December 20-23 – Singapore
Sunday – Dec. 20th
Entirely too early we had to get up, eat our last breakfast on board, and be off the ship by nine. We learned from our room stewardess that the ship would be over-booked for the next fourteen day voyage between Singapore and Australia. It is a Christmas voyage, and there were promises of many children boarding – much to the chagrin of all the staff who see chaos ahead.
We found our luggage in the large warehouse terminal, headed to a limo, and were whisked through impeccably clean, modern Singapore to our elegant digs – the Raffles Hotel – a remembrance of times past.
Our suite was not going to be ready until 2:00, so we had a luxurious breakfast in the Writers Grille and then sat in one of the many lovely nooks reading the Herald Tribune and planning our next days in this very high-tech city. We were just a little too ship-weary to stride out, and we felt we deserved a day of doing little but luxuriating in our hotel, so we did just that. A hotel staffer found us and introduced our Butler…one of three available twenty-four hours a day at push of a button. We were taken to our suite – the Rudyard Kipling – which is part of the East India Wing of the original hotel. The entire hotel has gone through a series of renovations from its start as a ten-room bungalow to its current state. The most recent change was completed in 1991 when they added more rooms, renovated parts that had been ignored for too long, and added powerful new air-conditioning and other modern amenities including an entire shopping court area. One walks from air-conditioned lobby through a warren of open verandahs and walk ways, each situated around a courtyard filled with tropical plants and birds. Our suite over-looked the large brass fountain brought in from Scotland in the late 1800’s. Outside our door-way was a little table and two rattan seats where we could sit and watch the world below, if we chose to be hot and sticky. Instead we stepped into our air-conditioned suite with its parlor and dining area leading into the large bedroom. The parlor was probably the size of our entire ship’s cabin, and this sudden burst of space was almost too much to deal with. The opportunity to spread out and leave things any old place made for a new experience.
We figured out that we were in an ‘old’ part of the hotel as soon as we stepped into the bathroom complex – one room for two sinks, the second room for shower, tub and toilet. As soon as you ran water you could hear it glugging down the common drain pipes in a very old-fashioned way. We learned that there was a walk-way outside the bathroom walls so that the original ‘coolie’servants could come in without inconveniencing the guests and do their cleaning (and probably emptying of chamber pots etc). And before there was air-conditioning there were no real windows, just rattan-covered openings to allow whatever faint breezes could be found to waft through the rooms. I would not have done well here in days of yore as I am not a person designed to live in the tropics.
We explored the various restaurant alternatives associated with the hotel, looked into all the very up-scale shops associated with the new shopping complex, and determined that the Raffles Souvenir shop, and the museum, would be our only stops. The hotel is a tourist stop for everyone visiting Singapore, and to avoid having the place over-run with camera-toting peepers, the hotel has a very strict policy that some areas are only open to ‘residents’ who are given the magic keys of entry. There are enough security cameras located everywhere to ensure that no riff-raff sneaks in, and every elevator has a special ‘key entry’ without which the car won’t move. But the new management understands that a tourist stop has its retail and revenue opportunities, so the recent renovations allowed for a new shopping area so that people could sit in a Raffles courtyard, have a Singapore Sling at the ‘Long Bar’(not the original), shop in the elegant stores and buy a tourist replica of a key or a tea towel so that anyone can say they visited Raffles. There is even a well done Raffles Museum where they have on display photographs of famous celebrities who stayed or visited, sample menus, pictures going back to the early 1900’s and other memorabilia of the hotel’s past.
Monday, December 21
I had only one shopping ambition – to visit Little India, where I wanted to make the acquisitions I had missed out on in Bombay when I was feeling a wee bit under the weather. So having carefully mapped out where and how to go, we stepped out into the sweltering world of Singapore and headed to the City Hall Metro Station. We bought our E-Z Pass for $15 Singapore Dollars and thereby had access to the entire city’s buses or trains. The Metro is new, sleek and amazingly clean. What subway in any other city has absolutely no trash anywhere – and no trash bins anywhere? Our train car was not only clean but had all high tech convenience including an electronic system that lit up the next stop, identified which doors would open and had a voice as clear as a bell informing riders in three languages which stop to use and to “Mind the Pedestrian Gap”. As Bob said, “Singapore is the future”.
Of course, we were entering Little India and it had to be somewhat authentic – so we did see a bit more dirt and garbage on the streets amidst the warren of small shops, but even this was cleaner than all towns we’d visited in India. We ducked under awnings to avoid sun and rain, walked through narrow passageways, past food stalls, luggage stores and trinket shops …and located a place for me to buy pashminas. At which point I was hot, sweaty and needed a beer.
Back to City Hall metro stop, through the Raffles City shopping mall and high rise complex, and out to a German restaurant for steins of Paulaner lager and Nurnberg Wurst for lunch, before heading back to the hotel for a nap and some air-conditioned splendor.
In the evening we met up with Russell and Diane at the Boat Quay. This was an old warehouse & trading area , where ships used to dock, and it had fallen to wrack and ruin. It was restored as a string of waterfront restaurants looking out on the Singapore River. We had a few beers looking out at ferry boats and looking across to the old Raffles Quay, and then moved down the row of restaurants through hawkers shoving menus in our faces and telling us that their restaurant was the best. We decided on a Thai restaurant because they seemed less pushy, the storefront looked a wee bit less tacky and it was a good as any we could chose. A feast of Thai Satay, lettuce wraps, hot & spicy seafood soup, and an array of other dishes was washed down with Tiger beer and good conversation. Fully sated we all headed back to the Metro, bidding another fond adieu to sailing friends headed home to Mallorca.
Tuesday, December 22
Last day of our trip as far as touring goes and there are suitcases to pack and last minute things to accomplish including re-confirming our airplane seats. Since the beginning of this trip I have been in the 2nd circle of hell trying to get my name to match my passport. As of this fall the government is getting very tough, and there are no ‘variations on a theme’ allowed. So while my passport quite distinctly names me as having a last name of Ring, a first name of Beatrice and a middle name of De Rocco, every damn document and flight reservation has had me under the “D’s” as having a last name of DeRoccoRing and a first name of Beatrice. It caused problems with the Israeli security, and with Indian security, and Delta almost didn’t let me on to the airplane when we left NYC. So we’ve tried numerous times to straighten things out.
We arrived at Singapore Air quite convinced that we would be screwed up and a new ticket would have to be issued, but our travel agent had put a note into our records and somehow we slipped in, though my boarding pass quite clearly stated I was DeRoccoRing, Beatrice. No matter, we went to Singapore Air, on Orchard Road, in person, and arranged that we had seats at the galley & exit door with leg room to spare, and that made up for all the inconvenience to date.
Having completed that important task, we enjoyed the crazy Christmas spirit of Orchard Road – the main shopping drag of Singapore. From one high rise mall to the next there were lights, Santa Claus statues, reindeer statues and glitter and glitz at every corner. Every mall, with its infinite array of ‘stuff’, was busily helping last minute shoppers acquire more stuff. I was on the quest for a simple kitchen timer on a string, similar to one given to me years ago by a friend who was living in Asia. I thought it would be a simple quest, but having visited Takeshimiya, Robinsons, Tang and a few other nameless department stores, I discovered nothing. What was amazing was that everyone smiled and said, “Oh of course we have that”….only to admit to me after a search that they really didn’t carry it. It seems to be the Asian desire to please, even if only in fantasy.
The malls of Singapore are famous since, like Dubai, they have every store that you could think of from any other country, be it Borders Books or Marks and Spencer. They are all spotless, all well laid out and all of them filled with people. Were I of an acquisitive nature, I could have burned a significant hole in my VISA card, but I walked out empty handed, sweaty and exhausted instead.
Back to pack and to talk with one of the historians of Raffles. His name was Leslie Danker, a local Singaporean who has worked at Raffles since 1972. He was there before the latest renovations, thru the renovations and after. He is writing a book, which will be out in early 2010, with the title Memories of a Raffles Original (i.e. himself). He proudly told us of meeting John Wayne and Gavin Young (author of ‘Slow Boats to China’, which Bob and I devoured on this trip). When asked about old registration books of the 1920’s, where we hoped to find the handwriting of Walter Maron and Herbert Meyer, he sadly reported that until recently they had been in a large room of the old hotel and when the new management was doing the renovation they threw them all away. And now with computers, we’ll never have that history again. He explained which parts of the hotel were truly old and helped us to decipher were the ‘boys’ had slept in 1928 – in the oldest section, where their door was not off a verandah, but off a main hall of the hotel itself, looking down on the lawn where concerts are still given. He explained all the renovations from 1915 on to the newest of 1991. The whole hotel, be it old or new, has been designed to look like the old colonial structure complete with verandahs, courtyards and tile work but it is now a huge complex of over 200 guest rooms. It was interesting to sit with him for about thirty minutes and he proudly gave us his business card for future times. My guess is that he started as a steward and has moved up to his lofty position of historian – time in grade does really result in good outcomes and while he isn’t THE historian who gives tours of the hotel (that man was off for the holidays), Mr. Danker made a good second.
Having packed and planned our very early morning departure, we went out for a quick bite across the way at the Raffles City complex amidst a million young workers all stopping for drinks or dinner. While Singapore has always had the image of a boring, uptight, sterile town of finance and retail, things appear to be loosening up, and while smoking is mostly not allowed and drinking of any spirits carries a very hefty ‘sin tax’, the youth of the city are breaking out. Miniskirts, high heels, blue jeans and tight t-shirts are quite de rigueur, and you truly sense that this is the city of the future.
And so this next leg of the “Journey of Discovery” has ended. We saw many of the places Daddy and Walter had visited, sailed on many bodies of water as they did, but more importantly we saw places we would otherwise never have visited, learned history we never had paid attention to in the past, and saw cultures and people so different from our own that there were no frames of reference with which to explain them.
One of the great quotes which I think captures our adventure best is by Freya Stark who wrote: “One can only really travel if one lets oneself go and takes what every place brings without trying to turn it into a healthy private pattern of one's own, and I suppose that is the difference between travel and tourism”.
And now it’s time to go home.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Dec. 17-19 Phuket to Kuala Lumpur
Phuket
Having sailed the Indian Ocean/Arabian Sea, skirting Sri Lanka and crossing the Bay of Bengal & Andaman Sea, we found ourselves on the west coast of Thailand in the popular destination resort known as Phuket (pronounced Poo-ket). This island, ‘discovered ‘ less than twenty years ago by adventurous tourists, has moved from being a sleepy place known for its tin mines and its rubber plantations to become a cross between southern Florida and parts of Kauai.
Our ship landed at the port early in the morning, and you could feel the air laden with humidity even behind our air conditioned doors. We’re getting closer to the equator with every port and the climate as well as the flora is distinctly tropical. We had decided on a tour which would take us to the northern end of the island to Phang Nga Bay with a stop to see a rubber plantation – I wanted to mimic a bit what Daddy had seen in the 20’s though he never came here.
Our guide was an enthusiastic, if not terribly articulate man named Kai, who’s been a tour leader for over 40 years (obviously not always in English). As we got settled into our bus for our 1.5 hr. ride, he gave us each fans to keep us cool as well as maps and a history of the area. As we left the town of Phuket one saw row upon row of car dealers, repair shops, tourist shops, hotels and travel support companies. It wasn’t quaint, or particularly picturesque, which is why we thought of Florida. Thailand being primarily a Buddhist country has many temples, and along the way every business establishment, be it a restaurant or a dealership, had a small, colorful temple structure outside the building. It looked somewhat incongruous to see a sleek modern establishment and a very ornate, curlicued shrine, so I tried to snap pictures as the bus whizzed along newly paved, multi-lane roads.
Our first stop was a themed reserve tourist trap, where one could ride elephants, dirt bikes or learn how rubber is made. While in Daddy’s day the elephants served as muscle power to carry tree trunks, haul labor or pull weight, it is now illegal to use them and the last of the elephants are now here purely as a tourist attraction. Tin production has also been slowed with the increase of tourism and the primitive methods used to get the tin which couldn’t be competitive. But rubber continues to be a thriving business. Row upon row of rubber tree ‘forests’ lined the roads of Phuket. Each tree trunk had a small black plastic basin, about three feet off the ground, to catch the liquid latex. (Just like maple trees at home). We couldn’t believe that this fairly arcane approach was competitive in a world that needs rubber in vast quantities, but perhaps we’re the ignorant ones and this is the best technique to use.
The process of creating rubber is amazingly labor intensive. The catch basins are emptied by hand, the white latex liquid is brought to a central shed where it is mixed with formic acid and put in a tin pan (roasting pan size) where it takes on the texture of tofu or firm Jello (this for Bob’s sake). The ‘tofu’ is then pounded by a man using a rolling pin to make it thinner, and then run through a wringer to flatten it into a thin white sheet, and finally placed in a shaded area on a long pole to dry. As it dries it turns from white to brown and hardens into what we would recognize as rubber…looking like a shower mat. They showed examples of all the uses of rubber from tires to flip flops, to condoms to erasers. The leaves of the tree are used for fake flower arrangements and the tree trunks are ultimately turned into furniture. It is complete recycling. The only question is – are they competitive in the world of rubber? This will take some Google research.
