and third days were spent lounging on the beach, watching movies, exploring Australian grocery stores, and generally enjoying being in a thoroughly developed country with a climate much like that of southern California. 

Halong Bay

Halong bay

As we swerved along the highway to halong bay, I couldn't help but be a little nervous. We were about to embark on a three day, two night tour of halong bay, a distinctly beautiful unesco world heritage site in vietnam. Boat companies that operate in halong bay are known for providing dodgy service. To top that off, I had been a little queasy for the past few days and was not sure if a boat was the best place to be. Nonetheless, our van pulled up at the dock and a short man who went by the name "Jackie, as in Jackie Chan" greeted us. He eagerly explained to us our itinerary, asked us if we liked sea food, and led us down to a pontoon boat. "Oh boy," I thought, "it about time to get onto our leaky, smelly, cramped barge." We pulled up to a large wooden junk. "Not too shabby," I thought, "I wonder how many other people are on this boat?" we threw our bags onto the junk and hopped aboard to discover that we had what I would call a yacht all to ourselves. tHe eight of us would share four double rooms (yes, Jackie, we do want the beds pulled apart), each with it's own bathroom and shower. We were ushered upstairs to a dining room complete with white table clothes, red cloth decorative accents, and wine glasses. Jackie first offered us some delicious peach juice to whet our appetites, and afterward we sat down to our first lunch: a nine-course meal. Let me assure you, I had never had a nine-course meal before, and I very much did not expect to find one on a junk in Vietnam. Despite my trepidation with sea food, I managed to do just fine ripping the heads off of unfortunate but delicious steamed prawns, and the rest of the food was suitably delicious. Accidentally booking a luxury cruise for what we thought was a normal price wasn't so bad. 

We cruised into halong bay proper while I watched from our shaded veranda surrounded by potted plants. The verdant cliffs of halong bay rose sharply out of the water all around. We stopped first at a cave to have a look around. Our intrepid guide Jackie led the spelunking party as we traversed what turned out to be a rather large underground complex. He pointed out all sorts of rock formations that looked like bears, dragons, pigs, people, turtles, and more. As we tired, we left the cool underground oasis and headed back to the boat, where we were welcomed by a basket of fresh fruit and moist towels. After a visit to a "beach" (small sandy area crowded with tourists) we retired to the boat for our ten-course dinner complete with more prawns and clams. 

The next day was to be "action packed." a Jackie's insistence we awoke at 8 for a delicious breakfast, only to sit around for another hour as our boat chugged to our kayaking location. We set off in our kayaks along the smooth waters, marveling at a floating village, complete with a floating school. We explored a small cave and I wondered at the myriad of black crabs scurrying along the mussel-encrusted rocks as everyone else was contented to ram their kayaks into one another. It turns out that Rich (Mangione) knows a thing or two about rowing and is an absolute beast when it comes to propelling a vitnamese kayak. Later that day we kayaked through a few caves, using our flashlights to discover a multitude if bats above. Emerging from the other side of the cave, we found ourselves surrounded by apparently nasty jelly fish. I felt as though I were floating over a pool full of ghosts as I kayaked on.

The rest of the trip was filled with schwimming, eating, stargazing, and jumping off the top of the junk (an exhilaratingly long fall). 

All in all, this part of the trip rivaled Koh Samet in terms of relaxation, and it was simply wonderful.

Our Favorite People

Traveling with a group of eight has its distinct drawbacks, the foremost of which is that we rarely get the chance to interact meaningfully with people other than ourselves-- be they fellow travelers or denizens of the places we visit. But two people we have met on our travels have gone above and beyond in demonstrating the hospitality and good-heartedness of their home countries.

The first is The Hostel Man from Bangkok. This receptionist (or concierge) at the hostel did us a service for which we couldn't possibly thank him in words: he led us to food. In the first case, he recommended the restaurant Ao Than to us, an establishment on Khao San Rd. We have reached a consensus that this was the best restaurant at which we ate during the entire trip; we ended up eating there twice. But in that instance, he simply pointed us in the right direction. On another instance, he literally told us to follow him as he led us, in the pouring rain, through myriad back-alleys and the winding stalls of Thai commerce, upstairs to an unmarked establishment serving a Thai-ified version of Vietnamese pho. We knew as soon as we slurped our first noodles from the bowl and drank of our orange Fantas: this was a great man who had led us here.

