Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to Me and Happy Birthday to Emma

Rick and Anne celebrated his birthday on three continents today, a fitting end to a magical three weeks. Meanwhile, Rick's birthday partner, the Maharani Emma was partying in Pomona for both of them.

2/18/06: Saturday, the Rabbi Spoke Hindi

Our last day in India began in the sauna and Jacuzzi. Refreshed, and almost packed up, we spiffed up for Shabbat services. Talk about the diaspora …the first Jews came ashore in Cochin in 587, escaping persecution. Over the years, the Raja of Cochin offered refuge, in part because of the Jews’ expertise at facilitating trade with the British and Dutch. We arrived at the synagogue at the end of Jew Street in Jew Town at 9 am, just in time to join the 14 remaining Jews (4 families) for their Shabbat Orthodox services. Anne took her place among the women behind the screen, while Rick joined the minion circle of men. The temple was quite charming, with 18th century blue tiles, rows of chandeliers, and an elegant bronze pulpit in the middle of the chapel. The locals were very excited to find that two of the foreign visitors were Cohanes (holy priest caste of Jews), and one a Levi (second in pecking order), both considered luxuries for small congregations. The service was vintage India and Jewish—a paradox of order and chaos, focus and distraction, ritual and idiosyncrasy. There were more versions of the prayer books than congregants. “What page are they on?” I’d inquire. “Not sure,” or “It’s not in that book, try page 231 in this one.” Most of the locals spent 50% of the time chitchatting, then suddenly chanting full bore as the Sh’ma or Kaddish began.

The four-family congregation embraced the five male visitors from America, offering each of us an Aliyah for the Torah portion, which included the ten commandments, an experience that wet my eyeballs and touched my heart. A short two hours later, the service concluded, and we chatted briefly with the maven of the congregation, whose family’s Cochin roots date back to 1582 and whose son is a doctor in the US. What else would you expect from an Indian Jew? We also met a couple of local Jewish couples who had returned to Cochin after a decade or so in Israel. We can understand why they returned. Cochin is unlike any other city we saw in India. The harbor is beautiful, the streets are remarkably clean (for India), the people very friendly, and there is almost no poverty to be seen (most likely attributable to the Southern emphasis on culture and education).

The long service put a dent in our remaining touring of Cochin, which delighted Jacob, because Esau (sorry) an opportunity to set a land guide speed record. We “did” the spice market in 5 minutes and then the Cochin Palace in a hasty 7, with its magnificent 16th century, well preserved murals of the Ramayana, and other stories of India’s most revered Gods and Goddesses, flashing before our eyes.

With a quick stop at the hotel to shower and check out, we bid an all too early farewell to Cochin, its impotent fishing nets, vibrant if tiny Jewish community, colorful yet blurry murals, sweet suite, fishy storks, and sunny harbor.

With this, the final stop on Anne and Rick’s great Indian adventure, we’d like to once again thank our delightful traveling companions--Laura, Paul, Ronna, and Susie--who helped us take the Highlights of Northern India to new Highs. And, we must save the best for last. A&P, your inspiration and brilliant planning has blessed us with a deep and lasting love for the charm, the food, the natural beauty, the architecture, and, most of all, the enchanting variety of cultures and peoples that is India. We have been fed so many scrumptious memories, it will take months before we truly digest India and edit the 2,030 photos. No doubt, we will never forget the Bhuddist monks of Ajanta, the Singh Sahib in his perch overlooking the Golden Temple, dinners with the Guptas and Pereses, golf with Vivian in Delhi, the continent-hopping groom, the Maharajah of Jodhpur and his palace, Mr. and Mrs. Desert from Jaisalmer, the Raj Vilas luxury in Jaipur, the sprawling and colorful temples of Trichy and Thanjuvor, the mussel men and stunning sunsets in Kerala’s backwaters, the Jews of Cochin, the flames and ashes of Benares, and last but not least the acrobatic lovers of Khajuraho. We will finally keep straight the primary Hindu deities and their legends, especially Ganesh and his bickering but loving mom and dad. In fact, Anita and Prabha, we may nickname you two Shiva and Parvathi. Like them, you two were with us every step of the way--in our minds, our hearts, as well as our bleary eyes from short-night sleeps on a crammed itinerary that couldn’t have been better. We look forward to sharing our next trip to India with you.

And so, my virtually traveling friends and family, the Road to Kerala, its bad puns, off-color humor, run-on sentences, and pointless meandering hereby comes to an end. I hope that my first adventure in Blogavia has made you chuckle or piqued your interest in this land of plenty. Namaskar.

2/17/06: Sunrise, Sunset and The Fishernet Stocking

Another day down south, another awe-inspiring seaside sunrise, punctuated by a few rounds of “Tern, Tern, Tern,” from the Byrds crowding the friendly skies of the Kerala backwaters. Kanju sated our appetites with a delicious breakfast prior to a final cruise back upriver and along the lake back to the Kumarakom resort, for the two-hour trip back to Cochin. The registrar at the elegant Taj Malabar was kind enough to upgrade us to an Arabian Sea View suite containing even tastier sweets--the first decent dark chocolate in almost a month. With a few moments to spare before touring began, Rick swam sideways figure eights in the infinity pool and Anne checked out the stretching machine in the fitness center.

At 2 pm, we were met in the lobby by Jacob, who apparently did his training at the Milton Powers Academy of Speed Guiding. If Sunny was Buono, then Jacob was NoNo. We spent our first 30 minutes wandering Jew Town trying to find out when to show up for services on Saturday (yes, that’s really the name of a Cochin neighborhood, and not a campy Broadway musical…see 2/18 for more details). According to most management theorists, we could have saved this precious half hour, if Jacob had made this inquiry before picking us up. That left just 45 minutes for shopping in Jew Town, where Anne and Rick, feeling the pressure from a still lengthy outstanding gift list, became remarkably productive on the clothing front. By the time we arrived at Cochin’s famous Chinese fishing nets, Jacob took 5 minutes to explain that these mammoth green meshes were primarily tourist attractions, yielding about as much fish as a Kolsky family fly fishing adventure (where Rick DID catch one of Matt’s ears, but not any trout). Then, he bid us adieu for our evening sunset cruise, on a boat where the two boatman had a 20 word English vocabulary and diction that would make Inspector Clouseau wince! Nevertheless, our cruise around the Cochin harbor provided plenty of delightful sights and sounds, once we got past the first hour of oil tankers and a “mainland” resembling a Florida port city, with modern, high rise apartment buildings and hotels.