With the ‘educational’ part of the tour completed we continued our bus ride to the Phang Nga National Park where we boarded a long motorboat for a ride through a waterway made up of eighty dramatic limestone islands. These islands were caused by the movement of tectonic plates a few million years ago and each takes on an eerie shape and size. The government of Thailand has preserved this area making it a large nature preserve, otherwise by now it would probably have become a tourist enclave of high rise hotels & condominiums. One very famous island is called James Bond Island because the movie ‘The Man with the Golden Gun’ was filmed here in the 1970’s. It is a distinct tourist destination with many motorized longboats (each with an incredibly noisy motor) taking people out daily to walk on the very small beach which was featured in the movie. We dutifully circled all sides so every known photograph could be taken before continuing on to a ‘floating village’ inhabited by Muslim fishermen who originally migrated from Indonesia. It is a self contained village community complete with school, restaurants, post office and tourist shops …and is a stopping place for every tour boat. In a sweltering classroom of the school, while the children outside were playing soccer in their girl and boy scout type uniforms, we learned about the island’s history. My brain was too fried to soak up information so I took pictures of the kids, the markets and the houses, which mostly aren’t actually ‘floating’ but are now stabilized on cement pilings.
Our last stop on theboat was lunch at a hotel located in the park reserve. Thai food andThai beer on a canopied open-air deck, and we were ready to start back to our air-conditioned bus and our very air-conditioned ship. (I never knew I had curly hair until I arrived in the tropics). When we arrived at the ship quay an array of hawkers had set up tents & booths right next to our ship …so with Thai bahts burning a hole in my pocket, I bought a few swim tops and we returned to the boat for a much needed cold beer, a shower, dinner and to bed.
Georgetown, Penang - Malaysia
Bob and I had not made a tour plan for this port, but I realized I had to get off and take some pictures because Daddy had stayed here for two nights at the E&O Hotel which to this day continues in operation. It was built by the Sarkie brothers who also built the Raffles Hotel where we will be staying in Singapore.
So with Russell and Diane, who knew the town having been here on and off for a few weeks, I left Bob on board to pack and we three took off with umbrellas in hand since the skies had already opened once and threatened to continue for the day. Our first stop was the famous old E & O Hotel (Eastern and Oriental), where we enjoyed the luxurious bathrooms before getting into individual tri-shaws to be pedaled to the nearest indoor shopping mall. The town of Penang is an old English colony and these remnants of colonial structures continue to exist, though they’re being razed to make way for new malls, high rises and condominiums. (My trishaw peddler was quite upset with the loss of traditional old buildings.) Some of these lovely old buildings continue to be cared for, and there is a drive to try and keep and restore other buildings of the period rather than let the whole town become another Dubai. I have mixed emotions – you sense that the people see an opportunity through tourism to raise their standard of living past that of a third world community, but at what cost to history. Unfortunately it was a holiday In Penang (not sure which), so many of the small shops and tourist spots were closed, but holidays are days for shopping so we pedaled past Little India and Little Chinatown to a splendid mall where every Malaysian in the world was either shopping or selling. It’s almost Christmas after all, so there were appropriate decorations and appropriate music being piped through this seven story emporium to pirated goods.
It was amazing. Everything was either a knock-off or had fallen off the back of a ship. And with the average salary in Penang being less than $4000/year, the prices were right for us wealthy tourists. It was slightly daunting but Russell and Diane, having been here before, helped me to sort out what was available and where. I had gotten about $100.00 worth of Malaysian ringgits at the HSBC ATM so I was ready to boogie. But where to start, and what to buy, with too many small shops, too many of the same thing …and way too much kitsch. While Russell found shirts for $10/each, and Diane found software for $3(!), I mainly window-shopped and bought a few trinkets. (After all there’s still Singapore in my future). Malaysia is quite obviously the place to shop if you’re into the world of illegal retail.
With our retail therapy acquisitions in hand, we headed back to the E&O Hotel so I could treat them to lunch, but first we ducked out of the rain to stop at a small hole-in-the-wall for a quick Tiger Beer to sustain us for the long ride (5 minutes) back to the hotel. The contrast between our corner beer stop and the E&O showed the two sides of the old colonial world – the real world and the protected world of the British Raj, where never the twain would meet.
It was lovely to walk into this stately old institution however, and to think that only 80+ years ago Daddy and Walter had done the same. The lobby looks exactly the same, with its high dome in the main lobby which provided a wonderful echo affect (If you tapped the tip of your umbrella it echoed back at you three or four more times.). The main dining area was not open for lunch so we ate in the old bar, having satay and some more Tiger beer to sustain us. While R&D sipped, I wandered through as much of the hotel as I could, taking pictures throughout the lobby since the ‘resident ‘floors were off-limits. I got the sense of place, enjoyed pretending that I was standing in the same area as H&W, walking up to the same reception desk, using the same old telephone, and then with my nostalgia in check, heading back to the ship…. as they would have themselves.
We can tell the trip is coming to an end: the crew is even more attentive than usual in the dining rooms and bars, hoping for a nice tip; the passengers are a bit more edgy as they begin their packing, and everyone is exchanging business cards swearing to write each other at Christmas time for years to come. Our gang of nine has meshed well ,exchanged our cards, and so after pre-prandials in ‘Martini’s’, we headed to the Grand Dining room for our last dinner in this venue and then off to bed.
Port Klang – Kuala Lumpur
Totally toured out, we did nothing on this very rainy, humid day. The sky kept opening in buckets, and we knew that our luggage had to be ready to go by early evening. Our gang has planned one last elegant meal up in the Toscana Restaurant, so fancy duds have been left unpacked but all else is ready to go.
Throughout the trip as I bought trinkets here and there, I would just pull the suitcase out from under the bed and throw them in. Today was the day of reckoning as I discovered gems bought a lifetime ago in Cyprus, and Israel ,and Abu Dhabi… and had to find room for it all. But it’s done. A few shampoos, bug sprays, and unguents will be left behind to make room for the new loot, and I’m ready for the next adventure.
Dinner was delightful, and the dining room was basically empty. I guess most people had packed their duds and didn’t want to fuss with elegance. We nine chatted, took last photographs, drank fine wine and bid each other adieu.
Having sailed the Indian Ocean/Arabian Sea, skirting Sri Lanka and crossing the Bay of Bengal & Andaman Sea, we found ourselves on the west coast of Thailand in the popular destination resort known as Phuket (pronounced Poo-ket). This island, ‘discovered ‘ less than twenty years ago by adventurous tourists, has moved from being a sleepy place known for its tin mines and its rubber plantations to become a cross between southern Florida and parts of Kauai.
Our ship landed at the port early in the morning, and you could feel the air laden with humidity even behind our air conditioned doors. We’re getting closer to the equator with every port and the climate as well as the flora is distinctly tropical. We had decided on a tour which would take us to the northern end of the island to Phang Nga Bay with a stop to see a rubber plantation – I wanted to mimic a bit what Daddy had seen in the 20’s though he never came here.
Our guide was an enthusiastic, if not terribly articulate man named Kai, who’s been a tour leader for over 40 years (obviously not always in English). As we got settled into our bus for our 1.5 hr. ride, he gave us each fans to keep us cool as well as maps and a history of the area. As we left the town of Phuket one saw row upon row of car dealers, repair shops, tourist shops, hotels and travel support companies. It wasn’t quaint, or particularly picturesque, which is why we thought of Florida. Thailand being primarily a Buddhist country has many temples, and along the way every business establishment, be it a restaurant or a dealership, had a small, colorful temple structure outside the building. It looked somewhat incongruous to see a sleek modern establishment and a very ornate, curlicued shrine, so I tried to snap pictures as the bus whizzed along newly paved, multi-lane roads.
Our first stop was a themed reserve tourist trap, where one could ride elephants, dirt bikes or learn how rubber is made. While in Daddy’s day the elephants served as muscle power to carry tree trunks, haul labor or pull weight, it is now illegal to use them and the last of the elephants are now here purely as a tourist attraction. Tin production has also been slowed with the increase of tourism and the primitive methods used to get the tin which couldn’t be competitive. But rubber continues to be a thriving business. Row upon row of rubber tree ‘forests’ lined the roads of Phuket. Each tree trunk had a small black plastic basin, about three feet off the ground, to catch the liquid latex. (Just like maple trees at home). We couldn’t believe that this fairly arcane approach was competitive in a world that needs rubber in vast quantities, but perhaps we’re the ignorant ones and this is the best technique to use.
The process of creating rubber is amazingly labor intensive. The catch basins are emptied by hand, the white latex liquid is brought to a central shed where it is mixed with formic acid and put in a tin pan (roasting pan size) where it takes on the texture of tofu or firm Jello (this for Bob’s sake). The ‘tofu’ is then pounded by a man using a rolling pin to make it thinner, and then run through a wringer to flatten it into a thin white sheet, and finally placed in a shaded area on a long pole to dry. As it dries it turns from white to brown and hardens into what we would recognize as rubber…looking like a shower mat. They showed examples of all the uses of rubber from tires to flip flops, to condoms to erasers. The leaves of the tree are used for fake flower arrangements and the tree trunks are ultimately turned into furniture. It is complete recycling. The only question is – are they competitive in the world of rubber? This will take some Google research.
With the ‘educational’ part of the tour completed we continued our bus ride to the Phang Nga National Park where we boarded a long motorboat for a ride through a waterway made up of eighty dramatic limestone islands. These islands were caused by the movement of tectonic plates a few million years ago and each takes on an eerie shape and size. The government of Thailand has preserved this area making it a large nature preserve, otherwise by now it would probably have become a tourist enclave of high rise hotels & condominiums. One very famous island is called James Bond Island because the movie ‘The Man with the Golden Gun’ was filmed here in the 1970’s. It is a distinct tourist destination with many motorized longboats (each with an incredibly noisy motor) taking people out daily to walk on the very small beach which was featured in the movie. We dutifully circled all sides so every known photograph could be taken before continuing on to a ‘floating village’ inhabited by Muslim fishermen who originally migrated from Indonesia. It is a self contained village community complete with school, restaurants, post office and tourist shops …and is a stopping place for every tour boat. In a sweltering classroom of the school, while the children outside were playing soccer in their girl and boy scout type uniforms, we learned about the island’s history. My brain was too fried to soak up information so I took pictures of the kids, the markets and the houses, which mostly aren’t actually ‘floating’ but are now stabilized on cement pilings.
Our last stop on theboat was lunch at a hotel located in the park reserve. Thai food andThai beer on a canopied open-air deck, and we were ready to start back to our air-conditioned bus and our very air-conditioned ship. (I never knew I had curly hair until I arrived in the tropics). When we arrived at the ship quay an array of hawkers had set up tents & booths right next to our ship …so with Thai bahts burning a hole in my pocket, I bought a few swim tops and we returned to the boat for a much needed cold beer, a shower, dinner and to bed.
Georgetown, Penang - Malaysia
Bob and I had not made a tour plan for this port, but I realized I had to get off and take some pictures because Daddy had stayed here for two nights at the E&O Hotel which to this day continues in operation. It was built by the Sarkie brothers who also built the Raffles Hotel where we will be staying in Singapore.
So with Russell and Diane, who knew the town having been here on and off for a few weeks, I left Bob on board to pack and we three took off with umbrellas in hand since the skies had already opened once and threatened to continue for the day. Our first stop was the famous old E & O Hotel (Eastern and Oriental), where we enjoyed the luxurious bathrooms before getting into individual tri-shaws to be pedaled to the nearest indoor shopping mall. The town of Penang is an old English colony and these remnants of colonial structures continue to exist, though they’re being razed to make way for new malls, high rises and condominiums. (My trishaw peddler was quite upset with the loss of traditional old buildings.) Some of these lovely old buildings continue to be cared for, and there is a drive to try and keep and restore other buildings of the period rather than let the whole town become another Dubai. I have mixed emotions – you sense that the people see an opportunity through tourism to raise their standard of living past that of a third world community, but at what cost to history. Unfortunately it was a holiday In Penang (not sure which), so many of the small shops and tourist spots were closed, but holidays are days for shopping so we pedaled past Little India and Little Chinatown to a splendid mall where every Malaysian in the world was either shopping or selling. It’s almost Christmas after all, so there were appropriate decorations and appropriate music being piped through this seven story emporium to pirated goods.