But believe it or not, Hostel Man's greatness has been eclipsed in our minds by another man: a small, unassuming Cambodian who goes only by the name of Mr. Money.

Needless to say, when we first received the little chit of paper proclaiming that our driver for our three days touring the Angkor temples was named Mr. Money, we had a little laugh to ourselves. But little could we know then that Mr. Money was no laughing matter-- he was an angel incarnate, a living saint, a demi-god perhaps left over from the days of the brilliance of Angkor itself.

This was because Mr. Money was no mere driver. He was so much more than a driver. He was a shepherd, a guide, a balm in times of sickness and want. When it rained, he brought out umbrellas. When we were thirsty, he produced water bottles, cold and inexhaustible. When we were confused, he lent us his Angkor guidebook. When we were done with a temple, he would be cheerfully waiting with the van already started and the A/C fully engaged. He created the perfect temple itinerary for us, and kindly brought us to delicious restaurants for lunch. When we scaled temples and could not muster the courage to come down by ourselves (we meaning Tony), he would ascend and show us the way. And all he asked in return was the total of $65 dollars we paid him for his three days' loyal service, which we supplemented with a $10 tip.

We wondered to ourselves what good, kind Mr. Money must be doing during the long, hot hours that we toured the temples. We concluded that he must be possessed of a brilliant intellect, and that his life away from the steering wheel must be spent as an amateur mathematician. As we climbed ruined structures and pointedly stupidly at big insects, he was, we were sure, writing long and brilliantly formulated proofs in a secret notebook in the glovebox. We sympathized with the setbacks he must face, and sincerely regretted how easily the monsoon winds could break his train of thought and set him back four years. How cruel life must be as an undiscovered genius, a diamond in the rough!

We even formulated a Mr. Money song. It is sung to the tune of Baby Monkey (see Youtube), and goes a little something like this:

Mr. Money
Mr. Money
Driving in a van
Mr. Money

Mr. Money
Mr. Money
Solving Theorems
Mr. Money

We need more lyrics; please send your suggestions to aseem.a.shukla@gmail.com.

I dislike Vietnamese food

Today we sat down to dinner. I wasn't sure what to expect. Our experiences over the past few days have been mixed, and have led to extreme displeasure, sickness, and the utter absence of flavor. Obviously the situation is dire, and we stand at a critical juncture for our gustatory faculties.





Tony's food arrived. Aseem's food arrived. Mark, Mez, and Pramod's food arrived. But where was mine? My stomac gurgled. A faint pang of quesy stirred below as my body protested the diet of at least 2 liters of water per day, combined with food that is, well, also like water.





20 minutes later my food arrived. I was ecstatic. I was overjoyed. I could not contain myself. The world beyond my plate ceased to exist, and for a moment I forgot that I was with seven others, that I was in Vietnam, and lo, even that I was human. All had disappeared, and my basest, most primal instincts took charge.





I grabbed the food and put it to my mouth. The first salvo began with such a satisfying crunch that my eyes bulged and I wasn't sure whether I could continue lest I overwhelm the senses. I tasted tangy. I tasted fatty. Ooohhhhh soooo goood.





The second bite was five times better. A wonderful sense of umami filled my mouth, and lapped gently at the pangs of hunger, slowly washing them away. The very fiber of my being was consumed by the essence of rich beefyness.





I took a third bite, and then another. I could not stop. I munched and munched like a man possessed, diligently ploughing through the dish like a beaver through a log. I wish that I could tell you what was happening around me, but I do not remember.





I finished and surveyed the remnants with utter bliss. My troubled stomach blurbed and glurped as it settled down into into a state of blissful repose.





Oh, I never knew that a hamburger in Vietnam could taste so good.

Creation Myths

Today we toured five magnificent temples. Since Aseem has been the one with the guide book, he's played the role of tour guide, and has been giving us the back story for each structure. A creation myth for one of the temples was particularly interesting, so I'll recount it here:

The king Anayanda had a young son, whose name was Ramachandran. A precocious young boy, Ramachandran dreamed of travelling the world to learn about other cultures and to see its great wonders. One day, he approached his father to ask permission to leave the royal compound. Anayanda strictly forbade it. Not only was he worried that the vices of the world would corrupt his son, but he also knew that Ramachandran would likely never return to his provincial kingdom. So Anayanda strictly forbade Ramachandran from ever leaving the temple complex and condemned him to a life of study and religious reflection.

