I love Indian tv

Kochin is a charming enough spot. There are rich and varied colonial influences (Arabian, Portuguese, Dutch, English, etc.), a few decent restaurants, and a day or two's worth of sightseeing. But it's not Paris. Nevertheless we spent the better part of a week there. Two words: American Idol. Somehow I've managed to forget that while I've been on vacation, Paula, Randy, Ryan, and Simon have gone back to work. Basic Indian cable includes HBO, three or four reliable American programming channels, and the BBC. And I occupied myself with flipping among them all so as not to miss one precious moment. I shudder to think what kind of state I'll be in when I'm back home and in possession of my missed seasons of Gossip Girl, Friday Night Lights, and How I Met Your Mother, and Dexter. Not to mention whatever is on and amazing and unknown to me!


I realize that photo's not relevant to watching tv. Whatevs. Once Aaron me out of the guesthouse we saw all kinds of good stuff. Por ejemplo, chinese fishing nets:

Kochin is a collection of small islands. The next nearest Fort Kochin, where we were staying, is home to Jew Town. It's an old neighborhood full of artisans and antique shops. We visited our second synagogue in India (the first was in Mumbai) - we saw a man cross himself on his way out.


We spent a day on nearby Vypeen Island, which is really a collection of yet smaller islands. Each supports a small family residence.

Vypeen Island is also home to Cherrai Beach, which is unremarkable in itself, but provided a couple prime examples of some basic cultural differences between India and the West. First, Indian women were wearing the same clothes they wear everywhere else into the water: loose-fitting silk pants, a midriff bearing top that covers chest and shoulders , and a scarf to cover midsection and obscure the body more generally. Second, boys and men are physically affectionate towards one another in public. You can see them here walking down the beach holding hands and walking with their arms around one another's waists.

I think both the beach-attire and this behavior are reflective of how much more religious and culturally conservative Indians are. Recently, women were assaulted in a Mangalore nightclub by a Hindu extremist group. Homosexuality is not only discouraged it's illegal. Same-sex contact will not be interpreted as being sexual, so homophobia isn't a determent to this kind of expression the way it is in the States.

All this religious devotion and cultural traditionalism is especially perplexing in a communist state. Kerala has the world's first freely-elected communist government. There is far less disparity of wealth here, Keralans enjoy life expectancies of more than 70 years, and there's higher than 90% literacy in the state. So it's not exactly what I imagine when I picture socialism, but it's working.


We caught a traditional martial arts demonstration one evening. Aaron was the guinea pig for the "pressure point" explanation. Ouch.

xoxo Jessie

Water Baby

Goa's a popular beach destination with backpackers. That translates to lots of amenities, a few strange sights - like cows on the beach alongside child performance acts and speedo clad Israelis - and a very chill atmosphere. Goa was once known as a raving and drug-culture destination, but aside from some cannabis emblazoned patches there isn't much left in the wake of recent crackdowns.


We visited the beach towns at Anjuna and Palolem. Anjuna is home to a popular flea market, which is mostly filled with the Tibetan paraphernalia so popular with the crowd here.
The Indian Ocean is bath-tub warm. I found a Baskin Robbins, a great bookstore, and some new shades. Oh and Mom, I didn't get sunburned! What more could you want?

xoxo Jessie

The Name Game

Indian cities often use two names. Many locals call Mumbai Bombay; we caught a bus in Kochi/Cochin to Bangalore/Bangaluru; and our second stop in India was to the Goan city of Panaji/Panjim. These changes often reflect a break with a colonial past, but not always, and political correctness doesn't seem to be of much import. So I'll be referring to our destinations by the spelling or pronunciation I can handle best.


Panjim is the sleepy remnant of Goa's colonial trading hub. Portuguese is the language of choice for street signs, restaurants, and even some locals. The city's main square is dominated by a church rather than a temple. The High Court of Goa was housed in a the best preserved example of the cities colonial architecture.


Panjim was also home to Aaron's first galub jamun. A dense, sphere of fried dough, in this case immersed in rabdi, a steaming mix of rice pudding and pistachios.

xoxo Jessie

Mumbai

Mumbai served as our introduction to India. We spent our time there split between finding the basic tourist attractions on our own and tasting some distinctly local flavors with our host family. It was a perfect combination. With the Dalals we tasted home-cooked chipatis, were introduced to spring garlic and ghee, enjoyed our first sidewalk pani puri and chaas, attended a one-year old's birthday feast, and learned the difference between a caste and a community. We got a first hand glimpse of Muslims in majority-Hindu India and the beneficiaries of $10/day personal chefs, chauffeurs and maids. And, perhaps best of all, we attended Laughing Club - a sort of aerobics class that meets at six a.m. every morning in a neighborhood park. We practiced laughing for 45 minutes before we celebrated one of the member's birthdays with samosas and other treats. This was our dinner table at the birthday party. We ate a traditional Thal meal: nine alternating savory and sweet courses, served family style, and eaten with the right hand:

Once we headed out on our own we ran headlong into reminders of the November attacks. We rode the open-air, commuter rails where gunmen began their shooting spree, walked past the packed tables at Cafe Leopold, and tiptoed our way through the recently reopened Taj hotel (pictured here with one of Mumbai's famous guilded carriages in the foreground). Apparently in the wake of the attacks Mumbai is much subdued: there were muted New Years celebrations and the city is largely devoid of western tourists. In addition, there was a national gas strike while we were in town, significantly reducing the notorious traffic jams. Not that we could tell.

