Mistaken Identity

The menfolk of India, China, and South Korea share an ability to look nondescript and unexceptional. Their habit of wearing dark dress pants and white dress shirts does not help in distinguishing staff from customer at public establishments. This issue has caused me great embarrassment on many an occasion, and my victims an equal amount of humiliation.

In Bangalore, I once asked a patron at a hazy bar for the bill. He gave me a dirty look through bloodshot eyes. In a Beijing restaurant, a man I presumed to be the server poured a bowl of soup. Once he was finished, I reached over to take it from him. He backed away defensively and told me that it was self service. In Seoul, I gave my ticket to the usher for checking. The man was merely standing to the side of the entrance, patiently waiting for his girlfriend to bring some popcorn.

*****

"Human identity is the most fragile thing that we have, and it's often only found in moments of truth." ~ Alan Rudolph

ARNABites: Rat Race

On my last evening in the picturesque village of Yangshuo, I found an elusive item on the menu and quickly ordered it. My finger pointed to the entry for rat cooked within a bamboo shoot. The restaurateur shook her head, "Don't have." She suggested I come back tomorrow. I would leave early next morning, so this was not an option. She saw the dismay etched on my ruggedly handsome face. Her brother was summoned to take me to the market to look for some rodent, but none was to be found that night.

Years passed, and I found myself wandering through a night market in Taipei. My Taiwanese friend spotted a restaurant that would surely interest me. Cages full of snakes and mice welcomed the diner at the entrance. Was rat on the menu? My friend checked the menu and answered in the affirmative, but after speaking with the waiter he served up some unfortunate news.

My feelings of elation evaporated upon hearing that the rodents they served were out of stock for the next few days. I would have left Taiwan by the time the next shipment would arrive. What of the mice on display outside? Those were only for feeding the snakes and not for direct human consumption. The proprietor said there were no other rat restaurants around.

Dejected, we kept walking until finding another snake restaurant. A restaurant worker was loudly promoting the powers of the soup to all passersby. My friend asked if they sold rat. The seller of snake soup was not impressed, advising us to "Be practical. Eat normal things, not crazy things." My quest for a mouse would not end this night.

Elephanta

The Elephanta Caves are the first underwhelming world heritage site that I have seen in India, having seen much better days. Although the island location of Elephanta adds some intrigue, they do not compare in any way to the diversity and scale of the sculpted caves found in Ajanta and Ellora. Nevertheless, the opportunity cost to visit it was low as it was a short boat ride away from my Bombay abode. I caught a ferry from near the Gateway of India, accompanied by a colleague from Teach For India who had recently relocated to Mumbai for the cause.

The most memorable structure is the great cave of Shiva, sprinkled with large pillars and sculptures of divine figures. There is no great buildup to the grand reveal. Visitors see the main cave as soon as they climb the staircases from the entrance and past the vendors peddling kitsch. The caves following it taper off in magnificence drastically, with many suffering from water damage. The six meter high Trimurti, a three headed figure set against the back wall of the cave, represents creation, preservation, and destruction.

The Portuguese gave the island the name of Elephanta in the 16th century, after finding a mammoth statue carved out of black stone. The complex was created well over a millennium ago, although it is hard to pinpoint the exact time period within which it was constructed. Much damage was done under Portuguese rule, which brought about an end to centuries of usage of the caves as a place of worship for the Hindu inhabitants of the island. The origins of the cave creators remain shrouded in mystery.

*****

"Man is a creature who walks in two worlds and traces upon the walls of his cave the wonders and the nightmare experiences of his spiritual pilgrimage." ~ Morris West

ARNABabe: Shutout

Whenever I discover that a dazzling Korean beauty already has a boyfriend, a Korean guy will usually appear within a few moments to provide some words of wisdom. Although quite pleased at the turn of events, he will nonetheless attempt to lift my spirits by saying "You know in Korea we have saying: You can score goal even if there is goalkeeper."

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