Ramachandran sank into a deep, dark depression. He absolutely hated his cloistered life, and no longer saw any point to living. He neglected his studies, forsook his friends, and stopped loving his father. His days were spent brooding silently in his room, and contemplating whether there was any point to this existence. Anayanda knew that he alone was responsible for his son's dramatic decline, but his personal pride prevented him from changing his decision. He must keep up appearances. Thus, Ramachandran grew up a lonely, glum boy, and his twentieth birthday was the loneliest day of his life.

The night of his birthday, Ramachandran sat in his room thinking about committing suicide. He couldn't continue this existence. Making up his mind, he opened his window and tip-toed out onto the roof.

From afar, a young girl named Suribana spotted Ramachandran's shadowy figure moving along the roof line. Her heart clenched. As a young girl she and Ramachandran had been close friends, and for a while there had even been talk of arranging their marriage. Suribana had heard of Ramachandran's prolonged depression, and she knew that his presence on the roof could mean only one thing. She was suddenly surprised by a strange occurrence. Ramachandran's figure changed. It grew wings, and towered into the air. All of a sudden it stretched its wings and flew into the damp night air.

No one ever saw Ramachandran again. Some thought that he had died, some thought that he had run away. But only Suribana knew the truth. Anayanda never forgave himself. He knew that Ramachandran had run away because of his decision nearly fifteen years ago, and he never could stop blaming himself. The kingdom fell into disrepair, poverty festered, and the population dwindled.

One fateful day, a great rain cloud approached. It loomed over the city as none had ever before. The rain spat down at the cursed kingdom, with drops as large as cashews. The damn upriver of the kingdom swelled, until the damn strained against the mighty pressure of the water. It could no longer hold. With one massive crack, a wall of water raced toward the kingdom. From his seat of power, Anayanda looked out at his wrecked kingdom. He knew that the end was near.

But Suribana knew otherwise. She felt a tingling in her big toe, and at that instant was inspired to call upon Ramachandran for help. Some visceral aspect of her being drove her to make the ancestral bird call, even though she had never heard it before: "Bagaaakaaawwww! Bagaaakaaaaawwwwwww!!! Areeeeeee! Areeeee! Areeeee! Goobblegobblekaw!" From beyond the horizon came a great rush of air. It seemed that all of the air from the region that we know know as Laos had decended on the country. The peasants staggered against the gale. Anayanda squinted and covered his eyes. Maybe one of the gods would kill them before the impending flood?

Then, from out of nowhere, Ramachandran in his bird form swooped o'er the country side. Dogs, chickens, and even geckos cowered under the shadow. Ramachandran pearched on the hut closest to the oncoming flood. He slowly produced a long bamboo rod, which he directed at the torrent of water. Still the water came. But as the frothy waters of the flood reached the hut, Ramachandran sprang into action. He placed the bamboo in his mouth and bent the rest of the rod down to the ground via an articulation. And then he bagan to drink. And drink. And drink and drink and drink. Until the flood waters were all gone. The city was saved.

Ramachandran, now looking more like a large pet rock with wings, struggled to his feet. He slowly turned, and with one wing saluted his father, letting out his signature cry, "Bagakaaaaawww! Bagaaaakaaaaaaaawwwwww! Areeee! Areeee! Areeee! Gobblegobblekaw!" He then stretched his wings and slowly flapped his turgid body away.

The town was shocked. All of them had thought that Ramachandran was dead, and yet they all knew that he alone was responsible for their salvation. Anayanda himself was torn. He did not know whether to be more thankful for the salvation of his people, or for the transformation of his only son into a lesser god. But one thing was clear. He had to thank his son. He set forth with a frenzy only matched by a hamster scampering on its wheel. Within a year the temple Banteay Srei was completed. To this day it remains one of the most visited and cherished temples in the Angkor Wat complex, partly because of it's numerous beautiful reliefs, partly because of its beautiful bird iconography, and partly because of its rich back story.