Of Bamboo Forests and Slow Cities

I caught a train to Gwangju, the nearest transit hub to the bamboo forest of Damyang. A helpful Korean lady at the Gwangju station drew an accurate rendering of which way I should turn, which stairs I should climb, and which direction I should walk to find the stop for the bus to Damyang. I followed the instructions and arrived just in time to catch the bus. I got off at the entrance to Juknokwon, a carefully cultivated bamboo forest that is the pride of the city. I wandered the gently sloping trails of Jukniwon for a couple of hours, before going to Damyang's main bus depot.

Public transit outside of the major metropolitan areas of Korea is very sporadic, with some bus routes being serviced with very limited frequency. Most Korean travelers either have their own car or go on a packaged tour, so it is not a issue for them. I wanted to go to a nearby "slow city" named Samjicheon. A "slow city" is an euphemism for a quiet town with an aging population that has not seen economic development in the past couple of decades as its youth has moved away to larger, more modern, cities in droves. I was told there was a long wait till the next bus, and introduced to a guy named Gyu who was also heading for Samjicheon.

Gyu turned out to be a unique fellow, with strong English skills, an independent mind, and extensive travel experience. He was in his thirties, self-employed, and unattached. Gyu explained that he travels until he runs low on cash, and then works on a freelance basis until he stockpiles some savings to fund further wanderings. "Korean women do not like poor guys" was his finding.

We reached the bucolic village of five hundred residents, rice fields, and traditional homes after a long and winding bus ride from Damyang. All the stores on the main street seemed to be shuttered even though it was a Saturday. We found a home style sit-on-the-ground-and-eat restaurant open a bit further down the road. A grandmother was sprawled on the floor and watching television. She got up spryly and called her daughter, who prepared a satisfying meal for us.

After lunch, we walked around the village. A couple passed us wearing matching clothes to show their undying love for each other. "When I had girlfriend, she made me do the same thing. I felt much shame." recollected Gyu. We caught a bus heading out in the direction of Gwangju, but had to switch buses midway to get to our next destination - the Joseon era garden of Soswaewon.

A friendly fruit vendor told us that it would be a long wait for the next bus and suggested we would be better off hitch hiking. He suggested using me as bait. "Me?" I asked. "Me!" he replied, poking me in the chest with his finger. We followed through on his idea, as a middle aged couple dropped us off at Soswaewon. Heralded for its unmatched beauty, Soswaewon was an underwhelming collection of pavilions and overgrown shrubs. It took less than five minutes to cover the grounds, followed by a much longer wait for a bus back to Gwangju.

*****

"A garden without bamboo is like a day without sunshine." ~ Korean saying

Inch by Incheon

Quite a few of Seoul's neighboring cites are connected to it via the region's extensive subway and light rail network, making intracity travel easy and affordable. I caught a train to Incheon one morning, Korea's third largest city with a population of 3 million. Famous for its international airport and being Korea's first designated free economic zone, Incheon also has the only official Chinatown in the country.

The familiar red and gold painted structures of Chinatown were located across the street from the train terminus. I explored the colourful bylanes and visited some colonial buildings and art galleries. The Chinese restaurants seem to be very popular with the Seoul weekend crowd, as each restaurant had long queues at lunchtime. Not overly interested in standing in line in the midday heat, I filled my stomach with tasty street food. This was followed up with some refreshing bubble tea, which is exceedingly rare to come across in this nation of coffee lovers.

Jayu Park, the oldest "Western style" park in Korea, is located on a hill near Chinatown. I ascended several flights of stairs to find out what a "Western style" park was. It was a public park like those found in Chinese cities, and not a private garden to be enjoyed exclusively by the royals. Children run through water fountains and couples wearing matching apparel walk hand in hand along the winding paths. Unlike Chinese parks though, elderly folk do not dance in unison to loud music to keep fit and maintain a sense of community.

Jayu Park features a large statue of General Douglas MacArthur and another monument celebrating one hundred years of friendship among the United States and South Korea. During the Korean War, Macarthur famously landed UN forces in Incheon behind North Korean lines. He recaptured Seoul within a few weeks, changing the momentum of a war that was swinging heavily in North Korea's favour until then. My final stop was the boardwalk at Wolmido, a short bus ride away. It is a place where families come to enjoy sunshine and raw fish amidst a carnival atmosphere.