It was amazing. Everything was either a knock-off or had fallen off the back of a ship. And with the average salary in Penang being less than $4000/year, the prices were right for us wealthy tourists. It was slightly daunting but Russell and Diane, having been here before, helped me to sort out what was available and where. I had gotten about $100.00 worth of Malaysian ringgits at the HSBC ATM so I was ready to boogie. But where to start, and what to buy, with too many small shops, too many of the same thing …and way too much kitsch. While Russell found shirts for $10/each, and Diane found software for $3(!), I mainly window-shopped and bought a few trinkets. (After all there’s still Singapore in my future). Malaysia is quite obviously the place to shop if you’re into the world of illegal retail.
With our retail therapy acquisitions in hand, we headed back to the E&O Hotel so I could treat them to lunch, but first we ducked out of the rain to stop at a small hole-in-the-wall for a quick Tiger Beer to sustain us for the long ride (5 minutes) back to the hotel. The contrast between our corner beer stop and the E&O showed the two sides of the old colonial world – the real world and the protected world of the British Raj, where never the twain would meet.
It was lovely to walk into this stately old institution however, and to think that only 80+ years ago Daddy and Walter had done the same. The lobby looks exactly the same, with its high dome in the main lobby which provided a wonderful echo affect (If you tapped the tip of your umbrella it echoed back at you three or four more times.). The main dining area was not open for lunch so we ate in the old bar, having satay and some more Tiger beer to sustain us. While R&D sipped, I wandered through as much of the hotel as I could, taking pictures throughout the lobby since the ‘resident ‘floors were off-limits. I got the sense of place, enjoyed pretending that I was standing in the same area as H&W, walking up to the same reception desk, using the same old telephone, and then with my nostalgia in check, heading back to the ship…. as they would have themselves.
We can tell the trip is coming to an end: the crew is even more attentive than usual in the dining rooms and bars, hoping for a nice tip; the passengers are a bit more edgy as they begin their packing, and everyone is exchanging business cards swearing to write each other at Christmas time for years to come. Our gang of nine has meshed well ,exchanged our cards, and so after pre-prandials in ‘Martini’s’, we headed to the Grand Dining room for our last dinner in this venue and then off to bed.
Port Klang – Kuala Lumpur
Totally toured out, we did nothing on this very rainy, humid day. The sky kept opening in buckets, and we knew that our luggage had to be ready to go by early evening. Our gang has planned one last elegant meal up in the Toscana Restaurant, so fancy duds have been left unpacked but all else is ready to go.
Throughout the trip as I bought trinkets here and there, I would just pull the suitcase out from under the bed and throw them in. Today was the day of reckoning as I discovered gems bought a lifetime ago in Cyprus, and Israel ,and Abu Dhabi… and had to find room for it all. But it’s done. A few shampoos, bug sprays, and unguents will be left behind to make room for the new loot, and I’m ready for the next adventure.
Dinner was delightful, and the dining room was basically empty. I guess most people had packed their duds and didn’t want to fuss with elegance. We nine chatted, took last photographs, drank fine wine and bid each other adieu.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Dec. 14-16 Days at Sea
Dec. 14-16 – At Sea
We’ve had three days at sea, and they take on an atmosphere of their own. Everyone is a captive audience and depending on one’s ability to be self-entertained it can be heaven or hell. The ship does its best to keep people constantly amused with such fairly inane activities such as: golf putting skills; ping-pong competitions; bingo contests; sari wrapping courses; bridge, computer or painting classes; enhancement lectures, wine seminars and on and on and on. There are those passengers who join into almost any activity and those of us who do absolutely as few as possible.
If one wants to be alone (a la Greta Garbo) with a book or Kindle, an IPOD, a crossword puzzle or a Sudoku, there are many hidey holes where you won’t be persecuted by microphone-bearing cruise entertainers – there’s the library; the large lounge on the 10th floor overlooking the bow of the boat; one’s own cabin or comfortable deck chairs located all over the ship. The key is to plot out your day based on the schedule of events which is published the evening before and left on your bed to examine. If something ‘grabs you’ from the day’s plan then the rest of the day is based around it, if nothing ‘floats your boat’ then it’s just a matter of deciding where to park yourself between meals for the maximum of comfort.
Note: Here's what's amusing. On this cruise at least twenty other people have some form of e-book and the cruise director noted that there was an interest in the topic. So on one day's calendar of events was an entry saying "Kendal meeting". We knew it couldn't be about retirement homes in NH, so we went and found ourselves as instructors as well as participants. If this crowd is any sampling, the e-book is going to be very popular. On a cruise like ours it was essential for our days at sea and I am eternally grateful that both of us had one for those quiet moments.
For those of a more social nature, there is always someone to chat with, play with or dine with. For those of us who want to fantasize that all these people aren’t on the boat and that this is our private yacht, there are opportunities galore to retain that fantasy.
There is one gentleman on board whose wife is a participant in almost any and all activities, he however is holed up in his cabin watching endless amount of DVD’s – of which there are over 600 to chose from; there are a group from Istanbul who play endless amount of backgammon on the pool deck with cigars in hand; another group are in the card room playing Mah Jong; there is a klatch of women who get together to needlepoint in the mornings; and then there are always the sun lovers who from early morn to setting sun are oiled, greased and ready to be broiled in their deck chairs.
By now we have ‘sussed out’ our fellow passengers, the potential for activities, and the nooks and crannies and we’ve made our choices in all categories. For Bob a sea day is one for watching the sea, reading in the library or lounge, or chatting with our buds. For me there are bridge lessons, reading, crosswords or naps.
Evenings have taken on a sort of routine as we shower, get into our dining duds and join ‘our gang’ at the Martini lounge for drinks followed by dinner. ‘Our gang’ has formed over time and we aren’t terribly interested in adding others. They are:
· Russell Stanley and Diane Osborne, the two seismic consultants (sort of mapping possible oil fields from research ships) from Australia and New Zealand respectively, who now have homes in Palma de Mallorca and Las Vegas. They are incredibly well traveled, enjoy a good laugh, a pint of beer and always seem in a spirit to party. They too are self-entertaining with their computers, SONY book reader, IPODS, puzzles and books, but enjoy an afternoon on deck in the hot tub with a ‘brewsky’ and some chatter. We enjoy chatting with them about ports of call, their harrowing days at sea and most any and all things related to sailing or travel. They are the ‘children’ of our gang being both below 50 years of age, but in many ways the most worldly.
· George and Bettelou Stagg, from Calgary, provide the elegance to our gang. They are always on deck or in the pool reading, chatting or laughing. She worked for IBM, he was an HR executive and they always have amusing tales to tell of prior cruises, their farm and grandchildren, whom they obviously adore, or their various aches and pains. They always come to cocktails dressed to the nines and if there’s dancing to be done they’ll be on the dance floor cutting a rug. Their laughter is infectious, their Canadian accent charming and their manner quite self-deprecating. They always have things to chat about and we look forward to seeing them in the evening.
· Doris Litton from Knoxville Tennessee is our grande dame. A widow of seventy-nine she has been everywhere a boat could sail and Russell early-on named her “the oracle”. She is up for anything and everything has a great laugh, loves to sing, has a wicked sense of humor, but is always the gracious lady. Her days are spent on her own, usually in her cabin, but if there’s a tour to go on, she’s on it. We have all adopted her, and she us, and we look forward to seeing her at the bar with her Dewars, wearing another wonderfully gaudy pair of earrings – her one fashion statement.
· Dick and Carol from Charlottesville are part of the gang, though they tend to do things on their own. Both graduates of U. of M., he is a psychologist and professor, and she a retired kindergarten teacher. They are a little more anxious and edgy and tend to spend days on their own either on a tour (if at port), or exercising, or sitting on the pool deck reading. They recently lost a grandson to H1N1, and I’m sure this cruise is a way for them to heal.
There are other ‘gangs’ which ours have identified and tend to avoid – there’s the Turkish family who move as a unit through the ship and tend to stay on their own; there’s the “H&R Block” group (so named by us) a fairly boisterous group of what we would call ‘New York Jews from Miami Beach’, who suck the air out of a room or a bus no matter where they go. If they’re on a bus we will try and get on another.
What is amazing is that you’d think that after 40 days you’d recognize most of your fellow-passengers. After all there are only about 500 – but everyday there is a new face and you say to yourself “where did they come from”. The average age would be late 50’s and since schools are in session there are absolutely no children on board and very few young working people.
Bob and I have chosen our favorite crew members as well – Oana, one of the wine sommeliers from Croatia, a wry and witty woman who has provided us with wonderful wine selections, always with a dose of good humor mixed with deep knowledge of wine; Star , another of the wine sommeliers from Serbia who seems to be a rebel and adventurous sort; Diana, our favorite waitress who comes from St. Petersburg, Russia, who is pixieish in her manner and has wonderfully amusing body gestures when she recognizes us anywhere on the ship; Chris our barman at Martini’s who knows our likes and our dislikes who seems somewhat shy and very un-barman like in his lack of small chatter, but who always remembers that I love potato chips with my drink.
The ‘destination staff’ are critical to a cruise like this since they are the ones who organize all the tours ensuring that the busses arrive on time at the quayside, that the very forgetful passengers do not forget their identification cards, their bug spray, their hand sanitizer, their umbrellas, their sunscreen…you name it. Every day in the main theater (and later repeated on the TV) they give a review of the upcoming tours at the next port, when they will depart, how long the bus ride will last, how many stairs there may need to be climbed, what the highlights of the tour contain, whether we will have to take off our shoes at a temple, or cover our heads in a wshrine, etc. The details are endless, the chance for confusion or error is great, and they have anxious passengers who are unfamiliar with the port, the language and the history. Through it all they keep their ‘sang-froid’, their humor and their energy.
It has been amazing to us how ignorant some of our fellow passengers may be. We heard of one woman who spent an entire day on a tour and came back to ask “what country was that?” or the woman who walked up to one of the staff and said “You’re from France. Do you speak French?” And yet each person, having spent a day in a protected environment will come back and tell their friends they have seen the country. For us the goal has been twofold: to sample the various ports and to determine where we want to come back for longer visits and to follow in Daddy’s footsteps as he circumnavigated the world.
The blending of days at sea where one wakes without an alarm clock and without the need to be alert to new senses, sounds and people, and the days on tour when we’re absorbing all that is new and unfamiliar makes for a perfect blend. Too many days on tour and it all blends together…too many days at sea and some of us get antsy. But all in all it works thanks to the crew who make every day a delight.
We’ve had three days at sea, and they take on an atmosphere of their own. Everyone is a captive audience and depending on one’s ability to be self-entertained it can be heaven or hell. The ship does its best to keep people constantly amused with such fairly inane activities such as: golf putting skills; ping-pong competitions; bingo contests; sari wrapping courses; bridge, computer or painting classes; enhancement lectures, wine seminars and on and on and on. There are those passengers who join into almost any activity and those of us who do absolutely as few as possible.
If one wants to be alone (a la Greta Garbo) with a book or Kindle, an IPOD, a crossword puzzle or a Sudoku, there are many hidey holes where you won’t be persecuted by microphone-bearing cruise entertainers – there’s the library; the large lounge on the 10th floor overlooking the bow of the boat; one’s own cabin or comfortable deck chairs located all over the ship. The key is to plot out your day based on the schedule of events which is published the evening before and left on your bed to examine. If something ‘grabs you’ from the day’s plan then the rest of the day is based around it, if nothing ‘floats your boat’ then it’s just a matter of deciding where to park yourself between meals for the maximum of comfort.
Note: Here's what's amusing. On this cruise at least twenty other people have some form of e-book and the cruise director noted that there was an interest in the topic. So on one day's calendar of events was an entry saying "Kendal meeting". We knew it couldn't be about retirement homes in NH, so we went and found ourselves as instructors as well as participants. If this crowd is any sampling, the e-book is going to be very popular. On a cruise like ours it was essential for our days at sea and I am eternally grateful that both of us had one for those quiet moments.
For those of a more social nature, there is always someone to chat with, play with or dine with. For those of us who want to fantasize that all these people aren’t on the boat and that this is our private yacht, there are opportunities galore to retain that fantasy.
There is one gentleman on board whose wife is a participant in almost any and all activities, he however is holed up in his cabin watching endless amount of DVD’s – of which there are over 600 to chose from; there are a group from Istanbul who play endless amount of backgammon on the pool deck with cigars in hand; another group are in the card room playing Mah Jong; there is a klatch of women who get together to needlepoint in the mornings; and then there are always the sun lovers who from early morn to setting sun are oiled, greased and ready to be broiled in their deck chairs.
By now we have ‘sussed out’ our fellow passengers, the potential for activities, and the nooks and crannies and we’ve made our choices in all categories. For Bob a sea day is one for watching the sea, reading in the library or lounge, or chatting with our buds. For me there are bridge lessons, reading, crosswords or naps.
