India
Trip Start
Feb 07, 2007
1
31
50
Trip End
May 15, 2007
Chennai,
India
Sunday, March 25, 2007
I woke up right at seven to have breakfast, because I have no idea what I will be able to eat for the next five days. I filled up on hard boiled eggs and fruit and watched as we pulled towards port before going back to sleep for an hour and a half. The Voice (as the shipboard community has dubbed Ron Weizner who makes our thrice daily announcements) woke me up promptly at nine, telling me to get out of bed because we had to be prepared to go through Customs on Deck 7 right when he called our Seas. The Red Sea was pretty close to the beginning, so I was able to get my passport right away, but that didn't do a whole lot of good because we had to go through a second round of visiting Deck 7 to get more documents. My friends were as eager as I was to get off the ship, so we didn't wait for them to call our Seas and just went right on up there, so we were off the ship by 10:30. And I have to say, it's hard being a dork. When your friends are fighting and moaning about what to do because some hardheaded boys want to go here but the rational girls want to go there, it creates some tension. Especially when the hardheaded boy is the boyfriend of my roommate and Lauren's BFF from SDSU. But I didn't let the tension stop me from jumping all around after touching Asian land for the first time, and taking the customary first photos of us in a new country. The first bout of my expectations not being met was the encounter with the Black Gate. I'd heard in logistical preport that if you could make it past the Black Gate, you'd be fine in India. Supposedly, this gate is where the rickshaws follow you, hassle you, attack you until you either get in one or walk away with bruises. When we made our way to this gate, there were a few rickshaws around and just as many drivers asking us where we wanted to go, but it was extremely dull compared to what we were prepared for. We wanted to go to a shopping center, but the first rickshaw driver we talked to said that it closes on Sundays. He promised to take us to a better one, but we'd been warned about that scam, taking you farther away so they can charge you more. We saw a big group of girls walking away, including the two Indian students who joined us on our voyage from Mauritius to Chennai. We asked them and they called their families, who assured us that the shopping center was open and that just on the other side of a second gate (the real Black Gate) we could find someone to take us there. We trudged along the dirt and rock road, past a kind of strip mall that was just barely standing and over a set of train tracks, as the train approached no less. No bells, nothing to warn me but my own eyes and ears. We crossed the track and went through the real Black Gate, which I was happy to see was a little more chaotic like I'd hoped for. Not only were dozens more rickshaw drivers approaching us with each step we took, we saw men sitting in the middle of the square with missing toe nails. We saw half naked children running around. We had definitely left the ship yard and entered the city. Most of the students were catching the rickshaws, but the security guard who had let us through the gate told us we had to sign out, so we stood in the short line to let a very official-looking man in a uniform, sitting behind a desk that was the only piece of furniture besides the sink in the box of a security office, take down our names and customs information. There wasn't anything on the papers besides our names, room numbers, and what valuables we were carrying with us. I was already a little wary because of all the SAS kids getting off the ship, we were six of about twelve that had stopped by to see him. And when he copied my name down as H. B. Kathleen, I began to wonder even more. But like I said, there wasn't any truly revealing information that he took, so whatever. After this little detour we found ourselves two rickshaw drivers for our group of six, and mine proceeded to drive us around town the rest of the day. We told him we wanted to go to the shopping center, Spencer's before Becca, Matt and Victor had to be back to the ship for their Taj trip, but he told us he had a better idea. The hair started to stand up on the back of my neck, because I really don't like having to argue with people, but we had to get them back in time and we had an agenda. We wanted to do some shopping, and she wanted to hit an internet café, and he wanted to take us all over the place to go shopping. Katie, Lauren and I didn't mind because we had all afternoon, but we all wanted to stick together as long as we could. I'd heard though, during logistical preport, that bargaining was part of the experience of India. So I relaxed, and decided to have some fun. I didn't have anywhere to be but back to the ship by 6pm, so what the hell. A lot of students in past ports had talked about hiring a taxi driver to take them around and had amazing experiences. He promised to get Becca to an internet café and the three of them back by their 2pm deadline, so off we went. Two groups of three climbed into covered three-wheelers with no doors or windows and set off for the drive into the city, or urban areas by Chennai's definition. The cities in India look like the projects in with the entire population of the cities living in them. Everything, except for the random occasional upscale store, was dilapidated. Wires were exposed on buildings, cement and paint chipped away, sidewalks and roads were in crumbles and roads that weren't dirt were covered with garbage. The ground looks like Skittles, with trash in all colors of the rainbow. And yet, there are still advertisements on billboards. My favorite was for the Tiffany engagement ring. Yes, it is a city, and