Mumbai's 40,000 black taxis were curbside because cab drivers could not afford to fill their tanks before the shortages. Throughout our time here, when we have hired a taxi or tuc-tuc for a relatively long trip (more than 5 km) they stop at a gas station to buy enough fuel for the trip. The Dalals, having fueled up the night before, were unaffected by the strike.

Besides the traffic (and pollution) the next most obvious impression upon arriving in India concern its religious fervor. In order to attend the Dalals' community functions I needed to don a chador. Commuter trains (and the their ticket lines) are segregated.

Every neighborhood has temples, mosques, churches, and altars. In Baganga Tank we saw the spot Hindus believe marks the center of the world. In Malabar Hill we visited our first Jain Temple, an ornately carved stone building full of paintings and statues explaining how to avoid "contamination." Jainists, we learned, believe in the sanctity of all forms of life. The most devout don't wear clothes or marry. Most menus in Mumbai offer Jain-friendly dishes, which excludes not only all animal products but root vegetables as well (for fear their harvest harms insects). Inside we were permitted to take photographs provided we did not "turn our backs to the deities" in doing so.







Other thoroughly Indian sights in our first few days included casual cricket matches in Maidan Oval,

Corners shared by free-roaming cows, fruit sellers, and taxis,

Tranquil parks scenes with families seeking respite from the humidity and chaos of the city outside,

And ... Bollywood! Mumbai is the working set for 900 movies every year. And we saw this winter's mega-blockbuster, Ghajini.

Ghajini tells the story of a corporate mogul, who wears a button-down muscle tee under his suit vest and necktie to the office and breaks into Backstreet Boys style song and dance routines until his girlfriend dies and he loses his short term memory. At that point the film takes its cues from Momento. We followed all of this thanks to the "Hinglish" dialogue.

I don't know how it ends because after nearly three hours of brutal killings, memory-inducing tattoos, and technicolor musical numbers we finally made it to intermission and we opted for dinner instead of act two. That's not to say I wasn't a fan though. I'd go back for the second half or another Bollywood film in a heartbeat.

xoxo Jessie

Tanzania & Safari

There is probably no trip more photo-focused than an African safari. So this should be a post with lots and lots of stunning pictures. However, upon finishing safari and arriving in India, I promptly left my photo storage drive in an internet cafe. I know.

So instead of seeing the cheetahs, lions, elephants, rhinos, monkeys, baboons, giraffes, hyenas, hippos, vultures, and warthogs like I did you get two photos of cats I grabbed from Zoe's facebook page and a lone photo of a giraffe that managed to remain with me despite my ineptitude.

Tanzania was a remarkable place to visit. I was constantly checking my urge to compare my experiences there with images from the Lion King and other stereotypes because thanks to them everything was both foreign and familiar.

Before I saw any wild animals, I stayed in a city of more than 1 million people but only one stoplight, saw an army squadron torturing a man on the side of the highway, learned a song whose chorus includes the phrase "Hakuna Matata," and withdrew 400,000 shillings in the 1,000 shilling denominations printed before rampant inflation. So you could say it was easy to resort to cliche.

But the safari did not fail to be an exhilarating learning experience. I learned that warthogs are adorable, leopards are shy, giraffes are beautiful (unless they need to drink in which case they're hilarious), lions are not, elephants are shy, and bugs are the scariest animals in the Serengeti. Oh and zebras are so common I almost forgot to mention them.


Here's something: did you know cheetahs like to climb on top of safari jeeps? They get a better view of the plains. Plus they're just kind of chummy. But remember to open the door if they fall through the roof hatch.

Also, you should know that millions of dung beetles follow millions of wildebeest across Africa every year and fertilize the plains so that (if) and when the rains do come the grass grows an inch per day.

I discovered off-roading, and I rediscovered outdoor showers. I learned how to eat a bungo and mom learned she was allergic:)

I met a Maasai chief in royal blue wellies, rubbed his children's shaven heads, and toured his wives' cow dung plastered homes. Their brilliant red robes used to be died with clay, but now they import from India just like the rest of us.

Finally, I learned how fragile all of it is. This year the rains have not come as they ought and the plants and animals, both wild and farmed, are dying. I dived down to the only reef in the Indian Ocean that's growing not shrinking. I was on what should have been the first, but instead was the last, of the tours for the season, because the economic crisis has forced travelers to cancel their safaris - leaving the industry they feed as malnourished as the landscape they explore.