Evenings have taken on a sort of routine as we shower, get into our dining duds and join ‘our gang’ at the Martini lounge for drinks followed by dinner. ‘Our gang’ has formed over time and we aren’t terribly interested in adding others. They are:
· Russell Stanley and Diane Osborne, the two seismic consultants (sort of mapping possible oil fields from research ships) from Australia and New Zealand respectively, who now have homes in Palma de Mallorca and Las Vegas. They are incredibly well traveled, enjoy a good laugh, a pint of beer and always seem in a spirit to party. They too are self-entertaining with their computers, SONY book reader, IPODS, puzzles and books, but enjoy an afternoon on deck in the hot tub with a ‘brewsky’ and some chatter. We enjoy chatting with them about ports of call, their harrowing days at sea and most any and all things related to sailing or travel. They are the ‘children’ of our gang being both below 50 years of age, but in many ways the most worldly.
· George and Bettelou Stagg, from Calgary, provide the elegance to our gang. They are always on deck or in the pool reading, chatting or laughing. She worked for IBM, he was an HR executive and they always have amusing tales to tell of prior cruises, their farm and grandchildren, whom they obviously adore, or their various aches and pains. They always come to cocktails dressed to the nines and if there’s dancing to be done they’ll be on the dance floor cutting a rug. Their laughter is infectious, their Canadian accent charming and their manner quite self-deprecating. They always have things to chat about and we look forward to seeing them in the evening.
· Doris Litton from Knoxville Tennessee is our grande dame. A widow of seventy-nine she has been everywhere a boat could sail and Russell early-on named her “the oracle”. She is up for anything and everything has a great laugh, loves to sing, has a wicked sense of humor, but is always the gracious lady. Her days are spent on her own, usually in her cabin, but if there’s a tour to go on, she’s on it. We have all adopted her, and she us, and we look forward to seeing her at the bar with her Dewars, wearing another wonderfully gaudy pair of earrings – her one fashion statement.
· Dick and Carol from Charlottesville are part of the gang, though they tend to do things on their own. Both graduates of U. of M., he is a psychologist and professor, and she a retired kindergarten teacher. They are a little more anxious and edgy and tend to spend days on their own either on a tour (if at port), or exercising, or sitting on the pool deck reading. They recently lost a grandson to H1N1, and I’m sure this cruise is a way for them to heal.
There are other ‘gangs’ which ours have identified and tend to avoid – there’s the Turkish family who move as a unit through the ship and tend to stay on their own; there’s the “H&R Block” group (so named by us) a fairly boisterous group of what we would call ‘New York Jews from Miami Beach’, who suck the air out of a room or a bus no matter where they go. If they’re on a bus we will try and get on another.
What is amazing is that you’d think that after 40 days you’d recognize most of your fellow-passengers. After all there are only about 500 – but everyday there is a new face and you say to yourself “where did they come from”. The average age would be late 50’s and since schools are in session there are absolutely no children on board and very few young working people.
Bob and I have chosen our favorite crew members as well – Oana, one of the wine sommeliers from Croatia, a wry and witty woman who has provided us with wonderful wine selections, always with a dose of good humor mixed with deep knowledge of wine; Star , another of the wine sommeliers from Serbia who seems to be a rebel and adventurous sort; Diana, our favorite waitress who comes from St. Petersburg, Russia, who is pixieish in her manner and has wonderfully amusing body gestures when she recognizes us anywhere on the ship; Chris our barman at Martini’s who knows our likes and our dislikes who seems somewhat shy and very un-barman like in his lack of small chatter, but who always remembers that I love potato chips with my drink.
The ‘destination staff’ are critical to a cruise like this since they are the ones who organize all the tours ensuring that the busses arrive on time at the quayside, that the very forgetful passengers do not forget their identification cards, their bug spray, their hand sanitizer, their umbrellas, their sunscreen…you name it. Every day in the main theater (and later repeated on the TV) they give a review of the upcoming tours at the next port, when they will depart, how long the bus ride will last, how many stairs there may need to be climbed, what the highlights of the tour contain, whether we will have to take off our shoes at a temple, or cover our heads in a wshrine, etc. The details are endless, the chance for confusion or error is great, and they have anxious passengers who are unfamiliar with the port, the language and the history. Through it all they keep their ‘sang-froid’, their humor and their energy.
It has been amazing to us how ignorant some of our fellow passengers may be. We heard of one woman who spent an entire day on a tour and came back to ask “what country was that?” or the woman who walked up to one of the staff and said “You’re from France. Do you speak French?” And yet each person, having spent a day in a protected environment will come back and tell their friends they have seen the country. For us the goal has been twofold: to sample the various ports and to determine where we want to come back for longer visits and to follow in Daddy’s footsteps as he circumnavigated the world.
The blending of days at sea where one wakes without an alarm clock and without the need to be alert to new senses, sounds and people, and the days on tour when we’re absorbing all that is new and unfamiliar makes for a perfect blend. Too many days on tour and it all blends together…too many days at sea and some of us get antsy. But all in all it works thanks to the crew who make every day a delight.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Goa and Cochin
December 11 – Friday – Goa
After a quick room service breakfast, we hauled ourselves on to the bus which was sitting in one of the dirtiest ports I’ve ever seen - Mormugao. Iron oxide is the main product of Goa and ships were loading up while trucks delivered more and more from the hinterland. It was so dirty that the ship announced that no towels would be laid out on the pool deck – they’d get too dirty too soon.
Our Goan guide for the day was Ceasar, a Roman Catholic, and he was helped by a Hindi trainee as well as the Hindi bus driver. No sooner were we past the port security than Ceasar began a rant which would continue through the tour. The gist of his message was: the world under the Portuguese was much better; all Goans are ambitious and clean; all Indians are opportunistic and dirty. No matter where we went it was the same message provided with permutations and variations. It tainted the day for me since his political message seemed stronger than required for us first time visitors.
The immediate impression is one of lush, green, tropical scenery. Having just been in Dubai where without irrigation there would be sand, it was a huge contrast to see that if you stuck a seed in the ground within hours it would be a full blown plant. This alone made Goa lovely. While there was distinct poverty, it wasn’t the numbing despair of Bombay. The blend of the Portuguese and Indian cultures created wonderful churches where Jesus’ image had a strong similarity to some of the Hindi gods; where the bell tower would have the fluting of an Indian temple; and where the frescoes in the churches carried a distinctly Indian hue.
Our first stop was the Hindu temple Shri Mahalsa which is dedicated to the Goddess Mahalsa, the sixth reincarnation of Lord Vishnu. We walked from the bus through a phalanx of hawkers and beggars down a dirt path to the entrance of the temple. This site serves not only as a site for the temple, but it includes a small ‘hotel’ which allows believers of this particular sect of Hinduism to come and stay. The heat was merciless so we were glad to find shade inside the temple as we watched the various Brahmin priests and their rituals. This is very much an active temple and I felt a bit like an interloper as we watched the devout come in and prostrate themselves before the altar. They would then leave offerings which the priest would have delivered to the rear of the altar area, where another Brahmin would lay the offering in front of the gold sculpture of the god. All the priests wore a simple dhoti like object with one long string across their bare chest leading from the front of their garment, across their torso to the back of their garment. Once the devout had left their offerings they followed a clockwise path along a walled corridor which circled around the altar. At each wall face they would stop, put their heads to the wall and pray – once at the West, the North and the East before returning to the starting spot in front of the altar. No pictures were allowed inside this temple so I will have to remember this all with my mind.
Our next stop was a large church complex in Old Goa which at one point was the site of more than fourteen churches and a basilica – a true legacy to the Portuguese. It is one of the largest churches in India built in 1600, but its importance is that it holds the remains of St. Francis Xavier, the patron saint of Goa. The story goes that when he died they threw lime on his body to have it disintegrate, but it remained intact and a hundred years later when priests put a finger in a wound on the corpses’ chest it still bled and without any preservation his body remained intact. His body is to the right of the altar, now sealed behind glass because an over exuberant pilgrim had bitten off a big toe! For me the two interesting parts here were that in place of a crucifix over the altar, there was a statue of St. Francis, who looked more like a turtle with the chest looking like a carapace; and a huge pulpit, made out of a single tree, on the side of the church, where the sculptures had a distinctly ‘Jewish’ look about them. What a schnozzola on those angels…hardly angelic.
We crossed the road and looked at the Cathedral dedicated to St. Catherine of Alexandria, which had been completely white-washed inside, covering over years of beautiful frescoes from the 1600’s. Ceasar was beside himself telling this story of how the ignorant Hindi … or the government…or someone….didn’t have any sense of the beauty of the place and had ruined it forever. Me and churches are not a match, and I grew bored quickly…and it was insufferably hot. Luckily it wasn’t a long visit and soon we were off to visit Panjim , the state capital of Goa. It became the capital in 1759,when Old Goa was struck with cholera and malaria, the governor decided to move the capital.
When you arrive in Panjim, you know you’re not in traditional India. All the architecture is Portuguese with rickety balconies, red tile roofs and open courtyards - all appropriate to a hot southern climate. It is here that churches out number temples - mainly because of the Goan Inquisition of the 1500’s where Hindi would be slaughtered if they didn’t renounce their religion…that does tend to put a damper on one’s fervency since it’s a whole lot easier to renounce your temples in order to live another day.
We drove through the town having things pointed out – including the trash on the streets left by the irresponsible Indians (If one were Goan, one would always put trash into receptacles, dontcha know). This was not my favorite tour, what with an opinionated and fairly pompous guide, too many churches and way too much heat, and way too long without any food break. I was glad to return to the port by four pm where Bob and I ordered a room service lunch since service in all other venues was nonexistent.
Our next port of call on Saturday was Mangalore. And if I thought Mormugao was dirty it didn’t hold a candle to Mangalore where the dirt of the iron oxide was just as thick. We concluded that we didn’t need to see anything here so we stayed on board and had a relaxing day. There comes a point when one is sort of toured-out and the thought of getting up early to ride a bus to another site is just not thrilling. The highlights were going to be a tour of a cashew factory – one of the main crops of the area. Instead a fellow-passenger picked up a bag of kernels along with all the literature on cashews so I could enjoy the product without the tour. At the end of the day we were all grumbling about ‘why the hell did they stop here?’ There was almost no redeeming quality, we didn’t refuel with oil, and most people just stayed on the ship. One couple took a taxi to town, and were back in about an hour. I’m planning to write this down in my critique, since it’s been the worst stop to date.
Sunday we awoke with a whole new attitude as we sailed into the harbor of Cochin, at dawn past the famous Chinese fishing nets. The air was sultry and we were off for a boat ride into the tranquil back waters of the area. Armed with mosquito repellent, sun screen and umbrella, we boarded our bus with our beautifully dark skinned guide whose name I never got. Shock absorbers were definitely shot, but we didn’t care as we jostled our way through Sunday crowds going to a church festival, or to do errands. We drove for about an hour past coir factories, teak and bamboo lumber yards, and rice paddies, until we reached our destination along one of the inland canals.
Cochin is made up of a series of small lakes, estuaries and canals where in most places the only means of transportation is on water …either in a large houseboat, a motor launch or many various sized canoes with entire families aboard. We boarded our boat and for the next hours, relaxed and watched people washing their clothes or themselves in the water, ducks moving in large flocks through the water, people going by with their boats loaded to the gunnels, and others going to the many churches, and even a large wedding. We passed rice paddies with people up to their thighs in water, large coconut palms providing a canopy above us while taro grew along the water’s edge. It was idyllic. To think that this is India is almost impossible – it is so tranquil, quiet and beautiful. The state of Kerala, where Cochin is located, is one of the more prosperous states and you can understand why. I kept thinking that I’d rather be dirt poor in Cochin even if I did have to wash my clothes the same way as the Dhobi Ghat in Bombay . Even the animals looked healthier with goats and cows tied to a post and obviously well fed in this lush green area. We learned that the herds of ducks that we had observed were actually farmed for their eggs which are a delicacy in the area. Never have I seen that many ducks in one place.
We were sorry to leave our boat, but it was time to return to the ship, so we once more boarded our bouncy bus and got back to the port. Nautica had ‘singled up the lines’ and it was just minutes before our ship left the pier. We sailed out into the Arabian Sea, having a beer on our veranda, chatting with our neighbors about the day, and watching a beautiful sunset.
This was a perfect day with no historical monuments, no significant statues – just a wonderful Sunday ride on the water. We have seen the last of our Indian ports on this visit, and absolutely no retail therapy occurred. I came into the country carrying the same 400 rupees with which I entered. This is a good and a bad thing – I would have liked to bargain for some of the cheap knick-knacks carried by the hawkers, but we were always busily off to the next site, and there was no time for independent shopping expeditions. Harrumph. All the trinkets with which I was going to spread Christmas cheer are going to have to be bought in the next three ports. Our trip is drawing to a close, and I’m loath to see it end.
After a quick room service breakfast, we hauled ourselves on to the bus which was sitting in one of the dirtiest ports I’ve ever seen - Mormugao. Iron oxide is the main product of Goa and ships were loading up while trucks delivered more and more from the hinterland. It was so dirty that the ship announced that no towels would be laid out on the pool deck – they’d get too dirty too soon.
