(me and some of my trekking buddies at the goecha-la pass, a couple of days earlier)
The first jeep brought me to a town called Jorethang, close to the southern border of Sikkim. As soon as I got out of the jeep, I felt like I was back in “real India”. I found myself struggling at a ticket booth, surrounded by pushy Indians who never seemed to have heard of a queue, sweating under the burning sun with my heavy bags. My old frustrations, that I seemed to have abandoned right there on my way to the mountains, came back to me like a tsunami of irritation. But a few moments later, when I ended up on a small, crowded market, seeing all the colors, smelling the spices, feeling the energy, I realized I had a big smile on my face. My love-hate relationship with India was resumed.
After one last bumpy jeep ride and an eventless night in the bus, I got to Kolkata at around 9am. After a couple of minutes I was soaking wet, even the slightest movement causing thick drops of sweat to stream down my face – the heat I had felt in Jorethang was nothing compared to what awaited me down south. When I arrived in Chennai, some 12 hours later, it was even hotter. Chennai has a reputation for being overly hot and crowded. I spent about an hour looking for a hotel at a reasonable price, and when I finally found it, I turned out to be the only guest, all alone in a big, dusty dormitory. I felt tired, lonely and really down, for the first time since I had left Belgium.
The next morning, after a good night’s sleep, I felt much better already. My first stop that day was Pondicherry (officially Puducherry, commonly called Pondy), a former French colonial coastal town. Nowadays, it looks almost completely like any other Indian city, except for the French street names, the policemen who – strangely enough – wear red “képis” and some bakeries and restaurants with so-called French cuisine. Close to the seaside, the streets are more quiet, leading up to the “promenade”, where it’s nice to take a stroll along the water or gaze at the horizon of the Bay of Bengal. I spent a couple of hours in Pondy. I treated myself to a steak with french fries and some bread from the bakery, sunbathed on the beach and drove around on a rented moped. It felt great to cruise along the seaside, the wind in my hair, enjoying the smell of sea and sand and the humbling view of that endless mass of water.
(this is the only, very bad picture I took of the promenade in Pondy)
That night I took a bus to Cuddalore, where I met the Indian family I was going to live with. Bhanu, a 31 year old woman, is the head of the organization “Blessing Kids”, for which I would work as a volunteer. She and her husband picked me up and brought me to their home in Melpattambakkam, a small village 15 km east of Cuddalore. They live in her parents-in-law’s house with their two kids, a 13 year old girl and an 8 year old boy. I felt right at home, petting their dog and fooling around with the little boy. I arrived on a Tuesday; on Friday night we were going to leave on a trip with the family. I was told I would start working after the trip, leaving me a couple of days to settle in Melpattambakkam. I slept in a separate house, in a nice room with a bathroom, a big balcony and even a TV. I would pay a fixed amount per month for the room, the food and the transportation, and work, of course, for free. There is a lot to say about this and about volunteering in general, so I will try to dedicate a separate blog entry to this.
I spent the next few days exploring the surroundings and discovering, little by little, the peculiarities of South India and the state of Tamil Nadu. The setting is very green, dominated by coconut trees, mostly scattered around fields of various crops, sometimes grouped into small woods. The patches without greenery reveal the reddish, ochre colored earth that is characteristic to the region. Melpattambakkam, like many villages, is situated along a crowded road that leads directly to Cuddalore. The commercial centre – hair dressers, copy shops, internet cafés, a myriad of small shops selling food, drinks, fruit, phones, clothes, sweets, etc. – is situated along the side of the main road, while smaller side roads lead to the humble houses where the people live. The side of the road is one continuous string of shops, with virtually no space between different villages. It makes you wonder how so many shops can survive – but then you realize you’re in one of the most highly populated countries in the world. Most of these shops seem to have at least one or two clients at all times. I have been told that owners of the typical small shops – they sell snacks, drinks, cigarettes and all kinds of day-to-day products like tooth paste and mosquito repellent, and you can find everywhere without doing more that a few steps – earn loads of money. Apart from the setting, the food as well is completely different in South India than in North India. Again I had to get used to new and strange names like dosa, idli, parotta, sambar and chutney. With all the palm trees around, it won’t surprise you that they use a lot of coconut in their food here. Coconut happens to be one of the few things I have a very hard time shoving down my throat, but since I don’t really have a choice, I’m slowly starting to like it. One curious detail: while in the North people are totally hooked up to milk tea (chai), in the South they drink more milk coffee. I had never thought I would ever drink so much Nescafe, but with fresh milk and a lot of sugar it can be surprisingly tasty.
(I have much more to say about Tamil Nadu and its culture, but I will do so in a separate blog entry. I have had quite a few remarks on my stories being a bit long. Even though I don’t like to give in to commercial pressure, I understand it and I will try my best, not to make them shorter but to cut them into smaller pieces.)
(since I left earlier than foreseen, I didn’t get any chance to take pictures of the surroundings; I did find this nice picture on the internet, taken near Cuddalore)
After three days in Melpattambakkam, we left on a trip to Ooty, a popular hill station, and Mysore, a city in Karnataka famous for its beautiful palace. Bhanu had rented a minibus with a driver to transport her family, a cousin, an old lady who works for Blessing Kids, a Danish girl that worked for her before me, that girl's mother and a friend of hers, and myself. Being with children and elderly people doesn’t usually lead to crazy adventures, so I will save you the details of our trip. May is holiday season in South India, so the places we went were packed with Indian tourists. The few times Indian mass tourism has crossed my path, I have found it to be of the worst kind: everything for the cheesy picture, mass consumption of useless and ridiculous junk, and worst of all, no respect whatsoever for the environment. As a result, we did a lot of endless queuing with nervous and impatient people for silly five-minute boat or elephant rides. A highlight, though, was the horseback riding in the green hills around Ooty; although my beloved buttocks hurt for several days afterwards, I found it a very pleasant experience. Also worth mentioning is the palace in Mysore, positively one of the most beautiful buildings I’ve seen in India; it looks like it’s right out of a fairy tale. A less pleasant moment was when we had an accident with the van. I was alone with the family when it happened– the Danish girls had gone shopping. We were about to overtake an autorickshaw, when all of a sudden it took a sharp turn. We hit him right on the side, and although we weren’t driving fast, we dragged him for a couple of meters, completely wrecking the autorickshaw, before coming to a stop. I was sure that the driver would be, if not killed, at least very badly hurt. After remaining in shock for a couple of seconds, I wanted to rush out of the van behind Bhanu’s husband, but he stopped me. “Don’t show yourself”, Bhanu explained, “or we pay more.” Seeing the crowd that had gathered in the meantime, and although it seemed cynical to worry about money on such a moment, I stayed inside and hid in the back of the van. After negotiating for fifteen minutes, the men came back and we drove away. Luckily, the driver of the autorickshaw had somehow managed to stay unharmed. We had to pay 3000 rupees (50EUR), even though the witnesses confirmed that we were not in fault. Bhanu says that we would have had to pay 10 times more had they seen me. Even so, apparently, it’s best not to call the police, as they would ask for even more money.
(mysore palace by night)
I was happy when we got back from the trip; I would finally get to do something. Only, I still didn’t know what… (how's that for a cliffhanger! Okay, maybe I do give in to commercial pressure...)
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