Not going north with friends on the trip we've been planning since August (itinerary, below right). PiA has, reasonably, asked me to wait a week or perhaps two before they can give the go-ahead for North India.
It's sad and frustrating and feels a little like caving to a culture of fear; and a whole lot like a missed opportunity.
Or a gained one. I've got no desire to hang out waiting in Kody, or even on a Goan beach, for two weeks. So off to the ashram we go, for perhaps one of the scariest things I've ever undertaken: four week yoga teacher training.
It's on my list of things to do in life.
It's a hell of a lot cheaper than flying home for a month.
It means I don't have to worry about packing for cold North and hot Kerala...
And it's not for sure, so please cross-fingers that, when a colleague and I show up later today there will be space, they'll let me join at the 11th hour, and will give the Indian rate...
If yes, I likely won't be posting here until January. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Be safe, Northbound friends!
Namaste.
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Gazing, Grazing
I recently came across an interesting article on white expats in Jakarta and their experience of being, usually for the first time, in the racial minority. It was about the "Othering gaze," about being stared at, about no longer being white-invisible. The typical reaction is to do anything to escape the gaze: sunglasses, ipod, look down/up/blankly ahead/away, avoid gazing crowds. Avoid, distance, create a hermetic seal between self and gazing other.
Here, tourists gaze. Kodaikanal locals are used to the foreigners who have been here with the school since before there was a Kodaikanal town. It's gendered, though--or at least, my reaction is.
The gaze of Indian male tourists is unpleasant and I usually react as described above, occasionally giving a dirty look, occasionally responding with a real hello, depending on my mood. It is easy to imagine they are not only staring at whiteness, but are also objectifying a body; who knows what is truly behind the stare.
I've become a little mischievous with female tourists who stare. Usually, they come in school groups--or at least walk the lake in large, somewhat ordered packs. They REALLY stare, and it has a different quality, it is a gaze at the strange. I am strange. They stare hard, and nudge each other, and whisper, and point. So...I've started matching their stare. For amusement. I will meet their eyes with even deeper intensity; it usually takes a few seconds for the poor girl to realize I am looking right back. Caught. She then looks away, hides her face, smiles sheepishly, even shrieks and ducks, while her friends buzz. I try to smile while staring--as if to say: It's ok, have a look, I know I'm whiter than white, have short hair, am wearing jeans...but why not say hello, or vannakam, while staring?
Yesterday I was having a coffee and doing some marking (Hilltop bakery has finally accepted the fact that I will show up daily and sit for close to an hour); a group of seniors was talking loudly at the next table. Privileged Indian youth, heatedly debating whether to apply to colleges in the UK or the States. One young man was arguing in favour of the States--preferably the midwest--because whenever he walks the streets of Paris or London, he creates a spectacle. In the States, he disappears. Magnified/melted away. A young woman countered that America has no culture, so she will be applying to UK schools instead.
In exactly two weeks, I will be boarding a train in Chennai, bound for Agra...Delhi....Rajasthan...Rishikesh....Varanasi...then back south for two weeks of yoga at the Neyyar Dam ashram and Kerala beaches with Ficklius and our cousin. It goes ever faster.
Pics: someone got into our trash, check out his toupee; mum's package with bestest new thermal top and earrings finally arrived:
Here, tourists gaze. Kodaikanal locals are used to the foreigners who have been here with the school since before there was a Kodaikanal town. It's gendered, though--or at least, my reaction is.
The gaze of Indian male tourists is unpleasant and I usually react as described above, occasionally giving a dirty look, occasionally responding with a real hello, depending on my mood. It is easy to imagine they are not only staring at whiteness, but are also objectifying a body; who knows what is truly behind the stare.
I've become a little mischievous with female tourists who stare. Usually, they come in school groups--or at least walk the lake in large, somewhat ordered packs. They REALLY stare, and it has a different quality, it is a gaze at the strange. I am strange. They stare hard, and nudge each other, and whisper, and point. So...I've started matching their stare. For amusement. I will meet their eyes with even deeper intensity; it usually takes a few seconds for the poor girl to realize I am looking right back. Caught. She then looks away, hides her face, smiles sheepishly, even shrieks and ducks, while her friends buzz. I try to smile while staring--as if to say: It's ok, have a look, I know I'm whiter than white, have short hair, am wearing jeans...but why not say hello, or vannakam, while staring?