In addition to this mainland, Cochin harbor plays host to a few coconut-covered islands and a quaint peninsula known as Fort Cochin, across the causeway from the man-made Willington Island landfill which houses the Taj Malabar as well as a railway and container ports to the east and west. We were circling one of the small islands, when an armada of fishing vessels and Hitchcock-like hordes of birds headed ashore. As we neared the port, we first gagged at the site of men dumping buckets and buckets of blood-stained liquids from their decks. As we nervously pulled up alongside the vessels, we witnessed the boats unloading a treasure trove of silver (fish, that is) from their decks to awaiting ice-packed lorries. Further up the shore, the trees were stork white, as the baby deliverers patiently awaited a scrap feast.

Fort Cochin, home to Jew Town, boutique stores, and colonial estates was our sunset destination. The ceremonial Chinese fishing nets at its port provide the perfect silhouette for the star of our solar system’s encore presentation of “Reds.” Only an obnoxious tourist boat clogging the panorama marred the near-perfect image.

Back to the Taj for a quick shower and then a Kathakali dance performance, which was interesting, and mercifully brief. A heavily made-up male dancer (heavily everything, to be perfectly frank) demonstrated a number of the traditional moves, primarily squinting, grimacing, and bug-eyeing. He later returned for a one-man show as the woman demon with the firm-but-poisonous breasts in a Krishna story, which ends with an ear-piercing scream and a mouthful of scraggly black hair (ergo, the term Hairy Krishna). Our delectable barbeque dinner at the Taj on the harbor was perhaps less cultural, but far tastier and fulfilling.

2/16/06: The Indian Maharani (and Maharajah)

No Aryuvedic retreat would be complete without a sunrise yoga class overlooking the lake. With our minds relaxed and our bodies stretched, we then stretched our stomachs at the breakfast buffet. Anne then meandered in the pool, while Rick fought the never-ending battle for a good internet connection to check e-mail and update the blog. By 11:30, Anne and Tyrone were in final rehearsals for their Kate and Bogey reprisal—a full day and over-night houseboat ride through the back waters of Kerala, with two boatmen, and our very own chef from the hotel.

We were greeted by our friendly houseboat crew--Kanju the chef, George the Savior (and boatman), and Reni the Younger (of the two boatmen). Our vessel was a beauty: a 35’ wood hull, with an arced top of bamboo and coir (that’s a thick rope made from coconut palm tree fiber, for other illiterates like yours truly), and a comfortable master bedroom and bath bigger than our Ian Schrager-designed room at the Hudson Hotel in NYC.

We spent the day comfortably reclining in our chairs, sprawled on a mattress on the foredeck, and cruising across the lake, down rivers, and into canals, past quaint fishing villages and rice fields the size of Grant Park, with legions of workers bent over like Olin Kruetz, and working a lot more than 3 hours per week for 20 weeks. Uniformed children, on their way home from school on the banks of the canals, smiled for the camera and asked for pens (Kerala’s literacy rate is 95%). Women waded into the waters, noisily beating their clothes clean, and scrubbing their pots and pans to a silvery shine. Mussel men dove into the murky waters in search of dinner, with the help of a bamboo snorkel. Floating retailers peddled an assortment of foods and dry goods from their dugouts. Distillers climbed coconut palms to tap their toddy pots (toddy is a local home brew, made from coconut milk, often drunk in the afternoon, which coincidentally is a good description of its consumers by early evening). As in the rest of India, construction was booming in Kerala’s backwaters, with piles of bricks piled up all along the shoreline, and new resorts popping up like zits on a 15-year-old’s cheeks. And sea birds were everywhere, noisy crows and seagulls, three varieties of stately herons, eagles gliding, kingfishers profiling on wires, storks awaiting baby orders, and cormorants perched atop branches floating in the river while drying their outstretched wings.

As the sun started burning up the skies in an orange-red glow, we settled into a little canal for spectacular sunset views (and photos), and to anchor our floating hotel for the night. At dusk, the houseboats all park, to free the waterways for the fishermen, heading out to sea for the evening catch, collected in four 2-hour netting sessions, which, on a good day, bring in 1,500 Rs for two (or about $15 each per day). However, we suspect that the nearby prawn men do considerably better—we paid 500 Rs for just two live prawns, much to Anne’s chagrin. Earlier, Kanju had served up the lunch from bountiful, with enough grilled seer, roti, shrimp curry, gobi (the cruciferous veggie, not the desert) thoren, and dal to feed the entire Sinha Six. Dinner was also fit for a Kong, with the two giant-sized prawns preceding an orgy of Indian popcorn shrimp, fish curry, bindi (okra, not Oprah, who Anne misses dearly), and a tangy mixed vegetable, all masterfully, freshly, and miraculously prepared in an onboard sardine can of a kitchen.

After dinner, we very quickly rinsed off in our unheated shower, then read our books out on deck, while the bugs, clearly attracted by the light from the gas, repeatedly crashed full speed into our heads, hands, and necks—no bites, just minor bruises and major annoyances. As the assault proliferated, we bid a hasty retreat into our cabin, and aided by a day’s worth of southern sun, fell fast asleep by 10 pm.

2/15/06: Aryuveda for This?