Our Goan guide for the day was Ceasar, a Roman Catholic, and he was helped by a Hindi trainee as well as the Hindi bus driver. No sooner were we past the port security than Ceasar began a rant which would continue through the tour. The gist of his message was: the world under the Portuguese was much better; all Goans are ambitious and clean; all Indians are opportunistic and dirty. No matter where we went it was the same message provided with permutations and variations. It tainted the day for me since his political message seemed stronger than required for us first time visitors.
The immediate impression is one of lush, green, tropical scenery. Having just been in Dubai where without irrigation there would be sand, it was a huge contrast to see that if you stuck a seed in the ground within hours it would be a full blown plant. This alone made Goa lovely. While there was distinct poverty, it wasn’t the numbing despair of Bombay. The blend of the Portuguese and Indian cultures created wonderful churches where Jesus’ image had a strong similarity to some of the Hindi gods; where the bell tower would have the fluting of an Indian temple; and where the frescoes in the churches carried a distinctly Indian hue.
Our first stop was the Hindu temple Shri Mahalsa which is dedicated to the Goddess Mahalsa, the sixth reincarnation of Lord Vishnu. We walked from the bus through a phalanx of hawkers and beggars down a dirt path to the entrance of the temple. This site serves not only as a site for the temple, but it includes a small ‘hotel’ which allows believers of this particular sect of Hinduism to come and stay. The heat was merciless so we were glad to find shade inside the temple as we watched the various Brahmin priests and their rituals. This is very much an active temple and I felt a bit like an interloper as we watched the devout come in and prostrate themselves before the altar. They would then leave offerings which the priest would have delivered to the rear of the altar area, where another Brahmin would lay the offering in front of the gold sculpture of the god. All the priests wore a simple dhoti like object with one long string across their bare chest leading from the front of their garment, across their torso to the back of their garment. Once the devout had left their offerings they followed a clockwise path along a walled corridor which circled around the altar. At each wall face they would stop, put their heads to the wall and pray – once at the West, the North and the East before returning to the starting spot in front of the altar. No pictures were allowed inside this temple so I will have to remember this all with my mind.
Our next stop was a large church complex in Old Goa which at one point was the site of more than fourteen churches and a basilica – a true legacy to the Portuguese. It is one of the largest churches in India built in 1600, but its importance is that it holds the remains of St. Francis Xavier, the patron saint of Goa. The story goes that when he died they threw lime on his body to have it disintegrate, but it remained intact and a hundred years later when priests put a finger in a wound on the corpses’ chest it still bled and without any preservation his body remained intact. His body is to the right of the altar, now sealed behind glass because an over exuberant pilgrim had bitten off a big toe! For me the two interesting parts here were that in place of a crucifix over the altar, there was a statue of St. Francis, who looked more like a turtle with the chest looking like a carapace; and a huge pulpit, made out of a single tree, on the side of the church, where the sculptures had a distinctly ‘Jewish’ look about them. What a schnozzola on those angels…hardly angelic.
We crossed the road and looked at the Cathedral dedicated to St. Catherine of Alexandria, which had been completely white-washed inside, covering over years of beautiful frescoes from the 1600’s. Ceasar was beside himself telling this story of how the ignorant Hindi … or the government…or someone….didn’t have any sense of the beauty of the place and had ruined it forever. Me and churches are not a match, and I grew bored quickly…and it was insufferably hot. Luckily it wasn’t a long visit and soon we were off to visit Panjim , the state capital of Goa. It became the capital in 1759,when Old Goa was struck with cholera and malaria, the governor decided to move the capital.
When you arrive in Panjim, you know you’re not in traditional India. All the architecture is Portuguese with rickety balconies, red tile roofs and open courtyards - all appropriate to a hot southern climate. It is here that churches out number temples - mainly because of the Goan Inquisition of the 1500’s where Hindi would be slaughtered if they didn’t renounce their religion…that does tend to put a damper on one’s fervency since it’s a whole lot easier to renounce your temples in order to live another day.
We drove through the town having things pointed out – including the trash on the streets left by the irresponsible Indians (If one were Goan, one would always put trash into receptacles, dontcha know). This was not my favorite tour, what with an opinionated and fairly pompous guide, too many churches and way too much heat, and way too long without any food break. I was glad to return to the port by four pm where Bob and I ordered a room service lunch since service in all other venues was nonexistent.
Our next port of call on Saturday was Mangalore. And if I thought Mormugao was dirty it didn’t hold a candle to Mangalore where the dirt of the iron oxide was just as thick. We concluded that we didn’t need to see anything here so we stayed on board and had a relaxing day. There comes a point when one is sort of toured-out and the thought of getting up early to ride a bus to another site is just not thrilling. The highlights were going to be a tour of a cashew factory – one of the main crops of the area. Instead a fellow-passenger picked up a bag of kernels along with all the literature on cashews so I could enjoy the product without the tour. At the end of the day we were all grumbling about ‘why the hell did they stop here?’ There was almost no redeeming quality, we didn’t refuel with oil, and most people just stayed on the ship. One couple took a taxi to town, and were back in about an hour. I’m planning to write this down in my critique, since it’s been the worst stop to date.
Sunday we awoke with a whole new attitude as we sailed into the harbor of Cochin, at dawn past the famous Chinese fishing nets. The air was sultry and we were off for a boat ride into the tranquil back waters of the area. Armed with mosquito repellent, sun screen and umbrella, we boarded our bus with our beautifully dark skinned guide whose name I never got. Shock absorbers were definitely shot, but we didn’t care as we jostled our way through Sunday crowds going to a church festival, or to do errands. We drove for about an hour past coir factories, teak and bamboo lumber yards, and rice paddies, until we reached our destination along one of the inland canals.
Cochin is made up of a series of small lakes, estuaries and canals where in most places the only means of transportation is on water …either in a large houseboat, a motor launch or many various sized canoes with entire families aboard. We boarded our boat and for the next hours, relaxed and watched people washing their clothes or themselves in the water, ducks moving in large flocks through the water, people going by with their boats loaded to the gunnels, and others going to the many churches, and even a large wedding. We passed rice paddies with people up to their thighs in water, large coconut palms providing a canopy above us while taro grew along the water’s edge. It was idyllic. To think that this is India is almost impossible – it is so tranquil, quiet and beautiful. The state of Kerala, where Cochin is located, is one of the more prosperous states and you can understand why. I kept thinking that I’d rather be dirt poor in Cochin even if I did have to wash my clothes the same way as the Dhobi Ghat in Bombay . Even the animals looked healthier with goats and cows tied to a post and obviously well fed in this lush green area. We learned that the herds of ducks that we had observed were actually farmed for their eggs which are a delicacy in the area. Never have I seen that many ducks in one place.
We were sorry to leave our boat, but it was time to return to the ship, so we once more boarded our bouncy bus and got back to the port. Nautica had ‘singled up the lines’ and it was just minutes before our ship left the pier. We sailed out into the Arabian Sea, having a beer on our veranda, chatting with our neighbors about the day, and watching a beautiful sunset.
This was a perfect day with no historical monuments, no significant statues – just a wonderful Sunday ride on the water. We have seen the last of our Indian ports on this visit, and absolutely no retail therapy occurred. I came into the country carrying the same 400 rupees with which I entered. This is a good and a bad thing – I would have liked to bargain for some of the cheap knick-knacks carried by the hawkers, but we were always busily off to the next site, and there was no time for independent shopping expeditions. Harrumph. All the trinkets with which I was going to spread Christmas cheer are going to have to be bought in the next three ports. Our trip is drawing to a close, and I’m loath to see it end.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Bombay
December 9-10 –Bombay
December 7 & 8 were sea days and I think I’ll write one long lengthy blog about life at sea and the various characters we’ve met along the way. We sailed into the harbor of Bombay in early morning, but we had begun to smell it long before we saw it. There is a pall over the city which has the exact same odor as Delhi had last year – a combination of burning cow dung, car pollution and air inversions which don’t allow the aromas to dissipate. You get used to it, but that first whiff told me we were truly in India.
Unfortunately I was under the weather, so Bob went on the tour of Elephanta Island alone. I had so wanted to go since it was one of the places which had impressed Daddy enough to take a few pictures during their stay in Bombay. What was eerie was that they took the tour on the exact same day - December 9th, 1927.
Before any of us could do anything however we were required to meet in the main lounge, at 7am, to have another ‘face-to-face’ – this time with Indian immigration, and to get our shore passes. I returned to bed and Bob set out for the tour.
So Bob now becomes more than the editor of the blog and becomes an entrant as well.
***I was unhappy that Beatrice had to miss an event that had so much meaning to her, but delighted to find only 13 other people on this tour…and an excellent guide. This also meant that our small band would have an entire ferry boat to ourselves for the one hour+ crossing to Elephanta Island. First, we drove to the Gateway of India…a triumphal arch built for the ceremonial visit of King George V…meant to impress the locals, and make the colonialist more self important. But, it wasn’t built in time for the royal visit, and was part of a project that was never completed…so it points in an odd direction. It reminded me of the arch in Washington Square Park, in Greenwich Village. I was underwhelmed, but took pictures.
We waded through hawkers, beggars, and pigeons, around the arch and down wide stone steps to the ferry landing. Our boat was tied outboard to two others, and we had to cross each and jump from boat-to-boat. Quite an adventure with my eyesight, and I would have been very worried about Beatrice’s knee.
We gathered on the open top deck for a very pleasant trip across the busy harbor. We passed an Indian Navy base, with a motley assortment of hand-me-down former US, British, and Russian ships…and a former British Aircraft Carrier. There were many oil and LNG tankers, freighters and container ships in the busy commercial harbor. Our guide regaled us with Indian history and culture, and stories of her family life…her sister lives in Austin, Texas.
We arrived at an old stone pier that extends about a half mile out from shore. Climbing the wet, broken stone steps was another adventure. We boarded a small diesel train, which ran on wooden tracks, for the slow, noisy trip to shore. There was a small ‘village’ of shops reserved for very polite vendors who must live on the island. But we were constantly followed by very aggressive old ladies with large parcels, or pots, on their heads begging us to take their picture. Of course, this will cost you ‘one dolla’…we had been warned. There were many small restaurants and shops around the entrance to the park.
Through an arch, we were faced with a very steep ascent, up about 125 wide stone steps. At first it looks easy…two steps and a wide flat spot, then more of the same…then it gets gradually steeper, and 8-10 steps at a time. You are given the choice to walk, or be carried up in a “maharaja chair” by four men (about us$12 rt). Of course the people who chose the chair weighed at least 250 pounds! One woman must have weighed almost 300 pounds, and refused to tip extra for the half dead lifters…embarrassing.
There were vendor stalls on both sides…some aggressive, some not at all. Beatrice would have loved all this color and excitement, but her knee would have been severely challenged. What great photos I could have gotten of her in the “Maharajah Chair”!
We had been warned that we would be accosted by monkeys looking for food or handouts when we reached the top…but earlier tourists must have satisfied them today, because the docile monkeys just sat and watched us.
There never were elephants here at these caves. The invading Portuguese found two statues of elephants (now in a museum) at the entrance to this Hindu temple site, and gave it that name in the 1600’s. The temple was created, in the large natural caves, in the 5th and sixth centuries AD. Many huge statues of the Hindu Gods were carved into the solid rock inside the caves. Many columns were added to create the temple effect, but they are for decoration and religious meaning, and are not needed to support the cave roof.
We spent about another hour exploring all the cave entrances, carved statuary (sort of like the Catholic “Stations of the Cross”), and learning about Hinduism and its place in Indian history 1500 years ago. Now it was time to head back down the hill. The day had gotten quite a bit warmer and more humid, and we were all feeling the effects. The corpulent (not all from our group) lined up for their ‘chairs’, and I started down slowly. The edges of the individual steps were very hard to distinguish, and it would have been very easy to fall. Concentrating on my path, I was able to ignore all hawkers. We repeated our ‘toonerville trolley’ ride to the end of the pier, and re-uboarded our private ferry. Only three of us braved the intense sun on the upper deck for the return…thank you Mr. Tilley for my fabulous hats! Back to the Gateway of India, and onto our air conditioned bus. A Becks beer was calling me, and I couldn’t wait to tell Beatrice about the whole adventure.*****
The next day, Thursday the 10th we had a ‘City Highlights’ tour of the city and I was damned if I was going to miss it, so off we went with a wonderful Indian guide – a sensible, knowledgeable woman who herself was a Zoroastrian, and had lived in New Jersey, so that she had the American idioms and humor to match. As our bus left the protected terminal area you were hit with the hustle and bustle of big city India: people sleeping, defecating, bathing or shaving on the sidewalks; cars playing a vicious game of bumper car while trying to avoid hitting vendors pulling carts, women carrying goods on their heads or business men ducking between cars to get to the office. Our bus drove us into the heart of what would have been British Bombay where the large Victorian edifices all look a wee bit the sadder with wear and tear, pollution and very little maintenance. You can imagine the wide avenues, the genteel atmosphere… but one needs a very rich imagination. While current day India has tried to erase the time of the British Raj by changing its name to Mumbai, renaming all British edifices with an appropriate Indian moniker, and removing all signs of Queen Victoria, you know that without the British the city would have had a very different look.