*****

"Could I have but a line a century hence crediting a contribution to the advance of peace, I would yield every honor which has been accorded by war." - General Douglas MacArthur

The Fortress Around Suwon

My first trip to a city in Korea not named Seoul was to the neighboring industrial outpost of Suwon, the last remaining completely walled city in the country. After taking an intracity subway to Suwon, I meandered through the underground shopping mall connected to the train terminus before emerging on the other side of the road. There was a bus stop there but the plethora of routes and directions overwhelmed me.

My eagle eyes spotted a road sign pointing towards Hwaseong Fortress, the World Heritage site whose walls ring the original city limits. I walked a bit in that direction until finding another bus stop. I caught a bus here and hastily disembarked upon spotting the impressive fortifications a handful of stops later.

Suwon is also famous for its public toilets, and as a commode aficionado I  had no choice but to visit a facility right outside the fortress. Similar to Xian, it is possible to circumnavigate the six kilometers worth of fortress walls by foot. Hwaseong Fortress was constructed by paid laborers in the late 18th century, a first in the nation's history. Prior to that, aristocrats had usually forced people of low status to provide unpaid labour.

King Jeongjo had plans to move the nation's capital to Suwon. Jeongjo's grandfather had ordered his son Sado to commit suicide. When Jeongjo's father failed to follow instructions, he was locked alive in a chest until he was no longer. Sado's tomb is located in the "The City of Filial Piety", but Jeongjo's capital plans never came to fruition.

*****

 "Rest not! Life is sweeping by; go and dare before you die. Something mighty and sublime, leave behind to conquer time." - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

ARNABabe: Lost in Translation

Several Korean guys had spent a couple of hours coaching me how to say "What is your phone number?" in the local tongue. The phrase was many syllables long so I had a tough time memorizing it. Putting my new found knowledge into practice, I was able to successfully secure the digits of a stunning Seoul beauty despite committing some major blunders.

Me: Jonhabonhogamoeiyo?
Beauty: Do you even know my name?
Me: No. Do you know mine?
Beauty: Arnab.
Me: Oh...

Her voice was so melodious I had failed to capture the meaning behind the sounds she was making when she was first introducing herself. I gave her my phone and she dialed her number. For the follow up a few days later, I used a non verbal and harmless text message to query whether she was free for dinner.

She was grossly offended that I had offered her free dinner as "Korean girls are not so cheap". This time the miscommunication could be attributed to the language barrier. Tragically, the story came to a premature end before we could become Seoul-mates.

*****

"To cement a new friendship, especially between foreigners or persons of a different social world, a spark with which both were secretly charged must fly from person to person, and cut across the accidents of place and time." - Cornelia Otis Skinner

Seoul Metro

The Seoul Metropolitan Subway is the world's fourth largest commuter network, carrying 4 million passengers per day. The stations are bustling hives of activity, with food, toilet, and shopping venues readily available. Excruciatingly long transfers between different lines at the same station are not as convenient, designed as a mechanism to keep the general populace in top top shape. Vibrant ads and thoughtful poetry adorn the platform, and television screens feature entertaining lessons on how to behave at the station and on the train. The metro functions as a petri dish to examine modern day Korean culture, from etiquette to fashion.

Once aboard, a first time rider will notice that there are reserved seats for old people and pregnant women which no able bodied person will sit in. These seats are even empty in a packed train during rush hour or late night when there are no oldsters or baby mamas in sight, as decorum must be maintained at all times in Korea. Looks of scorn are projected at those selfish enough to sit down on these without being infirm or impregnated. If the phone must be used to make a call, then the conversation is carried out in a hushed tone with one hand politely covering the mouth.

Riding the Bombay locals was an exhilarating experience, but the primary excitement was in getting on and off a moving train. The ride itself was not very fun. The Seoul Metro is breathtaking while on board, particularly as spring turns to summer. Beautiful short skirted passengers sitting on the train carefully avoid reenacting Sharon Stone's famous scene from Fatal Attraction. They are absorbed in their own worlds, applying makeup or playing on their smart phones. Only an occasional shy glance is given to the Indo-Canadian Temptation. The women are not the only fashionable commuters in transit. Their stylish male counterparts all dress alike, the combination of their skinny hairless bodies and tight shorts and shirts giving them the appearance of ball boys at a tennis match.

Windtalkers

Many South Koreans are striving to improve their English skills, which are by and large nonexistent. Youth from wealthier families frequently go overseas to learn English and see a bit of the world at the same time. For those not blessed with the same opportunities, Korea is well stocked with white ESL teachers and bookstores providing learning materials.