With visions of the South African Blue Train and the Orient Express dancing in our heads, Anne and I boarded the Rock Fort Express First Class Sleeper Car, expecting the lap of luxury. Instead, we entered the cabin of camp—summer camp that is, a four person cabin with two bunk beds. Actually, the conductor did a fine job of matching us up with our roommates, one an engineer for an power equipment company, and the other the founder and chairman of a 4,000-student college in Thanjavur. After some interesting chit chat, Anne and I wolfed down our supermarket snack, carefully storing our waste in a plastic bag. When Anne caught the steward in hallway, and asked where the garbage was located, he replied, “No problem,” grabbed it, opened a door at the end of the car, and tossed it out. We were also happy to find Western toilets on board that were quite clean, but not so happy to discover the reason why—the latrine empties directly onto the tracks below. We respectively rolled and hopped into bed for the night, then rocked and rolled through a restless night’s sleep before arriving on time at the Chennai train station at 4:15. After rinsing off and a begging for a cup o’ Joe at the Hilton Trident, we returned to the airport and flew off to Cochin.

Upon landing in Cochin, we were whisked off to the Kumarakon Lake Resort, on the shore of Vembanad Lake, the second largest in India, which feeds the many canals and tributaries of Kerala’s famous backwaters. While we waited for our room to free up, Anne enjoyed her first Aryuvedic massage and facial, being lathered with enough warm coconut oil to supply a Mumbai McDonalds for a week. However, she felt great and her skin was radiant. We spent the remainder of the day eating and essentially doing nothing—playing an Indian version of knock-hockey, unproductively fishing, and wandering through the meandering pool.

Our big activity was a delightful sunset cruise along the banks of the lake and into the canals of the Kerala backwaters. Along the shores, small villages were awash in the golden light, and the night air resonated with a chorus of chirping birds, the drumbeat of women pounding their laundry clean, and the cacoPHONY of political sirens blaring from loudspeakers. Our guide served up a special treat, leading us on a 3 kilometer walk into the bird sanctuary to see a variety of herons, and a small army of giant fruit bats to give Anne nightmares and encourage her to cuddle tight. Then, the light show began, as the bright orange sun lit up the sky and Rick loaded up the CF card to capture for eternity one of the pretties sunsets we’d ever seen.

The post-cruise experience was a bit of a letdown, as the seafood restaurant was a bust and the Kathakhali dance troupe was taking the evening off, which wasn’t all that bad, because we were able to get to bed at a reasonable hour.

2/14/06: Raja, Raja, Over the Top or Only the Shadows Know!

Happy Birthday, Mom! Happy Valentines Day to my faithful readers☺!

Guess what? That’s right, another pre-dawn wake up call, for a 6:30 am train and our final busy day of temple hopping. Anne and I are beginning to feel like itinerant rabbis. By 9 am, our driver and local guide, Maharaj (by name, not title) met us as we descended the platform at Tiruchirapalli (say that five times fast, and you will have wasted 15 minutes of your precious existence) aka Trichy.
Having exercised a grand total of 30 minutes in three weeks, Anne and Rick were a little apprehensive about ascending the 487 steps of the Rock Fort Temple, perched atop the only cliff in town. Fortunately, Maharaj was very considerate of our aching soles, and not only allowed booties, but also gamed the system to maximize sandal time. Before the climb, we took a detour to visit a nearby cave temple. On the way up, we stopped three times, once to check out the silent repenters at the halfway house, a Ganesh temple, once to capture the beautiful Trichy panorama, and once to gasp for oxygen! The view was spectacular, but the temples were nothing to write home about (paradoxically, that’s precisely what I’m doing). Which leads one to ask, why the hell did they build this thing so high up?

According to Maharaj, master story-teller, eons ago, Lord Shiva was on a journey from North to South, when Vishnu, disguised as an old man, asked him to carry an ancient relic for him, but made him promise never to let it touch the ground. “Piece of gulab jamun” thought the generous God of Destruction. However, nature called, and Shiva asked a young boy to hold the relic while he drained the yellow from his eyeballs (a Lemo phrase). When Old 3-Eye returned, he found the relic resting on the earth, and the boy scurrying away, towards, guess where: the hill. Shiva was unable to unearth the relic, and gave chase after the boy, finally nabbing the little devil at the pinnacle. Well, it turns out that Vishnu was having a little fun with the easily angered Shiva, because the little tike was a manifestation of Ganesh, his playful, elephant-headed son. Ergo, the Rock Fort Temple is dedicated to Ganesh, and our knees are killing us.

At the site where the relic was permanently implanted into Trichy soil, the superb 16th C. Sri Ranganathaswamy temple arose, dedicated to Vishnu, the largest in India, covering 60 hectares, and laid out in seven concentric walled sections. Non-Hindus were not allowed in the two innermost sanctums. Each section contains one or more of the 21 gopurams (entry towers), each spectacularly covered with thousands of colorfully painted (a 20th century upgrade) carvings, from Ganesh to 12-armed demons. Maharaj unlocked a gate leading up to a roof from which we could gaze over the vast complex and view most of the gopurams as well as the golden dome that covers Vishnu’s sacred sanctum. Better yet, we didn’t have to brave three floors of handicrafts on the way down!

Upon descending, we visited another 1000-pillared hall. Then Maharaj entertained us with another tale that sent Shivas up our minds. A series pillars in the temple displayed the 10 incarnations of Vishnu, each with its own legend, about how he saved the world or tricked an unfaithful blowhard. Interestingly, or perhaps coincidentally, the order of the manifestations bears a striking resemblance to the stages of man’s evolution—from fish to amphibian to land mammal to small early man to uncivilized warrior to family man, and, ultimately, in the last manifestation, a horse-like creature right out of Star Wars. And, all this 300 years BD (before Darwin). Perhaps W can learn something about really intelligent design by visiting this complex with our guide during his March trip to India.