A city of over 60 million simply is beyond comprehension. How any government could manage this city is beyond me. How does one begin to explain, understand, or reconcile the dichotomy between the world of trendy high fashion malls, Bollywood, thriving businessmen and blue jean clad young people …and that other world of cardboard and tar paper slums, naked beggars, tiffin wallahs and the dhobi ghats . It just plain astounds me. It would appear to be working and our guide assured us that crime is fairly low while everything was improving – but it is such a fragile ecosystem that I’m not sure how long it can work. How long will the poor live with these discrepancies? It is one thing to be dirt-poor farmer in a remote village where one can sustain oneself and quite another to try and live amidst the harsh chaos that is Bombay. Somewhere there is a new Gandhi lurking who is waiting to overthrow not the British Raj, but the corrupt Indian government and the nouveau riche living in their protected gated communities. We kept hearing platitudes that the Hindu religion made everyone more understanding, that education would provide a new path - maybe. Time will tell.
Our city tour was meant to give us an over-view of this amazing city and it did a fine job. We had photo stops at the old Victoria Terminus (renamed), the Post Office and the many old British government buildings that have been turned to many different purposes. We passed wonderful old buildings with ornate jalousies and balconies which we could imagine as once elegant hotels or apartments, but now rundown pathetic structures. It seems that rent control and the inability to move people encourages the landlords to simply allow them to crumble. We drove along the Queens Road(renamed Marine Drive) looking out to the Arabian Sea, over the heads of homeless people sleeping on the beach, and pigeon squares where the ‘flying rats’ are fed in gated enclosures measuring twelve feet by six feet. (Imagine trying to cage New York’s pigeons into lovely little areas…right )
As we drove along the water front we passed a series of large parking lots, which had been transformed into gaudy gold-bedecked sugar-candy coated structures in glistening white, which serve as wedding venues for those with enough money to afford them. In a culture where one may have to entertain hundreds of people at a wedding, these temporary Disney-world spaces stood in sharp contrast to the grimy world around them.
Our first real stop was the famous dhobi ghat, where thousands of pieces of clothing are sent everyday from hotels, restaurants and private homes to be washed, dried and ironed by laundry wallahs. These wallahs - each in a square, cement space - stand in knee high filthy water, washing, pummeling and whacking laundry, hanging it on lines to air dry, and ultimately returning them to the appropriate owner. Astounding!! If you had clothes you cared about, they probably wouldn’t be sent here since they would simply disintegrate from the thoroughness of the cleaning process. This appears to be a prized profession that has existed for years and yes, laundry come out crystal clean.(But what do you do if you’re missing a sock?) This is a true tourist highlight, and we gawked at it in wonder. This one ghat runs along a primary train station and appears to go on for blocks. It was most colorful with all the many colored laundry drying on the tin roofs above the washing ‘tubs’. I could have watched for a lot longer but the persistent hawkers pushing jewelry, peacock fans , laminated maps of the world and postcards drove us back to our air-conditioned bus.
I kept snapping pictures out the window – be it the advertisement for opticians who will remove squint, McDonalds which sells not Big Mac’s but Maharajah burgers, the two-toned red and black fiat taxi’s which are held together by bailing wire and gum, trucks (“goods carriers”)with elaborate gaudy designs above the cab windows, street markets with wonderful piles of fruit and shoppers getting food for lunch or dinner. This city is so alive that despite its chaos, dirt and poverty, it charms me to no end. I would love to come back for awhile to really explore.
Our next stop was Mani Bhavan, the house where Gandhi lived, which is now a memorial to his life. It is a true shrine where the ground floor serves as a library showing books he owned or was influenced by, the first floor with a wonderful array of documents and photographs telling his story, and the top floor with doll-like figures showing critical events in his life. The top floor also had his perfectly preserved living & working space and terrace. He was an astounding man, and I have to do a lot more reading about him. There was a quote from Einstein which read:
“A leader of his people unsupported by any outside authority; a politician whose success rests not upon craft nor mastery of technical devices, but simply on the convincing power of his personality; a victorious fighter who has always scorned the use of force; a man of wisdom and humility, armed with resolve and inflexible consistency, who has devoted all his strength to the uplifting of his people and the betterment of their lot; a man who has confronted the brutality of Europe with the dignity of the simple human being,and thus at all times risen superior. Generations to come…will scarce believe that such a one as this ever in flesh and blood walked upon the earth.”
Somewhat subdued we returned to the bus and climbed to the top of Malabar Hill, the very wealthy part of Bombay, where the owners in their high rises and estates can look down on the city. There was a visit to the Jain Temple and then we went to the Hanging Gardens. This is a large open garden built on top of a water reservoir, where neat, orderly garden beds are laid out, topiary of all manner of animal is carefully tended and incongruous penguin sculptures dot the landscape. It is here that the famous Towers of Silence exists. The Zoroastrian religion traditionally believes that people should not be buried or cremated. Instead their bodies were laid out in one of the four towers where vultures plucked the bodies bare and then the bones were allowed to disintegrate. Unfortunately the vulture population has been hit by disease, people’s delicate senses have been offended, and now only two towers continue to exist. The corpses are now treated with chemicals, and sun-focusing optical devices. At Daddy’s time he spoke of seeing the vultures overhead, but then as now no tourists were allowed to enter these protected religious areas. The gardens had been designed by a prominent Zoroastrian (whose statue we had seen opposite Victoria Terminus) because the neighbors had been upset by the ‘leavings’ of the vultures, and these beautiful gardens soothed them and provided a place to stroll.
As we started back to the main part of Bombay it was lunch time and we passed a few Tiffin wallahs on their bicycles, wearing their signature white Nehru caps, as they delivered hot lunch meals. This is an amazing process. It appears that many workers in the city either can’t or don’t want to ‘eat out’ at lunch. (Religious issues, financial issues etc) They want a true home cooked meal. To accommodate this, the tiffin wallahs exist. Hundreds of these illiterate, but energetic men go to the various homes where the devoted wife or mother has created a multi-course hot meal. The meals are picked up and the wallah puts them on trains which then return to the heart of the city, to Churchgate Railway Station ,where the thousands of meal boxes are re-sorted and handed off like a relay to other tiffin wallahs who iare responsible for a particular building or neighborhood where they will deliver the meals to the appropriate individual, in the appropriate high rise establishment. There are over 250,000 such wallahs in the Bombay area, each responsible for between 10-20 individuals. Through a defined set of symbols, characters and colors, which defines source and destination, each tiffin hot meal container is sorted by the wallahs who with unerring perfection deliver the meal to the appropriate person with 100% accuracy. The only time this system doesn’t work is if the trains are not running – sort of like the postman. This elaborate process has been tried in other cities but has not been successful since the train infrastructure is critical to its success. After lunch, the entire process is repeated…in reverse!!
These wallahs are part of a union and have been studied by business schools to understand how they can be so successful.
Our last stop was the Prince of Wales Museum, opened in 1923 and built to commemorate King George V’s royal visit to India. Its name has been changed to a very long multi-syllabic Indian name, but the building is distinctly British. Inside we took an audio tour to learn more about the many artifacts of India’s history, including statuary of many of the gods, and beautiful miniature paintings. At this point it was in the 90’s and the museum while shady was not air conditioned so we truly gave it a cursory look before heading back to the bus. Then we drove for a photo-op to the Taj Hotel …still closed and under restoration after last year’s bombings, the Gate of India, and back to the boat for a well-deserved beer…and showers.
This is a magical city and I will come back. I want to wander its streets, poke into its markets, eat in its restaurants and spend more time getting to understand it.
December 7 & 8 were sea days and I think I’ll write one long lengthy blog about life at sea and the various characters we’ve met along the way. We sailed into the harbor of Bombay in early morning, but we had begun to smell it long before we saw it. There is a pall over the city which has the exact same odor as Delhi had last year – a combination of burning cow dung, car pollution and air inversions which don’t allow the aromas to dissipate. You get used to it, but that first whiff told me we were truly in India.
Unfortunately I was under the weather, so Bob went on the tour of Elephanta Island alone. I had so wanted to go since it was one of the places which had impressed Daddy enough to take a few pictures during their stay in Bombay. What was eerie was that they took the tour on the exact same day - December 9th, 1927.
Before any of us could do anything however we were required to meet in the main lounge, at 7am, to have another ‘face-to-face’ – this time with Indian immigration, and to get our shore passes. I returned to bed and Bob set out for the tour.
So Bob now becomes more than the editor of the blog and becomes an entrant as well.
***I was unhappy that Beatrice had to miss an event that had so much meaning to her, but delighted to find only 13 other people on this tour…and an excellent guide. This also meant that our small band would have an entire ferry boat to ourselves for the one hour+ crossing to Elephanta Island. First, we drove to the Gateway of India…a triumphal arch built for the ceremonial visit of King George V…meant to impress the locals, and make the colonialist more self important. But, it wasn’t built in time for the royal visit, and was part of a project that was never completed…so it points in an odd direction. It reminded me of the arch in Washington Square Park, in Greenwich Village. I was underwhelmed, but took pictures.
We waded through hawkers, beggars, and pigeons, around the arch and down wide stone steps to the ferry landing. Our boat was tied outboard to two others, and we had to cross each and jump from boat-to-boat. Quite an adventure with my eyesight, and I would have been very worried about Beatrice’s knee.
We gathered on the open top deck for a very pleasant trip across the busy harbor. We passed an Indian Navy base, with a motley assortment of hand-me-down former US, British, and Russian ships…and a former British Aircraft Carrier. There were many oil and LNG tankers, freighters and container ships in the busy commercial harbor. Our guide regaled us with Indian history and culture, and stories of her family life…her sister lives in Austin, Texas.
We arrived at an old stone pier that extends about a half mile out from shore. Climbing the wet, broken stone steps was another adventure. We boarded a small diesel train, which ran on wooden tracks, for the slow, noisy trip to shore. There was a small ‘village’ of shops reserved for very polite vendors who must live on the island. But we were constantly followed by very aggressive old ladies with large parcels, or pots, on their heads begging us to take their picture. Of course, this will cost you ‘one dolla’…we had been warned. There were many small restaurants and shops around the entrance to the park.
Through an arch, we were faced with a very steep ascent, up about 125 wide stone steps. At first it looks easy…two steps and a wide flat spot, then more of the same…then it gets gradually steeper, and 8-10 steps at a time. You are given the choice to walk, or be carried up in a “maharaja chair” by four men (about us$12 rt). Of course the people who chose the chair weighed at least 250 pounds! One woman must have weighed almost 300 pounds, and refused to tip extra for the half dead lifters…embarrassing.
There were vendor stalls on both sides…some aggressive, some not at all. Beatrice would have loved all this color and excitement, but her knee would have been severely challenged. What great photos I could have gotten of her in the “Maharajah Chair”!
We had been warned that we would be accosted by monkeys looking for food or handouts when we reached the top…but earlier tourists must have satisfied them today, because the docile monkeys just sat and watched us.
There never were elephants here at these caves. The invading Portuguese found two statues of elephants (now in a museum) at the entrance to this Hindu temple site, and gave it that name in the 1600’s. The temple was created, in the large natural caves, in the 5th and sixth centuries AD. Many huge statues of the Hindu Gods were carved into the solid rock inside the caves. Many columns were added to create the temple effect, but they are for decoration and religious meaning, and are not needed to support the cave roof.
We spent about another hour exploring all the cave entrances, carved statuary (sort of like the Catholic “Stations of the Cross”), and learning about Hinduism and its place in Indian history 1500 years ago. Now it was time to head back down the hill. The day had gotten quite a bit warmer and more humid, and we were all feeling the effects. The corpulent (not all from our group) lined up for their ‘chairs’, and I started down slowly. The edges of the individual steps were very hard to distinguish, and it would have been very easy to fall. Concentrating on my path, I was able to ignore all hawkers. We repeated our ‘toonerville trolley’ ride to the end of the pier, and re-uboarded our private ferry. Only three of us braved the intense sun on the upper deck for the return…thank you Mr. Tilley for my fabulous hats! Back to the Gateway of India, and onto our air conditioned bus. A Becks beer was calling me, and I couldn’t wait to tell Beatrice about the whole adventure.*****
The next day, Thursday the 10th we had a ‘City Highlights’ tour of the city and I was damned if I was going to miss it, so off we went with a wonderful Indian guide – a sensible, knowledgeable woman who herself was a Zoroastrian, and had lived in New Jersey, so that she had the American idioms and humor to match. As our bus left the protected terminal area you were hit with the hustle and bustle of big city India: people sleeping, defecating, bathing or shaving on the sidewalks; cars playing a vicious game of bumper car while trying to avoid hitting vendors pulling carts, women carrying goods on their heads or business men ducking between cars to get to the office. Our bus drove us into the heart of what would have been British Bombay where the large Victorian edifices all look a wee bit the sadder with wear and tear, pollution and very little maintenance. You can imagine the wide avenues, the genteel atmosphere… but one needs a very rich imagination. While current day India has tried to erase the time of the British Raj by changing its name to Mumbai, renaming all British edifices with an appropriate Indian moniker, and removing all signs of Queen Victoria, you know that without the British the city would have had a very different look.