Not only are Koreans eagerly learning the de facto official language of the planet, but also about the unspoken melodies of sound and smell that are enjoyed around the globe. As I flipped through the pages of an English language study guide, a certain section captured my undivided attention. Under a Korean headline, were the following scintillating subheadings:

1) Why People Fart
2) How Farts Are Made
3) Amazing Facts about Farting
4) Why Men Fart More than Women
5) Secrets about the Speed of Farts

Surgeon General's Warning

South Koreans annually top the international rankings of the most surgically enhanced people per capita, with approximately one in five ladies having gone under the knife to get some upgrades. This still leaves a lot of natural beauties around, as every other girl walking in high heels and short skirts down a street in Seoul on a Friday night looks like a contestant from the Korea's Next Top Model reality show.

Pretty much every Chinese person had an identical reaction when I told them I was moving to Korea. They told me to be careful about a nation of artificial beauties, although I usually cannot tell who has been modified. The message from one Chinese girl sufficiently summarizes their concerns for my well being:

Don’t get a korea girl~ they have fake face!!!!horrible!

Hahahhahahaha!

Korean girl has fake nose,fake cheek，fake lip，and fake boob and ass~ don’t touch it！
They will treat you very nice with their fake body~
Enjoy it~~hahahahahha！！！！！！！！！！！
Maybe，when you kiss，her lip collapse~~~~~~~wow hu~ that will be very ugly~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do not do the plastic surgery！！！ It is popular in korea,but you just wanna Hold on！

The good thing you head off to that country is：you will be the NO.1 cute guy in the country，coz ，u know，they don’t have handsome guy ~~

Sadly, the Seoul sirens seem to have gotten a similar memo warning them to avoid me.

The Parable of the Singing Bastard

I went to see Marvel's The Avengers at a movie theater in Seoul. When I went to the ticket counter, the staff objected to my being there and began to gesticulate wildly. I did not understand what the commotion was about until a kind Korean gentleman behind me pointed out that I needed a ticket just to line up at the ticket counter. He walked with me and we retrieved a numbered slip such as the ones found at banks or visa offices. As there was no one else in the lineup, my number came up immediately and I was able to purchase my movie ticket. While we waited for the film to begin, the man and I made small talk.

Me: What do you do?

He: I am bastard.

Me: No, I mean what is your job?

He: Bastard.

Me: Umm...

He: Pray to God.

Me: Oh, you mean pastor?

He: Yes.

***

He: What you sing about Korea?

Me: I don't sing about Korea.

He: No, what you sing about Koreans?

Me: I don't sing... oh, you mean what do I think about Koreans?

He: Yes.

Words of Encouragement

A Chinese girl was inquiring about the status of the Indo-Canadian Temptation in Korea.

Chinese girl: Hi sen sen. How r you? did you got a new gf? 

Me: No gf yet. A few failed attempts so far, but they were entertaining. Most are afraid of me and run away.

Chinese girl: HA~~~~LIKE WHAT I THOUGHT,U DON’T GET ANY ONE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~U  SUCK~

ARNABangkok

As darkness falls in Bangkok, its bustling markets full of food and clothing give way to markets of flesh and a lack of clothing. It is a city of dichotomies that is representative of much of Asia these days - a collection of lands whose age old cultural fabric is giving way to a global mindset. The cosmopolitan city is a good introduction to the changes sweeping through the continent, a place where the past struggles to maintain relevance amidst the onslaught of a future that promises unparalleled opportunities and creature comforts.

Bangkok bookended my journey through Southeast Asia, as it was the alpha and omega of my loop through Thailand, Malaysia, Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos. I had plenty of time to leisurely explore Bangkok's different neighbourhoods from Chinatown to the backpacker dominated Khao San area, taste its succulent selection of street food, and witness Muay Thai kickboxing bouts, among other activities.

Distinctive temples adorn the Bangkok-bisecting Chao Phray River, with Wat Arun towering above them all. The Grand Palace features con men feasting on tourists outside its gates and an image of Buddha carved from a single piece of jade in a temple within. Another famous Buddha reclines inside Wat Pho, his gold leaf covered body and 46 meter length the envy of Bond girls and basketball players alike.

Ram, an enterprising young man whom I had met in Beijing, graciously hosted me in Bangkok. His apartment in Sukhumvit was within walking distance of the subway and metro stations and seedy nightlife areas, but I sometimes splurged on the handy motorcycle taxis that ferried customers to their destination for a few coins. Ram even had a spare phone which he let me use to keep in touch. I lost it on my second day in town, and he made me buy a replacement.