Believe it or not, our day was but half completed, as we boarded our Ford chariot for the hour ride to Thanjavur. We paid a brief visit to the Royal Palace and Museum, built in the 16th Century by Raja Serfoji, a rather plump mustached royal, who was educated in the UK, and returned with a vast collection of books, the majority of which were illustrated. Our favorite contained a series of sketches, where common facial features of humans and animals (weasels, hawks, pigs, etc.) were hypothesized to indicate personality traits. Remember, this is hundreds of years before W and the chimps (allegedly, the monkeys are suing for defamation of character). The palace also contained a fine collection of brass figures rescued from excavations around India, many coming with interesting stories. For example, the standing (still, no sitting) Shiva with one foot on the ground and the other at a 180-degree angle alongside his right ear, is from a dance competition between Shiva and an insubordinate but highly athletic Parvathi. As the story goes, she was matching 3rd-Eye move for move, until he dropped his ear ring, picked it up with his toes, and used his toes to replace the ring. Out of modesty, his opponent withdrew! George Hamilton tried the same move on Dancing With the Stars, but broke a rib! Speaking of ladies’ men, another statue of Shiva is accompanied by 8 adoring women, all of whom ran out of their homes to admire the darling of Darjeeling, interrupting whatever they were doing at the time—from cooking to bathing.

We moved on to Brihadishwara “The Big” Temple, a well-deserved World Heritage site, built around the turn of the second millennium by Raja Raja (Zsa Zsa’s first husband?), glowing golden brown in the setting sun. After passing the outer wall, we entered the compound through a sky-scraping gopuram, with enormous stone statues, currently being sandblasted to clean off years of pollution. Otherwise, the gopuram looked awesome for a thousand year-old tower. Within the temple’s walls stood a series of shrines (to Ganesh, his less-famous brother Subrahmanya, Shiva, Vishnu, and Parvathi), with a constant flow of worshipers, offering food and rupees in return for a blessing and some holy ashes on the forehead. Pillared halls containing 250 linga and beautifully painted scenes covered the full inside lengths and widths of the walls.

Smack in the middle of central courtyard sits a 25 ton Nandi (Shiva’s bull), carved from a single stone…and that’s no BS (unlike the streets of Benares, which contains tons of BS). Nandi (anglicized word for a Barry Manilow song) faces the inner sanctum--a marvel of 11th century architecture on many counts. In the center of the inner sanctum is a 12 foot high, 7 ft radius giant black lingum, draped in white cloth. Even more impressive is the 13 story, 66 m high tower (vimanam), each story telling a litany of tales in its well-preserved carvings. But most impressive is the 66 ton dome that tops the vimanam, not necessarily the dome itself, but the Chola ingenuity applied to get it there 900 years before Caterpillar was hatched. Apparently, a small army of elephants was enlisted to haul the dome up a 4 km mud ramp that started in a nearby town.

Even more remarkably, these 11th century I.M. Pei’s, with no CAD-CAM software to work with, were able to position the complex’s towering structures in such a way that the shadows of the gopurams and vimanams (up to 66 m) never leave the temple walls (3 m).

As our temple touring came to an end, we were sad to part with our trusty T&T guide, Maharaj, and reminded of the oft-seen hermaphroditic statue—half-Shiva and half-Parvathi. No, Maharaj is not a cross-dresser. Rather, the statue represents the fact that we are all part man, part woman, and that, as husband and wife, we are one, which will be the theme for the well-earned R&R for A&R on the West Coast. But not before an overnight train ride from Thanjavur to Chennai, and another short and restless night’s sleep. In preparation, we stopped at our first Indian supermarket to load up on snacks for the ride. Needless to say, I don’t think Wal-Mart has to worry about having their industry outsourced to India.

2/13/06: Here’s Mudduh’ Your Eye!

Another day, another 4:15 am wakeup call, for our hour trip back to the Chennai airport and our flight to Madurai, the temple city. Following an unpleasant recycling experience for Rick in a Chennai airport Turkish toilet (no photos included), we seized the opportunity to consume three breakfasts, a packed meal consumed in the airport car, a hot meal of dhosas on the 50-minute Jet Airways flight, and a bountiful buffet at our Madurai Hotel, the Taj Garden Retreat, with a beautiful vista of the city. Unfortunately, the room and service quality were no “treat,” nor was our guide Milton Powers. However, the palace and temple were quite a treat for our weary eyes.

We got our first taste of Milton when, at the suggestion of A&P, we inquired about visiting a weavers village near Madurai. Between glances at his watch, he assured us that no such villages existed, before stopping by a tank (enormous man-made pool where they recently floated some shrines during a local festival), where some local weavers were drying 100 meter-long threads, stretched out alongside the pool on wooden stands. Interesting, but we suspect this is not what the Sinhas had in mind.

We then stopped by the 17th century Tirumalai Nayak Palace, home of Madurai’s nightly music and light show. Milton wasn’t very interested in or excited by the palace, and tried to set a Guinness World record for speeding through the site. The only Guinness we were interested was a stout. Nevertheless, Anne and I observed a new architectural form for this trip, and were impressed by the vaulted ceilings, well-preserved murals, and elaborate carvings, as we played catch-up with our guide, clearly inspired by the speed skaters in Turin.

The short trip to the splendid Meenakshi Temple (named after Shiva’s wife) was a bit chaotic, not surprisingly, because the entire city was built around the temple, with all five major roads spoking out from its central location (clogged main arteries seem to be a recurring theme for this trip☺). The temple’s roots date back 2000 years, although the main construction took place in the 17th and 18th century, and the exterior painting was a 20th century touch-up. After shedding our sandals, we gazed up at the first of 12 temple towers (gopurams, temples, purams, shiva …according to Adam Sandler, India has to be at least as Jewish as Harrison Ford and Paul Newman☺). And oh what a magnificent gopuram it was, rising 50 meters into the sky, every square millimeter adorned with brightly colored carvings of people, gods, 10-armed demons, and an assortment of real and mythical animals. WOW!

Once inside the walls, the temple grounds, covering approximately 4 football fields, contained an assortment of pillared halls, shrines, and statues, as well as flower markets (for offerings to the gods) and handicraft stalls. One could easily spend a week exploring the temple’s architecture, carvings, shrines, and stories. Milton was intent on delivering a highly condensed Cliff notes version in 45 minutes, eliciting the emotional attachment of a Vulcan. As it turns out, one underlying problem was that Milton is a Christian, with limited understanding, some disdain, and little empathy for the 10,000 Hindus a day who come to worship at this holy temple. In contrast, after two weeks with Sunny, Anne and I had grown to love the Hindu culture, and refused to rush, asking as many questions as possible. Shoeless and undeterred, we spent time exploring the theater (Milton suggested we skip this masterpiece) with 985 stone pillars, each individually carved in a separate form, with standing, sitting, smiling Ganeshes, the goddess of love, and half lion-half elephant creatures. Rick received a blessing from a local elephant for 10 Rs, collected with the pachyderm’s 20,000-muscle probiscus.