of the four million people living in Chennai there are some that can afford such luxuries, but those who see the billboard the most sleep up against the walls below it and across the street. But, it's also not surprising because this city, this country has everything that you could possibly imagine, from the poorest to the richest and everything in between. As we drove along at breakneck speech in our little rickshaw, dodging motorcycles, other rickshaws, cars and busses, we passed women wearing beautiful silk saris walking barefoot in the dirt streets, half-naked children running around, people of all ages selling fruit and who knows what else from stands on the sidewalks, cows walking in the road, people strolling across the street as traffic races towards them, people relieving themselves out in the open. I tried to relax and take in all the sites, but it was hard to just sightsee because the rickshaw ride was such a trip. Lanes here we've realized are optional. The lines are there as a guide, but everyone does whatever they feel like. I hate to admit it, but I loved it. The driving here makes New York taxi drivers seem tame. I could reach out and touch Lauren in the rickshaw next to me, while we were driving. The scariest part was the fact that people simply don't run when they're crossing the streets. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I saw maybe two people run across the streets while I was in India. I suppose they trust that the speeding vehicles will stop for them and luckily, from what I witnessed no one got hit. There were certainly close calls, and the entire time in the rickshaw I had my foot pressed against the floor as if it would actually make the rickshaw slow down. Our driver, Giri, had a whole ternary of places to take us, and I was a little bit weary of it but he showed us a little notebook he had filled with messages from past Semester at Sea kids about how much they appreciated him. After seeing that, I calmed down a bit and decided to go with it and enjoy myself. Giri spent the first couple hours before Becca, Matt, and Victor left driving us around to different stores so we could do some shopping. I really wanted to buy a sari, but I found a gorgeous comforter at the first store, and Lauren found a blanket she really liked. I didn't want to carry it around all day though, so Giri promised to take us back at the end of the day. The salespeople there were smart, trying to get us to pay for the merchandise first and return for it later, but Lauren and I refused. The really great thing about this place is that it helps you fine tune your bargaining skills and demand what you want. The salespeople are so persistent and you have no choice but to fight back. I'm not always the best at standing my ground or bargaining, but I had a great time practicing my skills. At the second store we visited I had a blast. I felt bad for not buying anything only because he served us each a beer for free but then I didn't buy anything, but Katie and Victor got ripped off enough for all of us. I think their goal was to try to get us drunk so we'd be more willing to buy things and at the prices they set, and I'm sure there are plenty of kids our age that would indulge in free beer to the point that the salespeople would make a fat sum off of them, but we aren't. We sipped politely, unlike a group of guys I saw buying knickknacks who didn't turn down an offer for another one. I didn't want to buy knickknacks, which is what they were trying to sell us, so I decided to have some fun practicing bargaining. I saw a candle holder in the shape of an egg that had flowers carved out of it so the flickering from the candle would dance on the walls. I liked it, but they really aren't my style and especially not for 700 rupees. I felt bad for Lauren because she didn't catch onto the fact that I was just testing because she kept telling me how beautiful they were and that I should really get them. I told the salesman I did like it but if I got one I'd have to get another one because I'd only purchase it in a set, so he brought out a few others for me to look at. I pondered them for a bit before asking what kind of deal he would give me for both of them. He told me 700 rupees each. I said no way, and he went down to 600. Again no, so down to five. We played this game all the way down to 200 rupees before he finally asked me what I would want to pay. He took out a notepad and drew a box, telling me to write my final price in it and he would talk to his manager. I wrote down 50 rupees, and he took it to his manager. They both returned, and the salesman said he'd give them both to me for sixty. I told him no, that he asked for the number I was willing to pay and sixty was ten more than I was willing to pay. I would get them for fifty. The manager smiled and told me they were mine. In Mauritius I was timid. I paid 150 rupees for a box of tea that I could have bargained down to twenty. This time though, I got it from one at Rs 700 to two marble candle holders for Rs 50. He asked me if he wanted me to wrap them up and I looked at them one last time before apologizing to him, telling him you know what, it's only my first day and I really am not all that attached to these, so I don't think I'm going to buy them today. As was expected, his friendly nature turned a bit sour, which I can understand. I did work it pretty hard and he still got nothing, but I had a blast and he still had half of the MV Explorer on their way to his shop, so I knew he'd soon find someone to purchase something from him. I just figured that while I waited for Katie and Victor to buy their things I'd make my window shopping experience a little more exciting. I did find a sari at the third store, a beautiful pink and green silk pattern. I'd wanted to get one