Tonle Sap

The Southeast Asian equivalent of North America's Great Lakes is the Tonle Sap, a mammoth freshwater lake spanning nine Cambodian provinces and its neighbouring nations. The lake functions as the beating heart of Cambodia, shrinking and swelling according to the seasons. During the monsoon season the lake expands from 2700 square kilometers to almost 16,000 square kilometers, rising 8 metres higher than dry season. Water cascades into Tonle Sap from the Mekong River like Americans into a Taco Bell restaurant in Seoul.
 

Tonle Sap can be poetically translated from Khmer as "Large Freshwater River". The major source of protein in the average Cambodian's diet consists of fish caught here. The Cambodian currency, riel, is even named after a certain type of fish. Apart from being critical to Cambodia's economy, the Tonle Sap is also spectacularly beautiful. I hired a boat to explore this UNESCO biosphere for several hours, stopping by at a fishing village.

The locals reside in stilted homes designed to survive the ecological phenomenon of a lake whose direction of flow changes twice a year. I stepped off of my boat onto a stilted platform. Crocodiles snapped their massive jaws at me from an opening underneath. I wandered around, stopping briefly to examine a bottle of snake wine, before hopping back to the safety of my boat.

The lake provides both fertile ground for farming and plentiful fish for eating. With fishing and agriculture the mainstays of their life, ecotourism provides another source of steady income for the Cambodians. All visitors, irregardless of whether they happen to be selfless heroes dedicated to the cause of alleviating global inequity through education, are encouraged rather vigorously by the boatmen to purchase supplies from the local shops and donate them to one of the orphanages or schools in the vicinity.

Heads of State

Five thousand years ago the first Yandi ("Flame Emperor") ascended the Chinese throne. He was credited with introducing basic agricultural techniques and herbal medicine to the masses. The last Yandi was defeated by the first Huangdi ("Yellow Emperor"), who also got a lot of accolades for bringing about the invention of the Chinese calendar, astronomy, and character writing system. In the Chinese doctrine of five phases, fire creates earth, and yellow follows red, so everything fits together quite nicely. At the Yellow River Scenic Area near Zhengzhou, these two legendary figures have been immortalized in China's homage to Mount Rushmore.

A massive man made square separates the two stone figures on the mountain from the mighty river, which was barely visible due to the heavy fog. On the square, a reenactment of a royal procession kept me occupied for some time. A bevy of long haired beauties were dressed in colourful ethnic wear. After the show was over, my travel partner Swathish and I climbed swiftly to the top of the mountain to examine the two large sculptures of the emperors heads. On the way down we took a more circuitous and relaxing route, stopping three times.

The first stop was at the viewpoint from which Mao had stood and declared the Yellow River to be of great strategic importance. The second time was when we happened upon a fine artist who could very quickly modify traditional water brush paintings he had prepared in advance and add personalized calligraphy to them. Impressed by his handiwork, we commissioned the artist to create several parchments. The third stop was when several Chinese girls spotted me and asked me to pose with them for some pictures. Always the gentleman, I gladly obliged. My travel partner stood to the side, simmering with quiet jealousy.

*****

"Arnab reveled in the some of his favourite items - Chinese beauties and concrete monsters." - Swathish

Finger Bowl

I was sitting at a restaurant in a Beijing alley with my coworkers when a dirty bowl of soup arrived at our table. One of my colleagues seized the opportunity to recount a Chinese pun:

Several friends were sitting together at a streetside eatery when the waiter arrived with a bowl of piping hot soup. His thumb was halfway submerged in it.

"Your finger is in the soup!" exclaimed one of the disgusted customers.

"Don't worry." the experienced waiter calmly replied. "It doesn't hurt."

ARNABites: It's Alive

After eating almost everything imaginable under the sun during my China years, I moved from inanimate to animate objects in Korea. At the Noryangjin Fish Market in Seoul, dozens of fishmongers offer mysterious creatures of the deep to the public for immediate consumption. I was accompanied by my friend Zeki. As we exited the Noryangjin subway and turned towards the overhead walkway leading to the fish market, Zeki mentioned that I should have cash on hand as they probably do not accept credit cards. "No they don't." confirmed a foreign passerby who appeared out of nowhere for that brief moment as if performing a cameo in a movie.