After attempting to zip through the temple in record time, Milton followed script (Lonely Planet warning) by “escorting” us to the roof of local handicrafts shop, allegedly for the panoramic temple view, which was quite impressive, even in the flat mid-day sun. He showed no interest, but did enthusiastically encourage us to peruse the merchandise, expecting us to generate commissions for him. We not only dashed his hopes, but also dashed out of this tourist trap as soon as we finished our free cardamon, cinammon, and saffron tea. To get even, he brought us to two more of these inappropriate shops after we asked to visit local shops to buy small gifts and silk shirts. However, his worst shopping referral was for pharmaceuticals, when he sent us to a grungy hole in the wall with dusty boxes and no English.

We returned to the Taj Garden Retreat for a bit of r&r and dinner, before heading back to the temple procession, scheduled for 9:15 pm, according to Misinformed Milton, who dismissed the evening festivity as a meaningless tourist attraction. We, in turn, dismissed Milt as a worthless tourist unattraction. Milton further earned his tip (zero rupees, zero dollars and no sense) by insisting we must be completely barefoot—no Lufthansa first class booties allowed, despite the one-block walk through the city before we entered the temple. Apparently, other guides forgot to tell their 200 tourists about this rule, as their feet were all protected from the grimy floors by socks!

Each evening, a troupe of priests make their way from the Shiva shrine to the Meenakshi shrine lugging a Shiva statue on a chariot, accompanied by a cacophonous marching band in dhotis and face paint. You see, the God with the Third Eye, despite the occasional marital tiff, prefers to spend evenings with his honey in the friendly confines of Parvathi’s shrine, a few hundred yards down the hall and around the corner. Naturally, tonight, there was a pre-ritual parade at 9:30, where some lesser statues from Shiva’s shrine got a free music ride. This warm-up to the main attraction came as a big surprise to Milton (and us), but was interesting nonetheless, and enough of an experience for Anne and me to bid adieu to Milton once and for all, rather than stand around the temple until 11pm.

2/12/06: Dravid and the Goliaths and Smart Experiments

South India is the land of the Dravidians, the original residents of the subcontinent, driven out of their homes in the north by invading Aryans, and living in a climate resembling Miami Beach. We suspect this similarity between Jews and America’s 21st century Jews (Indians) is no mere coincidence. Their shared historical roots are also evident in the many Jewish words used in Hindi--so far, we had visited Hindu “temples,” met a Punam, heard about prayers and Shiva, and were about to see festive purams. Prabha and Rick wear the same size shoes and suits and exhibit the same photographic obsession…hmmmm.

We awoke at dawn, walked out the back door of our villa, past the hammock and palm trees, inhaled the fresh sea breeze, and watched the sun rise and light up the Bay of Bengal. Who needs sleep when the sun provides so much early-morning energy? Following a breakfast of yummy dhosas and juicy sweet papaya, we were picked up by Ramachandran and Dhruva, a local lawyer and part-time guide. The seaside and inland scenery on our two-hour ride to Kanchipuram showed us a whole new face of India. Along the way, we stopped to shoot the locals—fish merchants, workers in rice paddies, women outside their small village huts, and young children at play in the fields.

We visited two of the five impressive Dravidian temples in Kanchipuram. The first, a marvel of 16th century architecture, was an impressive complex containing a 59 meter gopuram (towering entry gate), halls lined with carved columns, 47 brightly colored “chariots” scattered amongst the pillars, more than 1,008 lingums (phallic shaped symbols of Shiva) along the walls, and a series of shrines to the Shiva family, including the sacred inner sanctum (off limits for non-Hindus), containing a bare-chested priest and a four foot long, black, 16-sided lingum. As we roamed the halls of the temple, Dhruva entertained us with fables about Shiva and his wife Parvathi, well represented in the temple’s carvings, and their tempestuous relationship, a cross between the War of the Roses and Mr. and Mrs. Smith. All of the stories have a similar theme. One angers the other, who throws a fit, does something stupid, feels remorse, and then performs some sort of retribution to bury the hatchet, at least temporarily. For example, we learned how Ganesh (their son) had lost his head after Shiva had lost HIS head in jealous rage, then promised Parvathi to replace the head with that of the next creature he saw, who, of course, turned out to be an elephant. If this sounds farfetched or confusing, a large, 14th century stone statue of the young god can be found in the back yard at 2428 Ewing. Our guide joked that many of the cities in South India are either male- or female-dominated, depending on whether their temples give precedence to Shiva or Parvathi (aka Meenakshi).

The second temple, a few kilometers across town, dates back to the 7th century, one of the earliest remaining masterpieces of Dravidian architecture. Facing a giant statue of a Brahmin Bull (Shiva’s transport vehicle of choice), and surrounded by a 6-foot sandstone decorative wall, most of the stone murals and 58 shrines are remarkably well-preserved replicas of bulls, elephants, and Hindu mythological tales and heros.

We headed back toward the seashore to visit another temple complex in Mahabalipuram, but first we stopped to snap a beautiful pastoral scene—men in loin cloths playing around in the mud—rice planting, of course. Along the way, we also learned more about the chief minister (governor) of Tamil Nadu, a rather matronly-looking woman whose saree-clad image is plastered (literally) all over the walls and billboards of the local landscape. An April election looms, and, like the Governator, Jayalalithaa is a former celluloid star, 30 years and 60 pounds earlier. Interestingly, she owes her political success to the dynastic nature of Indian politics (a la Indira Gandhi and her kids, who rode Mahatma’s coat tails, despite no blood relation). Jayalalithaa, it turns out, was the ex-mistress and screen co-star of the popular prior minister. Who knows, maybe our very own Lolita (aka Monica) has another future in the oval orifice.