A city of over 60 million simply is beyond comprehension. How any government could manage this city is beyond me. How does one begin to explain, understand, or reconcile the dichotomy between the world of trendy high fashion malls, Bollywood, thriving businessmen and blue jean clad young people …and that other world of cardboard and tar paper slums, naked beggars, tiffin wallahs and the dhobi ghats . It just plain astounds me. It would appear to be working and our guide assured us that crime is fairly low while everything was improving – but it is such a fragile ecosystem that I’m not sure how long it can work. How long will the poor live with these discrepancies? It is one thing to be dirt-poor farmer in a remote village where one can sustain oneself and quite another to try and live amidst the harsh chaos that is Bombay. Somewhere there is a new Gandhi lurking who is waiting to overthrow not the British Raj, but the corrupt Indian government and the nouveau riche living in their protected gated communities. We kept hearing platitudes that the Hindu religion made everyone more understanding, that education would provide a new path - maybe. Time will tell.
Our city tour was meant to give us an over-view of this amazing city and it did a fine job. We had photo stops at the old Victoria Terminus (renamed), the Post Office and the many old British government buildings that have been turned to many different purposes. We passed wonderful old buildings with ornate jalousies and balconies which we could imagine as once elegant hotels or apartments, but now rundown pathetic structures. It seems that rent control and the inability to move people encourages the landlords to simply allow them to crumble. We drove along the Queens Road(renamed Marine Drive) looking out to the Arabian Sea, over the heads of homeless people sleeping on the beach, and pigeon squares where the ‘flying rats’ are fed in gated enclosures measuring twelve feet by six feet. (Imagine trying to cage New York’s pigeons into lovely little areas…right )
As we drove along the water front we passed a series of large parking lots, which had been transformed into gaudy gold-bedecked sugar-candy coated structures in glistening white, which serve as wedding venues for those with enough money to afford them. In a culture where one may have to entertain hundreds of people at a wedding, these temporary Disney-world spaces stood in sharp contrast to the grimy world around them.
Our first real stop was the famous dhobi ghat, where thousands of pieces of clothing are sent everyday from hotels, restaurants and private homes to be washed, dried and ironed by laundry wallahs. These wallahs - each in a square, cement space - stand in knee high filthy water, washing, pummeling and whacking laundry, hanging it on lines to air dry, and ultimately returning them to the appropriate owner. Astounding!! If you had clothes you cared about, they probably wouldn’t be sent here since they would simply disintegrate from the thoroughness of the cleaning process. This appears to be a prized profession that has existed for years and yes, laundry come out crystal clean.(But what do you do if you’re missing a sock?) This is a true tourist highlight, and we gawked at it in wonder. This one ghat runs along a primary train station and appears to go on for blocks. It was most colorful with all the many colored laundry drying on the tin roofs above the washing ‘tubs’. I could have watched for a lot longer but the persistent hawkers pushing jewelry, peacock fans , laminated maps of the world and postcards drove us back to our air-conditioned bus.
I kept snapping pictures out the window – be it the advertisement for opticians who will remove squint, McDonalds which sells not Big Mac’s but Maharajah burgers, the two-toned red and black fiat taxi’s which are held together by bailing wire and gum, trucks (“goods carriers”)with elaborate gaudy designs above the cab windows, street markets with wonderful piles of fruit and shoppers getting food for lunch or dinner. This city is so alive that despite its chaos, dirt and poverty, it charms me to no end. I would love to come back for awhile to really explore.
Our next stop was Mani Bhavan, the house where Gandhi lived, which is now a memorial to his life. It is a true shrine where the ground floor serves as a library showing books he owned or was influenced by, the first floor with a wonderful array of documents and photographs telling his story, and the top floor with doll-like figures showing critical events in his life. The top floor also had his perfectly preserved living & working space and terrace. He was an astounding man, and I have to do a lot more reading about him. There was a quote from Einstein which read:
“A leader of his people unsupported by any outside authority; a politician whose success rests not upon craft nor mastery of technical devices, but simply on the convincing power of his personality; a victorious fighter who has always scorned the use of force; a man of wisdom and humility, armed with resolve and inflexible consistency, who has devoted all his strength to the uplifting of his people and the betterment of their lot; a man who has confronted the brutality of Europe with the dignity of the simple human being,and thus at all times risen superior. Generations to come…will scarce believe that such a one as this ever in flesh and blood walked upon the earth.”
Somewhat subdued we returned to the bus and climbed to the top of Malabar Hill, the very wealthy part of Bombay, where the owners in their high rises and estates can look down on the city. There was a visit to the Jain Temple and then we went to the Hanging Gardens. This is a large open garden built on top of a water reservoir, where neat, orderly garden beds are laid out, topiary of all manner of animal is carefully tended and incongruous penguin sculptures dot the landscape. It is here that the famous Towers of Silence exists. The Zoroastrian religion traditionally believes that people should not be buried or cremated. Instead their bodies were laid out in one of the four towers where vultures plucked the bodies bare and then the bones were allowed to disintegrate. Unfortunately the vulture population has been hit by disease, people’s delicate senses have been offended, and now only two towers continue to exist. The corpses are now treated with chemicals, and sun-focusing optical devices. At Daddy’s time he spoke of seeing the vultures overhead, but then as now no tourists were allowed to enter these protected religious areas. The gardens had been designed by a prominent Zoroastrian (whose statue we had seen opposite Victoria Terminus) because the neighbors had been upset by the ‘leavings’ of the vultures, and these beautiful gardens soothed them and provided a place to stroll.
As we started back to the main part of Bombay it was lunch time and we passed a few Tiffin wallahs on their bicycles, wearing their signature white Nehru caps, as they delivered hot lunch meals. This is an amazing process. It appears that many workers in the city either can’t or don’t want to ‘eat out’ at lunch. (Religious issues, financial issues etc) They want a true home cooked meal. To accommodate this, the tiffin wallahs exist. Hundreds of these illiterate, but energetic men go to the various homes where the devoted wife or mother has created a multi-course hot meal. The meals are picked up and the wallah puts them on trains which then return to the heart of the city, to Churchgate Railway Station ,where the thousands of meal boxes are re-sorted and handed off like a relay to other tiffin wallahs who iare responsible for a particular building or neighborhood where they will deliver the meals to the appropriate individual, in the appropriate high rise establishment. There are over 250,000 such wallahs in the Bombay area, each responsible for between 10-20 individuals. Through a defined set of symbols, characters and colors, which defines source and destination, each tiffin hot meal container is sorted by the wallahs who with unerring perfection deliver the meal to the appropriate person with 100% accuracy. The only time this system doesn’t work is if the trains are not running – sort of like the postman. This elaborate process has been tried in other cities but has not been successful since the train infrastructure is critical to its success. After lunch, the entire process is repeated…in reverse!!
These wallahs are part of a union and have been studied by business schools to understand how they can be so successful.
Our last stop was the Prince of Wales Museum, opened in 1923 and built to commemorate King George V’s royal visit to India. Its name has been changed to a very long multi-syllabic Indian name, but the building is distinctly British. Inside we took an audio tour to learn more about the many artifacts of India’s history, including statuary of many of the gods, and beautiful miniature paintings. At this point it was in the 90’s and the museum while shady was not air conditioned so we truly gave it a cursory look before heading back to the bus. Then we drove for a photo-op to the Taj Hotel …still closed and under restoration after last year’s bombings, the Gate of India, and back to the boat for a well-deserved beer…and showers.
This is a magical city and I will come back. I want to wander its streets, poke into its markets, eat in its restaurants and spend more time getting to understand it.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
UAE - Land of Oil and Gold
December 3 – Thursday – Abu Dhabi
There’s nothing you can’t do if you have oil! That would be the theme of this blog entry from the United Arab Emirates (UAE). Abu Dhabi may not get as much ‘play’ in the media but it is the world’s richest city and the capital of the UAE. Per capita it is better off than Dubai, but then its population isn’t all that large either. Here are all the government buildings of the UAE and a thriving community.
We decided that since our next days would be in the large city of Dubai, that we would go out into the countryside. Our guide, Samir (call me ‘Sammy’), gave us all the relevant data about Abu Dhabi as we drove our 2 ½ hours towards our destination --the oasis town of Al Ain:
· Sheikh (literally ‘old man’)is the word for King
· Emir is the word for Prince
· Sultan is a ‘super king’ but isn’t used much
· UAE produces 2.3 million gallons of oil/day
· Oil was first found in 1959 by Continental Oil
· The 7 emirates (states)merged in 1971 each run by a Sheikh
· There is almost no crime in the UAE since there is full employment and thus little poverty
· To help the nomadic Bedouins, the sheikh built something called ‘Gift Houses” for them. Here a family lives free of charge – no utilities, no air conditioning fees, no nothing. The only other people who can receive these “gift houses” are young couples who marry- IF both bride and groom come from Abu Dhabi
· Camels are multi-purpose: food, transport, or racing. A good racing camel is worth over $10 million. Since there is no betting allowed, there are prizes for the winners such as automobiles, houses or money.
· Instead of real jockeys, the camels are ridden by remote control …’robot’ jockeys are controlled by rich Emirati owners sitting in their cars…like a live Nintendo game.
· All camels here are one-humped (dromedaries) and can drink 100 liters of water in less than 10 minutes. The water is stored in their blood cells, or turned into fat which is stored in the hump for future use
· When married, the wedding feast will feature fine camel and goat’s meat and will go on for a minimum of three days
· Dowries are still expected and therefore young people must wait until they have enough accumulated to both provide a dowry (for the woman) and a three day wedding feast for hundreds of tribal member·
I found all this information interesting because I have no frame of reference that is similar, and so I find myself sucking up information like a sponge.
We arrived in Al Ain which is an oasis on the border with Oman. By definition, an oasis has a natural source of water and is irrigated in the traditional manner, unlike most of the UAE which depends on desalinated water. What was astounding was that we expected that since we were going to an oasis that we would be passing through miles of sandy desert on our two hour ride. But the sheikh wants his country to be hospitable and lovely, so he has had trees planted from Abu Dhabi straight thru to Al Ain. Therefore on either side of the road between the road and the sand dunes - going back about 150 feet - we saw trees being watered by irrigation pipes, and in some cases entire ‘forests’ being built in the desert. (This has already had an effect on the climate… making for more rain, and milder, less harsh winters). As we neared our destination we were following along next to a large chain fence which was the border between Oman and the UAE . The fence was built to define borders and more importantly to keep illegal immigrants from trying to sneak in to get jobs.
Our first stop was the Hilli Archaeological Park where we were shown a circular mud home built around 3000 BC and a tomb built with limestone blocks which dates back to 5000 BC. The park itself was empty though, and while it was lush and grassy it seemed eerily deserted for a holiday. Next up was the date palm oasis which is privately owned, and where a sign declared that it was open to tourists and owners only. It was lush and shady where the date palms soared above us providing relief on a fairly warm day. We saw demonstrated how one shimmies up a date palm to get the fruit which is harvested in the summer and a few of our group tried it – getting no more than two feet off the ground.
Our next stop was the Al Ain Museum ,built at the turn of the 20th century as a palace by the grandfather of the current Sheikh Zayed. Here we saw on display the pottery and remnants found in the Hilli site we had seen earlier, as well as costumes and household goods used by residents of the area prior to the discovery of oil. We have to keep remembering that this is not exactly an ancient civilization – since most of this area was an arid desert until 1960 with nomads roaming the area.
Perhaps that is what astounds one most – in less than 50 years this area has grown from nothing to being one of the richest area s in the world. How does an old Emirati wrap his head around this? He was once a pearl fisherman, a farmer or a nomad and now – presto - he’s got cars, electricity and 5 star hotels where before there was nothing. As we had our lunch at the lovely Intercontinental Hotel , we noted that all the staff were NOT Emirati but Philippine, Indian, Pakistani etc. Over 85% of the people living in the UAE are foreigners and the rules for them are quite strict: if they work, they can live in the country and own a home…if they aren’t working, they must leave.
Our last stop was my favorite – the Camel Market. Here again was a brand spanking new area built in ochre mud. Row upon row of animal pens holding sheep, goats or camels. In each pen were anywhere from 3-10 animals – little babies to full grown adults. These are not for racing, these are primarily for eating and we watched as some very rich Emirati in their chauffeur driven car pulled up and without getting out of the car identified the animals they wanted to purchase and the trade was completed. Later the animals would be trucked away to become someone’s wedding feast or some restaurant’s special: Roast camel with a side of potatoes. We took a zillion pictures since camel meat is rare in the states and camel markets even rarer.