So I feel lucky to have seen all this, especially since I got to share it with my family. Eventually I'll get to post pictures of Zoe covered in dust, mom wrapped in a turban, Sophie drinking from coconuts, and Dad on a mysterious moving sand dune.

xoxo Jessie

Catching up: Istanbul, take two

We got a few last days in Istanbul before heading our separate ways for the holidays. The second time around we were old pros: we stayed in the cool side of town, chilled with the locals, and checked the last of the major tourist attractions off our list.









First on the agenda was Dolmabahce Palace, where the sultans moved when Topkapi began to cramp their style. It did not disappoint. In terms of ridiculousness and ostentation I think it surpasses Versailles. To the left is the crystal staircase (the banister supports are made of carved rock crystal). Another favorite spot is the modest room allotted for religious ceremonies:


Aaron's favorite find in the treasuries? A spiff hide-a-way liquor cabinet:

Mine? The demitasse, duh.

We spent a day wandering around our neighborhood, Beyoglu, which is home to some really fun antique shops. Most were selling kitchy 50's retro stuff or finer goods from Ottoman days, but A la Turca, a four story town house meticulously decorated with carpets and other Turkish treasures, was where Aaron and I lost our heads.

Every surface was covered with the classiest examples of the most stereotypical antiques. Interspersed were things we'd never dreamed of: deer antler cutlery, ten foot tall wooden birdcages, ostrich egg bowls. It was a kind of high-brow hipster Neverland.

Better still we got keyed in to the local music scene over two evenings with an old schoolmate from Castilleja, Belkis Boyacigillar. Belkis has been working for Istanbul-based entertainment group Babylon since college and introduced us to Turkey's hottest selling recording artist (a clarinetist) who was in town performing with the saxophonist from one of Aaron's haunts, NuBlu.

A few last notes. First, I think I've yet to mention the ever present evil eye in any of my posts from Turkey. We saw this symbol on everything from doilies to jewelry to doorknobs. A group of small girls in Konya waved them at us for protection while peppering us with questions about America. This was my favorite use though:

And while we're on food, the candied quince with clotted cream we ate upon our return to the pudding shop Saray deserve some recognition. Gorgeous, no?

xoxo Jessie

Catching up: Safranbolu

Safranbolu is a small town in northern Turkey that has maintained traditional Ottoman building styles and society for the last four hundred years, give or take. By mid-December we found it largely deserted. The air was thick with smoke from wood-burning stoves and chimneys that heat the city through it snowy winter. The architecture reminded us of buildings in the old town section of Plovdiv, but also the mock-Tudor mansions of Beverly Hills:)

We saw a number of traditional craftsman at work, including a number of blacksmiths and this saddle maker.


Happily for us, Safranbolu is also the native habitat of the safran flower and the original home of lokrum, or Turkish delight. The safran flavor was Aaron's favorite. I, predictably, went for chocolate covered pistachio.

xoxo Jessie

Catching up: Cappadocia

In the middle of Turkey, Cappadocia is home to some of the most bizarre rock formations in the world. Called "fairy chimneys" but often resembling something more phallic than bedtime story, these geologic oddities have been home to everyone from the Hittites and early Christians (who also moved underground) to present-day Turks and tourists. We stayed in Goreme in what was once a church, carved into a cliff-side and improved with electricity and cable tv.

Goreme is home to an open air museum made up of a former cave city including homes, gathering places, and churches.

I don't know if you can really see it, but there's snow on the ground! A number of the churches still have their frescoes more or less intact.

From Goreme, we visited the nearby underground city in Kaymakli. Begun by Hittites and expanded by early Christians, the underground city is over 350 feet deep and could hold as many as 3,000 people for as long as 6 months. There were family quarters, food storage facilities, laundry rooms, kitchens, churches, and security systems all dug around a single well. This underground city was connected to another one roughly 5 miles away. While we were there only the first five stories were accessible because the porous sandstone walls of the lower floors had collapsed. The rainwater dripping from the walls around us wasn't the most comforting sight.

We also visited Pasabagi home to Cappadocia's most famous collection of chimneys. We had the place to ourselves until a tour bus of Japanese tourists arrived. When their guide announced we were American we got a big round of applause. Go figure.


Our favorite meals in Goreme were served up by a Turkish man who spent 15 years in Spain as a Flamenco dancer. Pides and Efes next to a wood-burning stove are the best end to cold days.

Our last night in town we hiked through the so-called Pigeon Valley where we totally alone among the best formations and dwelling clusters of the trip. A great end to a really interesting place.
That was a month ago, so I've got my work cut out for me. Although since my flash drive got stolen and I lost my copy of my safari pix the job of catching up has gotten considerably simpler.

xoxo Jessie