Yesterday I was having a coffee and doing some marking (Hilltop bakery has finally accepted the fact that I will show up daily and sit for close to an hour); a group of seniors was talking loudly at the next table. Privileged Indian youth, heatedly debating whether to apply to colleges in the UK or the States. One young man was arguing in favour of the States--preferably the midwest--because whenever he walks the streets of Paris or London, he creates a spectacle. In the States, he disappears. Magnified/melted away. A young woman countered that America has no culture, so she will be applying to UK schools instead.
In exactly two weeks, I will be boarding a train in Chennai, bound for Agra...Delhi....Rajasthan...Rishikesh....Varanasi...then back south for two weeks of yoga at the Neyyar Dam ashram and Kerala beaches with Ficklius and our cousin. It goes ever faster.
Pics: someone got into our trash, check out his toupee; mum's package with bestest new thermal top and earrings finally arrived:
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Down the Mountain
At the end of first quarter, KIS packs up and disperses over Southern India for field trip week. I begged off of the elementary chaperone list, and onto the 8th grade bus heading north to Bylakuppe. In 1961, the state of Karnataka granted 1200 hectares of land to TIbetan refugees. Since that time, the Bylakuppe settlement has grown to support approximately 5000 Tibetan monks and 10 000 refugee laypeople.
It was my first trip down the mountain since arriving in India some 2.5 months ago. Therefore, in addition to experiencing vastly different, very Tibetan Bylakuppe, I had the shock of train and bus travel on the Tamil Nadu plains and a visit to Mysore city; my first taste of unquestionably Real India(s). (Please read this for context in which I use the term Real India).
This post threatened to be about 5000 words and 3 weeks overdue so I'm taking the visual route instead...enjoy the pics and remember you can click on them to enlarge!
Bylakuppe's Golden Temple: to enter, you first walk the monastery perimeter (several hundred meters), a covered walkway lined by fluttering prayer flags on one side, and prayer wheels on the other. I spun every single wheel, accumulating the equivalent merit of having recited the mantras contained within about a hundred thousand times. Maybe. Also pictured: the Golden Temple's 60-foot gold plated Buddha.
When I entered the temple it was empty and silent, long rows of mats, low tables and prayer books lying still before the awesome golden Buddha. A long low horn broke the silence, followed by countless hurried footsteps; hundreds of monks poured into the temple, prostrated to the statue, and took their places. I stayed as long as I could, for about 20 minutes of chanting, drumming, recitations, tea-drinking.
Monks debating: most evenings, monks at a certain stage in their training gather for paired debates on the texts studies and discussed that day. One monk (standing) poses questions, delivered with a dramatic step, wind up and loud clap. The seated monk responds. We were granted special permission for female students and chaperones to enter the monastery after dark, in order to watch roughly 2000 monks debate in a monastery courtyard buzzing with question, response, sharp clap after clap.
Thangka studio: specifications for even the tiniest details of content, dimensions, and colour are laid out in Buddhist scriptures.
Tourist monks from Bhutan
Tourist monks who wanted to pose with a fig tree
We played football (boys) and volleyball (girls) against students from S.O.S. Children's Village, a school and home for orphans and child-refugees whose parents are in Tibet. Many of these kids crossed the Himalayas on foot to get out.
Morning assembly and the rush to class.
It was my first trip down the mountain since arriving in India some 2.5 months ago. Therefore, in addition to experiencing vastly different, very Tibetan Bylakuppe, I had the shock of train and bus travel on the Tamil Nadu plains and a visit to Mysore city; my first taste of unquestionably Real India(s). (Please read this for context in which I use the term Real India).
This post threatened to be about 5000 words and 3 weeks overdue so I'm taking the visual route instead...enjoy the pics and remember you can click on them to enlarge!