The sprawling series of temple structures scattered around the coastal town of Mahabalipuram is a testament to the power of learning from smart experiments, as well as the timeless power of Mother Nature. We began our quest for the seaside temple with Rick saving hundreds of lives (.0000001% of the Indian population) by securing a giant boulder in place before it rolled down a hill and crushed innocent women, children, and chai stands. Dhruva then guided us through a series of temples, built in the 7th and 8th centuries, where all the king’s men tried out the full spectrum of architectural styles available at the time—monolithic (single rock), cave, bas relief, mortared stone carvings, dynamic gated entryways, and tiered structures. Many of these experiments were abandoned midway through construction, once the learning was completed. Others were magnificent temples on their own, including a number of carvings of Shiva and Parvathi stories and a reclining Vishnu (still searching for a sitting Shiva☺).

Our favorite site was the incredibly well-preserved, 10,000 square foot bas relief titled “Descent to the Ganges,” showing scenes and stories of daily life, elephants, warriors, and holy men, built so that rainfall collected above the relief and dripped down its walls to enhance the imagery. The final temple, incorporating the best of each technique, was located on a small mound, down by the shore, currently situated between two crowded beaches. The central tower and shrine, surrounded by bull statues, has remained intact through 1,467 monsoon seasons and the most recent tsunami, although the rain and sea have taken their toll on the carvings. In the end, smart experiments delivered man’s best, but mortals proved no match for Mother Nature.

Exhausted from a long day’s journey and the hot sun, we returned to our hotel to catch a few non-tsunami waves in the Bay of Bengal, and take a quick dip in the infinity pool. We ended our first day down south, with our first seafood dinner of the trip, barbequed bekti in Masala spice and seer curry, both delicious. “Southern Delights” was off to a great start.

2/11/06 pm: Salaam Mumbai!

Our transfer brainstorm almost turned into a “got left in the dust” storm, when our flight from Jodhpur to Mumbai arrived 45 minutes late, leaving a mere 45 minutes to retrieve our luggage, hand off to bags to Ventours, transfer to the other terminal, check in, and clear security. Once again, it was Rajen to the rescue, ready with driver, car, and personal expediting service, and we arrived at the gate JIT. Thank goodness, we only have one more visit to Mumbai International.

We were met in Chennai by our driver, Ramachandran, who braved the 8 pm b2b traffic to deliver us to our resort, Fisherman’s Cove, along the lovely coast of the Bay of Bengal. After dropping off our bags in our seaside villa and quickly breathing in the Bay breezes, we headed to the coffee shop for a late-night buffet of delicious South Indian dishes and our first fresh fish (seer) in almost a month. Returning to our villa after a short walk on the beach, we gazed at the full moon shining between the palms, Rick shaved for the third time today, and we called it a night after a long day of travel.

2/11/06: The Sunny Sets in the North

Bleary-eyed from a 5:30 am wake up call, Sunny and the Sinha Six endured the 5-hour drive to Jodhpur and a final, unproductive dhurrie run. Teary-eyed, we said our sad farewells in the terminal, and discussed plans to renew our Indian travel partnership in 2008; first stop: Udaipur, where Sunny would soon be reunited with his lovely wife and daughters (if Indian Airways, already projecting a 3-hour delay, complied). Laura, Paul, Ronna, and Susie embarked on the first leg of their 22-hour journeys home. Meanwhile, your humble narrator and his curly-cued honey headed south for another week of wonder. Stay tuned!

2/10/06: Here He Comes, Mr. Jaisalmer

Prabha had timed our trip-ending western de-tour to coincide with the Jaisalmer Desert Festival. We expected a celebration with deep Hindu roots, but we learned that the festival was developed by the local government as a tourist magnet. Based on the crowds and no vacancy signs, the tourist bureau pulled off a Hallmark achievement. From the hotel, we hit pay-dirt at the first ATM we passed, and no longer had to borrow rupees from Sunny to photograph local women and children☺.

The Jaisalmer “fort” resembled a sprawling, elaborate sandcastle, perched on the only hill for kilometers in the desert. We wandered around the narrow alleys, visited a beautifully carved Jain temple, and stopped in a silver shop, where the proprietor emptied seven duffels of estate jewelry and statues. A treasure hunt ensued, as the Sinha Six crawled around on the carpet, emerging from the piles with new earrings, a Ganesh box, a holy cow teapot, and an antique window-door.

We then proceeded to a haveli (old mansion turned family inn), owned by, who else, one of Sunny’s 500 cousins, for a bird’s eye view of the noon festival parade. We weren’t disappointed—scores of decorated camels, with Mr. Desert contestants and brass bands atop were interspersed with groups of colorfully-faced, flag-waving sadhus. Two of the camels proudly promoted the official sponsors of the Jaisalmer festival, Visa and Camel Bank (that’s NOT a joke).

Following a quick lunch at the haveli, we carried on to the festival, where Sunny secured our spot in the VIP section, passing hundreds of very colorful and happy Rajasthanis (along with a few tourists), who sat patiently to watch the festivities. However, once the Best Turban contest unwound on stage, Rick quickly stormed the barricade to move closer to the action. Following a quick musical performance by a local band with dancing eunuch, a score of adorable young (10 year-old) couples, in traditional dress, replete with fake mustaches, took the stage, vying for a prize for the best depiction of the Indian equivalent of Romeo and Juliet. While these youngsters pranced on stage, Rick was busy photographing the side-show, where aspiring Mr. Mustache, Mr. Desert (beard, mustache, sword, and turban), and Miss Desert primped and preened. A highlight of the ceremonies was Sunny grabbing Paul’s camera to snap 20 pictures of the Miss Desert candidates. Later that evening, he was delighted to find out that his choice had indeed won, and Paul had more than ample evidence of her beauty.