to wear for the rest of the stay in India so I wouldn't be at risk of wearing anything offensive, but I'm not sure if I'm going to wear it at all once I get home. However, the material might make for some lovely curtains or some other decorative use, so I was happy with it. I didn't bargain as hard with the woman selling it to me because I knew I wanted it, which was interesting. When I had no intention of buying it, I spared nothing because I wasn't worried about catching myself in a lie about how much money I did or didn't have. When you're purchasing on a credit card, however, and they already know that because you asked if they take Visa, it's harder to bargain down. But I left quite pleased with my sari, which Giri carried around for me during the rest of our stops. There was a trunk in the back of the rickshaw to keep it in as we drove, but because it was a real trunk, like a suitcase trunk, we didn't want to risk leaving it and having it stolen. Our next stop was lunch at a little restaurant. We'd been shopping for a couple hours by this point and we'd bid the boys and Becca farewell after the third store, and all of us, including Giri were hungry. Giri had asked if Katie, Lauren and I could split up into two rickshaws instead of one because they get commission off of our purchases in the stores, and he wanted his fellow rickshaw driver friend Raj to get commission off of us too so Katie got in her own rickshaw while Lauren and I shared one. On our way to the restaurant, we had to stop and get gas, so while we were waiting Raj took pictures of us sitting in the front seat of the rickshaw. We stopped once more on the way to the restaurant, though I don't know why. Giri pulled over and Raj came up next to him, and they talked for a few minutes before we got going again. I think perhaps they were discussing asking us if they could join us for lunch, which we readily agreed to. We'd already been going around with them for awhile and they were very nice, and plus it was an opportunity to talk and get to know the people. Don't worry Dad, okay? I'm sure some of it is a little outside of the comfort zone, because I know it was for me as being shown around by a driver and eating lunch with them isn't something we normally do, but it's those kinds of things that get you connected to the culture. So we ate lunch together at a beautiful little restaurant. The area we were in was a bit nicer than the ones we'd driven through to get there, but it was a touristy area with all of the shopping, so it made sense. The place was clean and incredibly simple, with tile floors, dark carved wood booths and tables, hunter green table cloths, and carved wood chandeliers. I don't know why being in an Indian restaurant similar but clearly more authentic than some of the Indian restaurants I've been to in the states was my moment of realization that we were in India, but it was. Perhaps because for the first time though it looked similar it wasn't one in the states. Finally, I was getting to eat Indian food in India. We didn't know what to get so we ordered a plate of green, red, fried, buttered, and garlic chicken kebabs, five-spice chicken, chicken fried rice and two kinds of naan. We feasted while Giri and Raj told us about growing up in Chennai and their families. Giri even called his wife so she could talk to Katie. Everyone is just so personal. They are fascinated and not shy, so they're eager to interact with you and share the experience of meeting you with their loved ones. We also learned that belching out loud and as loud as you can isn't bad manners. Or if it is, our new friends didn't care. Giri and Raj had a contest as we girls sat laughing, looking around to see if anyone was looking our way because of their activity but no one paid any attention. We sat for awhile, letting our tongues cool from the spices, before we got the check and the waiter brought out a dish of post-meal goodies. There was a nut mixture, a grain that looked a bit like birdseed but tasted sweet and florally that is used to tone down the heat from the meal, and sugar clusters for dessert. I loved it-they serve the dish with a spoon and you just scoop out the sugar into your hand. No dessert menu, no packaged mints, just sugar to cut the sweet tooth. After we paid the bill, we went to our final shop before stopping by the side of the road while Raj went to buy beer. Giri wanted to take us to a bazaar so we could do some cheap shopping and then to the beach so we could share a celebratory beer. The three of us girls got into Giri's rickshaw as Raj went ahead, and we waited for Raj. We sat in the rickshaw, parked at a bend in the road alongside a buffalo calf tied to a tree, for ten minutes as he performed a laughter gig for us. He hahaha'd, hehehe's, and hohoho'd while we stared at him, trying to understand what was going on.. We were sitting in a rickshaw in Chennai, watching our driver laugh the vowels as we waited for his rickshaw driver to buy beer so we could celebrate our driver's birthday by the beach. I was thinking too hard about it and getting more and more confused, so I let it go and just went with it. You have to do a lot of that here. I'm not sure that coming here with expectations is the way to go because you might be disappointed. Instead, I think it's better if you just visit and let it wash over you, because it's easy to not get what you're looking for. We'd wanted to go to a shopping center and instead, ended up sitting with the laughing man. After ten minutes we left for the outdoor market, where we met Raj. Again, confusion, because why couldn't we just have spent the time in the market. When we arrived, it wasn't really a market at all like I'd expected, but just a store selling souvenirs at a cheaper price with vendors selling food all around