Bylakuppe's Golden Temple: to enter, you first walk the monastery perimeter (several hundred meters), a covered walkway lined by fluttering prayer flags on one side, and prayer wheels on the other. I spun every single wheel, accumulating the equivalent merit of having recited the mantras contained within about a hundred thousand times. Maybe. Also pictured: the Golden Temple's 60-foot gold plated Buddha.
When I entered the temple it was empty and silent, long rows of mats, low tables and prayer books lying still before the awesome golden Buddha. A long low horn broke the silence, followed by countless hurried footsteps; hundreds of monks poured into the temple, prostrated to the statue, and took their places. I stayed as long as I could, for about 20 minutes of chanting, drumming, recitations, tea-drinking.
Monks debating: most evenings, monks at a certain stage in their training gather for paired debates on the texts studies and discussed that day. One monk (standing) poses questions, delivered with a dramatic step, wind up and loud clap. The seated monk responds. We were granted special permission for female students and chaperones to enter the monastery after dark, in order to watch roughly 2000 monks debate in a monastery courtyard buzzing with question, response, sharp clap after clap.
Thangka studio: specifications for even the tiniest details of content, dimensions, and colour are laid out in Buddhist scriptures.
Tourist monks from Bhutan
Tourist monks who wanted to pose with a fig tree
We played football (boys) and volleyball (girls) against students from S.O.S. Children's Village, a school and home for orphans and child-refugees whose parents are in Tibet. Many of these kids crossed the Himalayas on foot to get out.
Morning assembly and the rush to class.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Grounding
This afternoon my head touched the floor in prasarita padottanasa. For two years the floor was miles away; the last few months the crown of my head has been a loooong three inches from the floor. Like a good little yogini, I have hung out there, breathing, not forcing, strong in the legs and core, waiting. Waiting for today? Inhale, lengthen, fold forward. Inhale, lengthen to straight back, fold...and....an ever so gentle boom.
Crown.
Ground.
Incredible.
Finally grounded today, perhaps, thanks to Ganesha, Remover of Obstacles. Thank you for removing those last three inches of air, and a belated happy birthday to you. All of Kodaikanal seems to have delayed your birthday: the town was quiet on Thursday, the actual day. Today I woke to wild drumming from all directions, and what sounded like gunshots at 2 or 3 minute intervals. The booms and bangs increased in frequency all morning, until one "atom bomb" was going off every few seconds. Several processions of drumming, dancing men led multiple Ganeshas (mounted on tractors and cartops) through the streets--back and forth all morning, with no apparent destination. I was just informed at dinner that sometime this afternoon (perhaps right about when my head was grounding??) the processions ended at lake Kody, where Ganesha had a bath.
Sad I missed it, but...MY HEAD TOUCHED THE GROUND IN PADOTTANASANA!
Happy Happy Birthday also to my dearest Ficklius. Your gift from afar: I spent most of the day planning our Kerala/Karnataka itinerary for January. Big cyberspace hugs til then (can't wait).
Crown.
Ground.
Incredible.
Finally grounded today, perhaps, thanks to Ganesha, Remover of Obstacles. Thank you for removing those last three inches of air, and a belated happy birthday to you. All of Kodaikanal seems to have delayed your birthday: the town was quiet on Thursday, the actual day. Today I woke to wild drumming from all directions, and what sounded like gunshots at 2 or 3 minute intervals. The booms and bangs increased in frequency all morning, until one "atom bomb" was going off every few seconds. Several processions of drumming, dancing men led multiple Ganeshas (mounted on tractors and cartops) through the streets--back and forth all morning, with no apparent destination. I was just informed at dinner that sometime this afternoon (perhaps right about when my head was grounding??) the processions ended at lake Kody, where Ganesha had a bath.
Sad I missed it, but...MY HEAD TOUCHED THE GROUND IN PADOTTANASANA!
Happy Happy Birthday also to my dearest Ficklius. Your gift from afar: I spent most of the day planning our Kerala/Karnataka itinerary for January. Big cyberspace hugs til then (can't wait).
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