After careful inspection, we selected a couple of octopi. I had wanted to share one, but Zeki insisted on two. He wanted to make sure that we each got a head. The fishmonger put the octopus in a plastic bag partially filled with water and handed it to me. We walked through a narrow opening between several stalls at one corner of the market and headed into a basic restaurant attached to the fish market. A lady roughly grabbed my octopi. I followed her into the back and watched in stunned silence as she quickly chopped off the tentacles and put the various squirming pieces onto a dish.

I had difficulty picking up the tentacles with the narrow metal chopsticks that Koreans generally utilise. I was accustomed to the better grip provided by the Amazon rainforest worth of disposable wooden chopsticks used by the Chinese. The strong suction cups on the tentacles were not helping matters either, resisting my attempts to pry them loose from the plate. After finally capturing one wiggling tentacle I dropped it into the signature Korean hot sauce. It twirled around by itself until it was fully sauced. The paste made it somewhat tasty as the raw tentacle generated little flavour by itself.

I avoided eating the head as long as possible, but soon the time came to devour it. Zeki warned me that it was too difficult to chew, and that I would have to swallow it whole. I did not want to do that, so I chewed valiantly for ten minutes after wrapping it in lettuce leaf. The head was about one and a half times the size of a poached egg, with a similar texture but much stronger composition. The membrane was not breaking down into something digestible despite my best efforts. My strength began to fade so eventually I had to swallow it as Zeki predicted. Overall, it was quite unappetizing but worth a try once.

*****

And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. 

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

- William Shakespeare`s Hamlet

Luang Prabang: Almish Paradise

A rite of passage for travellers visiting Laos is waking up at dawn in Luang Prabang to watch a stream of saffron clad monks collect alms from a row of kneeling devotees. The monks accept handouts without discrimination from whomever chooses to participate in the ceremony, be it locals who have been following this Buddhist ritual of obtaining merit for years, or beer guzzling backpackers without the faintest idea of why they had to get up so early and buy some overpriced rice from a street vendor strategically positioned nearby almless alms givers. Some majesty is lost with popularity, but it is still a memorable experience.

I woke up a bit after sunrise and hurried to Luang Prabang's main street to catch the festivities. Everyone awake at that time was heading in the same direction, so I followed them. I waited for several minutes until the tiny specks of orange in the distance became larger and larger. As the first group of monks arrived, many tourists swarmed them like paparazzi. Strict behavioural rules such as the way participants should sit (with feet tucked in and not pointing at anyone), dress (modestly), and position their heads (below that of a monk) are all defined. The groups of monks that followed could collect their alms in greater serenity after the initial photo taking frenzy had concluded.

*****

"A jug fills drop by drop." ~ Buddha

Impenetrable Sea Fortress of Maharashtra

One of my first outings while stationed in Bombay was to Alibag and its surroundings. An office girl from Chennai who accompanied me did all of the talking. Catching a ferry to Mandwa from the Gateway of India is the fastest way to get to Alibag. As the journey began, I narrowly avoided reconfiguration of my handsome face as the ferry collided with a boat anchored right beside it. I had to duck to avoid the protective tire barriers on the side of the boat from hitting me in the head. Forty five minutes later we docked. Most of the  passengers on the ferry immediately ran from the Mandwa pier to a bus that would take them onwards to Alibag. After the bus was suitably overcrowded, it ambled away to its destination. The stragglers, including us, were stuffed onto a shared rickshaw which quickly overtook the bus on its way to Alibag.

We were dropped off in the middle of a roundabout near the town center. A dozen meters away was the ticket counter for the return ferry journey. The lady manning the booth told us the tickets had been sold out a week ago and advised us to hang out at the beach and then take a bus back. We had other plans and told her what we wanted to see, including a mysterious Jewish settlement. She said none of that was interesting, reiterated that we should just hang out at the beach, but then provided us accurate directions to where we wanted to go. Five separate shared rickshaw journeys followed with a variety of co-passengers. On one segment, a mother was teaching her son how to properly throw garbage out of a moving vehicle onto the street. Due to the prevailing direction of the wind, his attempts were only resulting in his empty bag of chips landing back inside the rickshaw whenever he attempted to toss it outside.

We could not find the Jewish settlement anywhere, although all the locals were vaguely aware of knowing someone else who had heard of Jewish people. We were advised to ask for "Europe people" or "Portugal people" if we wanted to see any colonial ruins. Alibag was where the Bene Israel Jews first landed in India over 2000 years ago. Some meandering through ancient forts, beaches, and villages finally led us to some spectacular sites. One of these was Chaul, location of a famous sea battle between the Portuguese and Egyptian fleets in 1508. A rich delinquent had even built his mansion within some ruins, completely disregarding the Indian Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Sites and Remains Act of 1958.