us. The smell of this place is enough to keep those with sensitive noses far away. The burning smell of the grill, sweat and body odor, and wet garbage floods your nostrils and makes you want to gag. But these people live with it, it's normal to them, so I didn't want to even crinkle my nose in disgust so as not to offend anyone. Everyone watches your every move because we stick out here more than we've stuck out anywhere thus far, our Western white selves in the midst of dark-skinned Indians wearing either saris or very little at all. So you have to be aware because you don't want to draw any more attention to yourself. I tried to breathe deeply, through the back of my nose from my throat to try to avoid the smell, did my shopping, and we were on our way to the beach. Silly me to think that Giri was taking us to the dirty but sandy beach by the bay. No, his beach was a dirt sidewalk on the other side of a retaining wall by a trash-filled river. Not only that, we were underneath the elevated cement train tracks that provided the homeless with a place to set up camp, with little more than shreds of clothing and a pot to cook food. We sat by the side of the road, looking between the floral designs in the cement bricks out at the river and sipping beer from four ounce plastic cups to celebrate Giri's successful climb over the hill. Lauren says that I have a fetish for taking pictures of the ghetto, and maybe that's true. We were in a situation, in an area surrounded by a way of life I'd never seen, so I got out of the rikshaw to take pictures and was soon surrounded by a man, a woman with her young daughter, a family who were selling food from a cart a few yards away, and a couple of children, begging for money, for me to visit their stand, to be in my pictures. I bent down to take a self portrait of me with the children but Giri called out to me that it was time to go. I guess he would have preferred that I stay in the car, which makes sense because they all swarmed the rikshaw, asking Giri and the other girls for money as well. We pulled away without hitting anyone, quite an accomplishment, and Giri took us back to the ship. We paid him before we pulled up to the gate because he didn't want us to be attacked by the other drivers when they saw we had money. We gave him a generous sum for taking us around for the day, but he seemed put off after we handed him the bills. He said he wasn't doing it for the money, that he only charged Rs 160 but we could pay him what we felt was fair. Between the two of them, Giri and Raj, they made many times that, plus had lunch on us, so I'm not sure why he quit speaking to us after that, except to make a joke that his payment would buy him a new pair of shoes for his birthday. Along the way he'd lost one of his shoes. I think he kept his feet on top of his shoes rather than in them so on one of the many tight turns, it probably flew out the side. At a stoplight, he just shrugged his shoulder, picked up his remaining shoe and threw it out into the street. I guess just one didn't do him any good, so why keep the other. With habits like that, it's no wonder the streets are filthy. We got back onto the ship with five minutes to freshen up before our SAS welcome reception. All 150 of us climbed into five busses for the short drive to the courtyard of a business building, complete with a buffet line, a stage set up for a traditional Indian dance performance by a woman forty-year old woman who looked younger than me, stations where we could get henna tattoos painted on, and rows of tables covered in souvenirs and jewelry for shopping. SAS sets up these receptions every semester, and those who coordinate come and invite their friends to come and talk to us. We met a woman in the food line who sat down with us while we ate. She was a dentist, and her sister who was also at the reception was an engineer. Both were unmarried and lived at home, which surprised me because I thought they like the women to be married by a certain age, but she said she'd been attending the receptions for eight years, since she finished her schooling. So that would put her in the late twenties to early thirties range, which seems a bit older than the prime marrying age, or at least past the time when they should be living on their own. But hey, more power to her. She told us the story of her friend the dancer, how she performs for a living to make enough money to support her daughter, while we ate rice balls, fried rice pancakes, coconut pastes and delicious donut hole-like pastries drenched in sugar while watching the woman dressed in a royal purple sari dance to the beat set by a man making a series of noises. My favorite part of the dance was that, even from twenty rows away from the stage, I could still see her animated facial expressions and each time she moved her eyes. She uses every part of her body for her dance, to tell her story, whether it be about an animal or simply the beauty of the dance itself. We watched in awe for the duration of her dance and concluded the evening with making a few purchases. It was only nine-thirty when we left, but I didn't get to bed until 12:30 because I still had to pack and get ready for the trip to the Taj. I wanted to sleep because I was exhausted, but I also couldn't get my mind to shut off and stop racing with images of all that I had seen and done. Even though I hadn't really done anything too noteworthy, simply shopped, I was still experiencing culture shock. I'm trying to fit the world into my brain and my heart, and sometimes those organs just absorb everything without even really knowing what exactly they're being filled with. I feel, I think, but I can't sort through it all yet. I think, in time, that will come. So for now, I'm here in India and open to all it has to offer.