Exhausted by the 35° heat in the desert sun, we returned to our hotel for a quick swim (water was a chilly 18°), some blogging, and post-card catch-up. During our bittersweet farewell dinner, Susie entertained us with Indian-music-enhanced slide shows from Laura, Paul and Rick, before Ronna and Paul handed out clever awards to Anne, Laura, Rick, and Sunny. We all presented Sunny with a card and a token of our appreciation, a mere pittance compared to the joys and memories he had provided, and Sunny returned the favor with high praise of the Sinha Six. India had exceeded our wildest dreams, and we cannot imagine experiencing Highlights of Northern India without our precious Suryaveer. Only one thing could have made this trip any better—the company of our loving hosts, Anita and Prabha, whose spirits (and camera) were with us every step of the way.

Shopping Sidebar: Walla Walla Bling Bong

Shopping in India is an experience unto itself. Sunny, our fearless leader, encouraged shopping, but not buying, for the first several days of the trip, instructing us to find what we liked and inform him. Sunny, in turn, would arrange visits to better shops in Jaipur and Jodphur, textile meccas. We were to learn not only about Indian shopping, but also about each others’ talents and interests. More importantly, shopping allowed us time to practice a new treatment to reverse the graying and hair loss—10 minutes per day of rubbing the fingernails of each hand against each other in a quick side-to-side (or up-and-down) motion. Rick and Paul’s domes now resemble George and Ringo circa 1968.

Our first full stop was the Gem Palace in Jaipur. Actually this turned out to be an atypical Indian experience – the gems were beautiful, but the shopkeepers somewhat aloof and snooty. Nevertheless, Ronna and Paul immediately demonstrated their upscale tastes and affinity for elephants. Having reserved judgment on the near full-scale tuskers, Paul purchased a silver elephant. Laura was the first one to finish, Rick took his place on a throne and napped, Anne dreamed of better ways to spend $3,000, Susie tried on the most expensive necklace in the joint, and Paul and Ronna accumulated frequent flyer miles--a pattern was established.

At the rug and crafts emporiums, and even the silver walla later in Jaisalmer, we first were treated to tea or other refreshments, and then presented an assortment of pricey finery in a demonstration area. A description of the handknotting, weaving, inlay, or other handwork was offered as merchandise was laid before us (no pressure). If you wandered off, a human video monitor would be nearby, offering any size, style, quality, and quantity that fit your taste or budget. Inevitably an overwhelming cornucopia of items were interesting, and lovely, and tempting. Paul was the team connoisseur across a broad spectrum of finery--bedspreads, carpets, textiles, clothing, and silver. Ronna looked stunning in her red sari and matching jewels. Susie bargained with gusto, fulfilling her laundry list of family orders, but Anne was the master negotiator, always willing to walk away unless her price was met. Laura was always first out, often with a delightful trinket in tow. Meanwhile, Rick viewed each shopping experience as a photo op, and was off somewhere taking pictures. Everyone enjoyed our many hours of shopping in their own special way – with a reward at the end. Anita and Prabha would have been very proud of our acquisitive accomplishments.

2/9/06: Sunny Rise Yog and Jaisalmer, Jaisalmer Mucho

We awoke at dawn to see the sands light up with the morning sol, and to practice 20 minutes of yog (the “a” is anglicized) breathing, led by our multi-talented fearless leader, Suryaveer. Sunny did not join us for breakfast, because Thursday is his weekly fast day. A quick Range Rover ride back to the bus was followed by a smooth 3-hour trip to our hotel in Jaisalmer, a newly constructed sandstone palace, quite elegant in design and appearance, although a bit crude in cuisine, service, and comfort. We relaxed by the pool, then got back on the bus to visit Sam Sal. Once again, our trek required us to get over the hump, this time aboard heffalumps named Michael Jackson, for the 40-minute jostle up to the beautiful, but not-too-intimate dunes. We, along with hundreds of other butt-sore tourists were serenaded by local musicians and dancers, had our skin sand-blasted by desert winds, and enjoyed the ochre hues and long shadows cast by the setting sun. Mercifully, the camel-gallop back to the bus lasted but 10 minutes, and Rick’s future sex life was rescued by Susie’s word of wisdom, “Relax.” We continued to heed this advice, showering and leisurely eating our way through the hotel’s barbeque dinner, before calling it a night after another day full of new, exciting experiences.

2/8/06: Spy vs. Spy, the Happy Hookah, and Midnight at the Oasis

Following a leisurely morning at the hotel, we roamed the bizarre bazaar of the old city to explore, amid spice, fruit, vegetable, and textile stands as well as cattle and lovely ladies wrapped in rainbows of colored sarees. Under the hypnotic spell of a tasty herbal tea infusion, we purchased the not-so-secret ingredients--cinnamon, cardamom, and saffron—from a local spice shop. A quick and relatively unproductive trip to yet another upscale textile showroom revealed our shop-weariness, but also brought us together again with Sunny’s brother- and sister in-law, whom we heartily re-thanked for their hospitality.

Next Stop: the Thar Desert, an easy 90-minute drive away. Once again, Sunny ignored our inquiries about the evening’s plans. Once again, the mystery added to our ultimate pleasure in the denouement. Upon our arrival at Manvar, we boarded an open air Range Rover for the dune ride to our desert camp, but not before covering our noses and mouths with surgical masks. We resembled a cross between Desert Storm and cold war Mad Magazine cartoon characters.

Our first stop on the sandy trail was definitely a HIGHlight of Northwestern India—a small 4-hut village with 6 elegantly mustached men squatting in a courtyard, preparing their afternoon delights for our viewing and tasting pleasure. Time for their late afternoon Rajasthani HIGH tea—opium from home grown organic poppies, inhaled through a well-seasoned hookah, as well as hand-rolled bidis. Their smiles and laughter rose as the sun waned, as one of the group played the two-flute, and as three anonymous members of the Sinha party shared the hookah. From the opium den, we visited another small set of nicely decorated huts, where Sunny offered a quick batting lesson to a group of five adorable and spunky children, and aspiring cricketers.