After briefly halting at the palatial residence of the Siddi Nawab we had a delicious fish thali (mixed platter) at a popular beachfront restaurant. Hunger satiated, thirst followed. We had heard about a local concoction called maadi, made from coconut and fermented to perfection. A man overheard us talking about the beverage and took us to a shady clearing nearby. Another man climbed down from a coconut tree, took our empty water bottle and filled it up with some liquid from a petrol canister. It was very tasty. We then walked towards the next settlement in search of another rickshaw. For a while we could not find any, but as soon we got on a rickshaw and were on our way, two lost looking English beauties walked out of a back alley onto the main street. I groaned in disappointment. "Good thing we saw them now, otherwise you would have forgotten about me." murmured my travel companion.

Our final stop before heading back to Bombay was the impenetrable sea fortress of Murud Janjira. From the opposing shore we were hurried on to a barely seaworthy vessel, made even less so by the mass of humanity loaded onto it. As we approached the fort, it looked even more dark and menacing than it had from afar. Nineteen bastions holding cannons and thick walls rising a dozen meters into the sky loomed ahead. Inside it was much brighter, murky green ponds and shrubbery having taken over most of the man made construction. We climbed the staircase to the highest point. The entire fort as well as the bay surrounding it was clearly visible. Any ship approaching the area would have been spotted from kilometers away by the guards once manning this point.

Under the jurisdiction of it's Abyssinian Siddi rulers, Murud Janjira was never captured by Dutch, Portuguese, English, or Maratha forces, a distinction no other fort on India's west coast can claim. The name comes from the Konkani word for island, morod, and its Arabic equivalent, jazeera. If the fort at Murud Janjira was not spectacular enough, another floating citadel loomed out even further out to sea, constructed by Shivaji's son after he failed to conquer it by digging a tunnel into the fort. It is inaccessible to the public. On the way back to the mainland, a grown man started whimpering on the sailboat. "Is he scared?" I asked a man awkwardly crouching beside me and trying not to fall overboard. "I think so." he replied.

It Happens Only In Burhanpur

I rolled into Burhanpur's railway station a couple of hours before my friend Himanshu's wedding. He had sent his roommate to pick me up. As we rode to my hotel on his motorcycle he briefly explained Burhanpur's claim to fame. Mumtaz Mahal, the favourite wife of Emperor Shah Jahan, had expired in the town while delivering her fourteenth child. Burhanpur was to be the site of the Taj Mahal, but due to logistical issues the world's most beautiful building was built in Agra instead.

I was sharing my hotel room with another wedding guest. After introductions, I freshened up and got into my ethnic gear. The hotel was on the main street of Burhanpur, as was the wedding hall, so we strolled there just as the baraat was beginning. The baraat is a procession where the groom sits on a horse while his friends and family members enthusiastically dance along to the music of a marching band. There is also much waving around of rupee notes in the air.

The baraat can take many hours to complete, regardless of the distance traversed. In this particular case it was a hurried affair, as we covered around a hundred meters in little over an hour. I followed at a safe distance, careful to not get caught in the middle of the gyrating crowd. I was still occasionally pulled in for some dance lessons by the revelers. The dancing was so frenetic that a dust storm was kicked up outside the entrance of the wedding hall.

Now it was the time for the actual marriage ceremony. A couple of Himanshu's friends came up to me and inquired "Do you booze?". "A little." I cautiously replied. We headed out and one of them threw me some motorcycle keys. I do not know how to operate a motorcycle, so soon four of us were on another bike headed to the local watering hole. There I was plied with whisky, beedis, and a famous Burhanpur dish made from a mixture of lentils and rice.

The groom called his roommate to summon me back to the wedding hall, as I had not yet met his family. His other friends kept ordering more drinks. "Stop, else he will be completely out." pleaded the roommate, who was limiting his intake. "It does not matter if he has killed one man or many, he is murderer either way." was the supporting argument in favour of getting more drinks for me. The roommate was able to extract me from the bar after a while. "You don't drink much?" I asked. "It is a small town. One has to maintain a good image." he responded.

The marriage functions were winding down now. I met Himanshu's father and cousins, before posing for a photo with the bride and groom. The fellow sharing my hotel room was leaving the same night, so all the friends got on a couple of motorcycles again to drop him off. On the way back, another motorcycle was approaching the one I was sitting on from an acute angle. "What's going on?" I asked the driver of my motorcycle. The man on the other bike took out a bottle of whisky and handed it to me like a baton. "Put it in your pocket." my driver calmly said.

I was back at the wedding, standing rigidly so as not to disclose the concealed bottle of liquid sin. It was time for the newlyweds to say good night. Once the rest of the guests had also departed, the remaining guys gathered around me. I reached under my kurta and slowly revealed the whisky bottle. Everyone roared in approval and we headed to my hotel room for a nightcap. On the way a rather large ass stood in the middle of the street, unperturbed by the bright lights or honks emanating from the two wheeler rapidly approaching it. We swerved around it at the last moment, with the driver remarking "A donkey in the middle of the road. It happens only in Burhanpur.".

Holy Cow

There is a stereotype about India that cows are to be found absolutely everywhere, from the family farm to the middle of a busy intersection in a bustling metropolis. It is true. One day I was inside the ticket reservation center of a train station when I noticed a steaming heap of cow dung on the floor near the ticket counter. 

Me: There was a cow inside here?

Indian guy: Yes, this is India. Not even the prime minister's seat is safe.

Android and the Indian Accent

After my trustworthy Nokia plunged into a toilet bowl and never recovered fully, I finally entered the smartphone fray with the cheapest Android phone available in the marketplace. I had held out for many years, finding the devices too large to be convenient and too complicated to be efficient. For instance, my fingers correspond to more than one letter at a time on the touchscreen keyboard, so it is very difficult to type text messages. I was with a colleague when I discovered it had voice recognition capabilities that could ease my typing burden. Much to my amusement, it could not decipher my coworker's Indian accent.

Me: I am very handsome.
Phone: I am very handsome.
Me: I am testing out voice recognition.
Phone: I am testing out voice recognition.
Indian coworker: I am testing the phone.
Phone: I am dictating the fort.
Indian coworker: I am testing the phone.
Phone: I'm checking the phone.
Indian coworker: I am testing the phone.
Phone: I am digging the phones.
Indian coworker: Let's try something easy. I went to the sea.
Phone: BBC Weather.
Indian coworker: I went to the sea.
Phone: Irish crikey.
Indian coworker: I went to the sea.
Phone: Sex.
Me: It can even read minds.
Indian coworker: How did you read my mind?
Phone: Cheese P Diddy my mind.

A Different Perspective

Chinese girl: Korean girls ugly.
Me: What??? They are very nice looking. A lot of them have even had plastic surgery.
Chinese girl: Yes... because Korean girls ugly.

Sleeper

After a overnight train journey from Mumbai, I arrived in Ahmedabad at around 5 in the ante meredien. I had foolhardily booked the lower bunk in a sleeper compartment of the train. Lower berths are recommended for security reasons. It is easier to notice if someone is purloining your luggage from right beneath your bed than when you are two bunks up, far detached from the happenings below.

The drawback is that you get little to no sleep, as a continuous stream of passengers without beds, seats, tickets, or manners uses your bed as their own. I was forced against the interior wall of my compartment, able to maintain possession of approximately 40% of my allotted sleeping area. The remaining 60% of the property was captured by a rotating set of 22 different individuals of various ethnic backgrounds during the 9 hour journey. Thankfully, the maximum number of people sitting on me at any given time did not exceed 5.

I groggily tumbled out of the train at Ahmedabad Junction and walked into the station's waiting room. The seats all seemed to be occupied. A strange mix of a hospital waiting room and a morgue, I wandered around the piles of bed sheet covered bodies sleeping on the floor and found one man taking up two seats. I grunted and he grudgingly moved his duffel bag as I took a seat. I reached into my backpack and dug out my trusty blue travel pillow. As I inflated it with several deep breaths, the sleepy eyes of the other travellers suddenly shifted towards me as if I was the most peculiar sight in the room. I placed it around my neck and slept soundly until daybreak.

*****

"Man should forget his anger before he lies down to sleep." ~ Mahatma Gandhi

Hands On Experience

Indian guy: Are all you foreigners like this?
Me: Yes.
Indian guy: This is weird, yaar.

A conversation about cultural differences between India and the West that had centred around the usage of coconut oil versus gel for hair styling had segwayed into man's favourite topic.