With the sun quickly setting, our driver picked up the pace, and the next 10 minutes were a Thar Desert roller coaster dune ride. As we approached, an amber hue was cast over our tents. Nearby, seven camels awaited mounting by Sunny and the Sinha Six. Ronna and Rick, worried about a HUMPty Dumpty-like fall, were surprised at the relative (to horseback) comfort of these legendary waterbearers. Susie did her best imitation of a rodeo queen as her one-humped bronco bucked its way up. We rode up the dunes and into the sunset, then briefly dismounted for some well-timed photography and cocktails. Now a bit tipsy, we found ourselves perfectly in synch with our Cheney-smirked dromedaries, as we descended the dunes to prepare for the evening’s festivities.

After a quick freshening up, candles lit our path as we trekked back up the dune barefoot to our bar and candlelit dinner. Atop the dunes, we were joined by a troupe of local musicians and dancers, including a few gents from the opium den (still smiling under their handlebar mustaches) and a 3 year-old Indian version of Michael Jackson, with a cherub’s face and a green sports jacket. The women dancers showed us how to shake our booties, Thar Desert style, but none of us attempted to imitate how one picked up a dollar with her mouth and two rings with her eyelids, while doing a back bend. Laura did her best Ginger Rogers impersonation, as we all danced an Indian hora together under the bright moonlight and star-studded sky, before settling down to dine on local desert specialties. After dinner, we showed our age by singing our favorite folk songs from the ‘60s around the campfire, ending each after one verse, as the words escaped our fond, but fading memories. We slept soundly and contentedly under three blankets in our chilly tents.

2/7/06: Cousin of the Brother-in-Law of the Bride

Energized by an sunrise outdoor yoga class and a bountiful buffet breakfast, we bid a sad farewell to the lap of luxury aka Raj Vilas and its thousands of pigeons. Our Air India flight to Jodhpur was uneventful, and miraculously on time We arrived at our next hotel, the Umaid Bhawan Palace, and, oh what a palace it is, with acres upon acres of bright red, white, and purple azaleas surrounding the hotel and residence. Apparently, the Raja was a Keynesian, building this domed masterpiece to employ local residents and successfully pump up the local economy in the depressed 30s.

20 photos and a relaxing courtyard lunch later, we headed up to the majestic Meherangarh Fort, also owned by the Maharajah,. The collection of miniature paintings and howdahs (elephant seats) was truly regal, and we inhaled the 360 degree vistas of the Blue City (named for the color of its rooftops--the Brahmin hue as well as a non-toxic mosquito repellent).

Then, the fun really began, as we prepared for our 4th cultural immersion “highlight,” our first Indian wedding. Sunny’s brother-in-law’s cousin was in the seventh day of his wedding celebrations, and we were invited to attend the festivities. Ronna, Susie, and Laura were resplendent in their newly acquired sarees, jackets, and jewelry, while Anne, Rick, and Paul wore their Varanasi bests. Anne adorned her collar with Ronna’s 9-gem necklace, as Paul and Rick were fitted with turbans, compliments of Sunny’s brother –in-law. Once again, we were the talk of the town (literally), as we wended our way through the chai and vegetable stands, cows, and pigs, on our way up to the mansion hotel, owned by the groom’s family. We arrived early, and while “the girls” joined the bride’s party, Paul and Rick met the charming and handsome groom, weary from 7 days of parties, and seemingly a bit nervous about his first night alone with his new bride. Turns out that, as a Rajput (warrior class), he wasn’t allowed within 10 feet of his new bride, until this evening. His turban sparkled with a diamond and silver brooch, and his high-neck dresscoat showed off his trim physique.

From the balcony, we heard the beat of the drums announcing the pending arrival of the Maharajah and Maharani (King and Queen of Jodhpur), and we scurried downstairs to meet the girls behind the welcoming line. With much fanfare, the King and Queen arrived, the queen and her escort exiting the Hyundai, and into the waiting throng of women, bestowing blessings and tiluk on her forehead, before all of the girls exited to the girls party room, with Anne, Laura, Ronna, and Susie in tow. Paul and Rick were privileged to enter the womens’ chamber, where we observed women offering Rupees to the Queen in return for her blessings, and snapped photos of the colorful scene. Back outside in the courtyard, Paul and Rick spent 15 minutes chatting with the Oxford-trained Maharajah about life, family, history, and adventure travel, briefly interrupted by locals offering rupees (to the King, not P&R). We also met and discussed travel and horse safaris with the owner of a luxury hotel/palace in Rohit, 40 kilometers from Jodhpur, before reentering the girls chamber to observe some dancing and pick up “our girls” for a dinner back at the hotel. For six months, we had all been praying to see an Indian wedding, and once again, Sunny made our dream come true. Good dharma indeed!!!
We made our way up to the Fort

2/6/06: Willabee Wallabee Wan, An Elephant Was Sat on By Anne, Willabee Wallabee Wick, She Was Joined on Top By Rick

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOB!

We rose bright and early for a not-so-comfy but fun elephant ride up the hill to the Amber Fort, another breath-taking fort and palace, reflecting a combination of Hindu and Moghul architecture. Sunny painted a wonderfully evocative word picture of life as a member of the royal household in ages past. We suspect our Rajput guide held court there in a former incarnation. We all reflected on their clever use of small mirrors amid the carvings on walls and ceilings. Below the walls of the fort sat a beautiful garden, with elephants bathing in the river. The vista of the old city walls and the low brown hills surrounding Jaipur was different from any of the scenery we’ve eyed so far.

Lunch was taken at a beautiful heritage property, a former palace, owned by the Taj property, which, according to Sunny and reinforced by our experience, translates into older, less friendly staff. We then stopped briefly at a handicrafts shop on the route home, across from the lake palace, where even Anne and Rick pumped up the Indian economy with a wide assortment of pillow covers, silver (plated) candle-holders, and a married pair of Rajasthani statues. Meanwhile, Paul did his best to relieve poverty by adding an embroidered bed cover to his growing Indian art collection.

We were all delighted to make our way back to the luxurious Raj Vilas in time for a workout, nap, whirlpool, swim, or sauna before dinner.