Indian guy: I had heard before that abroad people wipe their a** and don't wash their a** but I never believed it until you confirmed it.
Me: It's true.
Indian guy: This is very unhygienic. You know, after going to the toilet you should wash.
Me: I always wash my hands afterwards.
Indian guy: Not just your hands...
Me: I use toilet paper for that. I wipe and I wipe until the paper is white. That way my hand stays clean for when I eat. No poo stuck in my finger nails.
Indian guy: We don't use the same hand for eating. God gave you two hands for a reason! And what about your underwear? Do you wash that?
Me: Once in 3 months.
Indian guy: Ugggh. What about in airplanes? Are there Indian style toilets there?
Me: Nope. 
Indian guy: Not even on Air India?
Me: No. Maybe you can use the water from the sink and slosh it around.
Indian guy: My god, this is horrible. I am learning new things today that I never imagined before.

After several moments of quiet contemplation, he had the last laugh.

Indian guy: You know all the pretty Indian girls. They also all use their hands.

Arnab's Year in Cities, 2011

The year 2011 began with New Year's celebrations in Seoul with my hostel mates. I soon returned to China, wrapping up my 2.5 year odyssey at the end of May. I came back to Canada in time to attend a friend's wedding, and spent a few months there job hunting and soul searching. After securing a position at Teach For India, I set off on an expedition through Southeast Asia. A couple of months later I was in Mumbai, joining the noble movement to end educational inequity.

All told I stayed overnight in 25 cities in 2011, far fewer than in 2010 or 2009. I atoned for this by reaching double digits in countries visited in a year for the first time:

• Bangkok, Thailand
• Beijing, China
• Daman, India
• Hanoi, Vietnam
• Hoi An, Vietnam
• Hue, Vietnam
• Kolhapur, India
• Kolkata, India
• Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
• Luang Prabang, Laos
• Mahabaleshwar, India
• Mumbai, India
• Phnom Penh, Cambodia
• Ranchi, India
• Saigon, Vietnam
• Seoul, Korea
• Siem Reap, Cambodia
• Spokane, USA
• Vancouver, Canada
• Vientiane, Laos
• Wenatchee, USA
• Wutaishan, China
• Yan'an, China
• Yinchuan, China
• Zhengzhou, China

*****

A whole new world

Don't you dare close your eyes

A hundred thousand things to see

Hold your breath - it gets better

I'm like a shooting star, I've come so far I can't go back to where I used to be

~ "A Whole New World" from Aladdin ~

A Man And His Dicos

Dicos is the premiere homegrown fast food chain in the People's Republic of China. Whenever I was in a Tier 2 or Tier 3 city and spotted a franchise, I would rejoice. At some point during my stay in that town, I would dine at Dicos. In a strange place the hint of the familiar is enough to calm the nerves. Be it at the beginning of the day before I braved the unknown, for a lunchtime break in the midst of adventuring, or to wile away the hours until a midnight train arrived to whisk me back to Beijing, Dicos was always there in my hour of need.

The heavyweight duo of KFC and McDonalds dominated the big cities, so Dicos focused on areas where they had yet to set foot in. Some of my travel partners sulked while I enjoyed each zesty bite of processed goodness, while others refused to enter the outlets altogether. During Ramadan in Kashgar there was barely a restaurant open, yet my fellow traveller Preston steadfastly refused to entertain the thought of obtaining sustenance at Dicos. Fortunately, most readily embraced the joy of Dicos. Friends would send me an instant message from afar, saying they had stumbled upon a Dicos in Inner Mongolia or some such place.

The staff at any Dicos, being Chinese, found me completely incomprehensible. Once I pointed to a combo I wanted to order, but they only gave me the burger. I again pointed to the combo I wanted and they gave me another burger. The manager came out to see what all the fuss was about. He figured out I wanted a combo, so he added it to my increasingly long bill. Other travelers had similar experiences, often accepting the items they received (but had not ordered) with serene expressions on their faces.

Physically a Dicos outlet looks like a cross between a McDonalds and KFC outlet. The format and presentation of the food is similar. It tastes somewhat better, but not in any discernible manner. Perhaps it was the knowledge that my days in Dicos were limited to my time in the far reaches of China that made it so enjoyable. To know that no other foreigner had defiled the premises before I was an uplifting thought. I estimate I visited about 25-30 Dicos in my two and a half year stay in China.

*****

Go: Dinner at Yoshinoya.

Preston: Why? 

Arnab: No Dicos nearby.

Preston: You are shameful.