It was now time to drive back to Abu Dhabi …past huge sand dunes, other camel and goat pens, businesses, a university, wide tree lined avenues, and everywhere large banners with the face of the Sheikh prominently displayed. Everything is so new and is so proudly displayed: the most palm dates, the most camels, the biggest mosque, the most universities in one spot, the best medical facilities and on and on. There is great pride in what’s been accomplished and since the Sheikh understands that oil can’t last forever, he’s planned for the future – or so we’re told.
My question is – what happens when it stops flowing? What happens to all the foreigners? Who maintains the entire infrastructure? What happens as young Emirati, who are now educated, choose to leave the country? Where will it all be in another fifty years? When Daddy traveled in this area he didn’t even bother to stop – it was deserts and poor villages. Who knows what comes next.
December 4-6 – Dubai
Bob and I didn’t plan any tours here since we were told that Dubai was one huge ‘work in progress’, with tons of enormous shopping malls and gated communities all built out of the sand. The tours provided by the ship were meant to appeal to those hoping to ‘feel and see’ the wealth of the area: Dubai by Helicopter; Hot Air balloon Adventure; High Tea at the Burj (the largest hotel structure in the world…built to resemble a sail …where the entry fee for tea begins at $50, and no one is allowed in without a reservation). Our goal - feeling less wealthy - was to use the Hop On Hop Off bus (HOHO), which for $80.00 gave us a two-day pass and promised to take us to all the highlights of the town – sans the Burj.
The impression one gets is of uncontrolled growth, infinite resources, and amazing cleanliness. As we drove along the waterfront, we would pass a large high rise complex under construction and be told that it would hold over 27,000 people, and within a mile there would be another construction site promising equal occupancy. Who will be in all these buildings is the question. We rode out to the Atlantis Hotel, which is at the tip of the large Palms island complex. This is a man-made complex built out into the Arabian Gulf, designed to resemble an enormous palm tree. Only from an airplane (or from a postcard) can one actually see this design. The’ trunk’ consists of a 4-lane roadway, an elevated monorail tramway leading through the complex, and a series of high rises – each identical to the next. Each ‘frond’ of the tree consists of another community of private homes and waterways. The whole is girded by a circular roadway which consists of a protective sea wall. At the end of the main ‘trunk’ was the mammoth Atlantis Hotel built to resemble the one in Nassau, Bahamas. It is a luxury hotel (to match the other 16 luxury hotels in the Palms), with an aquarium, dolphin pool, 2 mile water ride, and, of course, a golf course among its many amenities. I kept thinking – why would anyone want to live here? But someone must, since they are planning two additional palm-like complexes in the future. The Burj is another of the off-shore complexes, on a man-made island, built to resemble a large wind-filled Dhow sail, and now stands as the symbol of Dubai.
Of course there is also the off-shore complex called The World where each little privately owned island helps to make up a map of the world – again only visible from the air, or post cards, or the top of the Burj. In between all this wealth built out to sea, are beautiful sandy beaches and perfect aquamarine waters.
The HOHO had two routes: the blue route which took you to all the malls, the residential complexes, and the various government and business complexes built to accommodate the startling growth in the area...and the red route: the older core city, with souks, museums, boat rides, and the old commercial ‘river’ commerce. There were ‘cities’ for knowledge, for technology for medicine. The malls – each larger and more elaborate than the last, had something unique: an indoor skating rink, an indoor ski run, an aquarium, ’24 waterfront restaurants’, an Egyptian pyramid, etc.. And every known retail store, be it French (Gallerie Lafayette), English (Harvey Nickels and Debenhams), American (Saks 5th Avenue), or Swedish (IKEA). The major benefit seems to be that there are great tax advantages both for the customer and the retailer.
The narrative on the HOHO bus spoke proudly to the boom that has taken over Dubai – be it the number of businesses moving in, the number of complexes built, the height of buildings, the number of stores in any of the malls or the number of dollars flowing through the country. All of this exists because oil was found in 1959. But the current Sheikh ‘also understands that the oil can’t last forever’, and is building Dubai to become the center for financial, academic and retail industries. His picture is seen everywhere - HH Sheikh Rashid bin Saeed Al Maktoum is part of the Baniyas tribe that has been in Dubai since 1833. He appears to be well liked and has created a world that is comfortable, safe and tolerant of the many foreigners brought in to build this unique place. For now Dubai is enjoying a real hay day where growth seems endless. Of course the news reports, which came out days before we arrived, noted that they have a serious debt issue and are trying to restructure their finances. My question is – what will there be to see in 100 years? Is this going to be like the tomb of Ozymandius?
Since this is not our concern, we went into the humongus Emirates Mall to spend some money. This is the mall with the indoor skiing slope. It was fun to see modestly clad Arab women, in their full black clothing, donning mall-provided-parkas so they could play in the snow with their children. Outside the enclosed, and obviously cold, ski area, they had an Apres Ski restaurant complete with a fake fire in the fake fireplace. What a hoot.
The stores were all very upscale and had all manner of high fashion including ones selling full Arab gear for men or for women. I kept wondering what these fully clad, modest people thought of the tourists going through the mall in more scanty apparel. Obviously it’s the price of their success, but you can see how a terrorist who believes in the Koran would take offense at this western immodesty.
Were it not for my knee, I could have walked these malls for quite some time enjoying not only the stores but the people in the mall. (They are obviously doing well since everyone was carrying bags and the stores were all busy). Instead we covered only a small portion, had lunch, and made a great acquisition: Camel’s Milk Chocolate bars - Amazingly good. The young man who was selling it said that it was made by one of the sheikh’s farms where he has over 2000 camels.
Shopped out, we returned to the ship for the day to relax. We still had the Red route of the HOHO and we would conquer that the next day.
The red route turned out to be very interesting in a different way, in that it focused primarily on the inner core of Dubai – the older section which has existed at least since 1950. This older portion with its many souks, is centered around the creek which runs to the sea. In olden days this creek was critical to traders, and even today, in very rickety dhows, merchandise which has come into Dubai sails out to Persia, India, Pakistan, and other Arab states. These dhows, crammed to the hilt with everything from refrigerators, to TV’s, to food, didn’t look sea worthy… but what do we know. They certainly were colorful. Our HOHO ticket allowed us to take a one hour boat ride up and down the creek to get a sense of Dubai from the water. We watched the small abra water taxi’s scooting from one side of the creek to the other. Each carries no more than 20 people and based on the traffic jams we saw, proves to be a most efficient way for locals to get about. These abra, reminded me of the ferries in Hong Kong – just a lot smaller and simpler. I must say I liked this older section better because it seemed more authentic and not so glitzy. This was a Dubai of the past where people bartered and traded and lived simple oil-less life…where cars were almost a hindrance, and men with push carts moved through narrow alleys. I’m sure that the current residents are quite happy that they have been able to improve their life, but it is truly a world built on sand.
Here was the prime example to me: we were told that in the UAE having a car is secondary to having the right numbered plate. The lower the number the richer you are, with some of them selling for millions of dollars. Once you have the plate, THEN you buy the car to match it. How nuts is that?
It is all so artificial and instant. There is almost no history and it is only a short time since this was a poor fishing port. I keep trying to find the words to describe it and they escape me. Surreal works best. But now we’re off to India which is surreal in a whole other way. Good-bye to cleanliness and modernity and back to a life where wealth and luxury do not exist. I’m ready.
There’s nothing you can’t do if you have oil! That would be the theme of this blog entry from the United Arab Emirates (UAE). Abu Dhabi may not get as much ‘play’ in the media but it is the world’s richest city and the capital of the UAE. Per capita it is better off than Dubai, but then its population isn’t all that large either. Here are all the government buildings of the UAE and a thriving community.
We decided that since our next days would be in the large city of Dubai, that we would go out into the countryside. Our guide, Samir (call me ‘Sammy’), gave us all the relevant data about Abu Dhabi as we drove our 2 ½ hours towards our destination --the oasis town of Al Ain:
· Sheikh (literally ‘old man’)is the word for King
· Emir is the word for Prince
· Sultan is a ‘super king’ but isn’t used much
· UAE produces 2.3 million gallons of oil/day
· Oil was first found in 1959 by Continental Oil
· The 7 emirates (states)merged in 1971 each run by a Sheikh
· There is almost no crime in the UAE since there is full employment and thus little poverty
· To help the nomadic Bedouins, the sheikh built something called ‘Gift Houses” for them. Here a family lives free of charge – no utilities, no air conditioning fees, no nothing. The only other people who can receive these “gift houses” are young couples who marry- IF both bride and groom come from Abu Dhabi
· Camels are multi-purpose: food, transport, or racing. A good racing camel is worth over $10 million. Since there is no betting allowed, there are prizes for the winners such as automobiles, houses or money.
· Instead of real jockeys, the camels are ridden by remote control …’robot’ jockeys are controlled by rich Emirati owners sitting in their cars…like a live Nintendo game.
· All camels here are one-humped (dromedaries) and can drink 100 liters of water in less than 10 minutes. The water is stored in their blood cells, or turned into fat which is stored in the hump for future use
· When married, the wedding feast will feature fine camel and goat’s meat and will go on for a minimum of three days
· Dowries are still expected and therefore young people must wait until they have enough accumulated to both provide a dowry (for the woman) and a three day wedding feast for hundreds of tribal member·
I found all this information interesting because I have no frame of reference that is similar, and so I find myself sucking up information like a sponge.
We arrived in Al Ain which is an oasis on the border with Oman. By definition, an oasis has a natural source of water and is irrigated in the traditional manner, unlike most of the UAE which depends on desalinated water. What was astounding was that we expected that since we were going to an oasis that we would be passing through miles of sandy desert on our two hour ride. But the sheikh wants his country to be hospitable and lovely, so he has had trees planted from Abu Dhabi straight thru to Al Ain. Therefore on either side of the road between the road and the sand dunes - going back about 150 feet - we saw trees being watered by irrigation pipes, and in some cases entire ‘forests’ being built in the desert. (This has already had an effect on the climate… making for more rain, and milder, less harsh winters). As we neared our destination we were following along next to a large chain fence which was the border between Oman and the UAE . The fence was built to define borders and more importantly to keep illegal immigrants from trying to sneak in to get jobs.
Our first stop was the Hilli Archaeological Park where we were shown a circular mud home built around 3000 BC and a tomb built with limestone blocks which dates back to 5000 BC. The park itself was empty though, and while it was lush and grassy it seemed eerily deserted for a holiday. Next up was the date palm oasis which is privately owned, and where a sign declared that it was open to tourists and owners only. It was lush and shady where the date palms soared above us providing relief on a fairly warm day. We saw demonstrated how one shimmies up a date palm to get the fruit which is harvested in the summer and a few of our group tried it – getting no more than two feet off the ground.
Our next stop was the Al Ain Museum ,built at the turn of the 20th century as a palace by the grandfather of the current Sheikh Zayed. Here we saw on display the pottery and remnants found in the Hilli site we had seen earlier, as well as costumes and household goods used by residents of the area prior to the discovery of oil. We have to keep remembering that this is not exactly an ancient civilization – since most of this area was an arid desert until 1960 with nomads roaming the area.
Perhaps that is what astounds one most – in less than 50 years this area has grown from nothing to being one of the richest area s in the world. How does an old Emirati wrap his head around this? He was once a pearl fisherman, a farmer or a nomad and now – presto - he’s got cars, electricity and 5 star hotels where before there was nothing. As we had our lunch at the lovely Intercontinental Hotel , we noted that all the staff were NOT Emirati but Philippine, Indian, Pakistani etc. Over 85% of the people living in the UAE are foreigners and the rules for them are quite strict: if they work, they can live in the country and own a home…if they aren’t working, they must leave.
Our last stop was my favorite – the Camel Market. Here again was a brand spanking new area built in ochre mud. Row upon row of animal pens holding sheep, goats or camels. In each pen were anywhere from 3-10 animals – little babies to full grown adults. These are not for racing, these are primarily for eating and we watched as some very rich Emirati in their chauffeur driven car pulled up and without getting out of the car identified the animals they wanted to purchase and the trade was completed. Later the animals would be trucked away to become someone’s wedding feast or some restaurant’s special: Roast camel with a side of potatoes. We took a zillion pictures since camel meat is rare in the states and camel markets even rarer.
It was now time to drive back to Abu Dhabi …past huge sand dunes, other camel and goat pens, businesses, a university, wide tree lined avenues, and everywhere large banners with the face of the Sheikh prominently displayed. Everything is so new and is so proudly displayed: the most palm dates, the most camels, the biggest mosque, the most universities in one spot, the best medical facilities and on and on. There is great pride in what’s been accomplished and since the Sheikh understands that oil can’t last forever, he’s planned for the future – or so we’re told.
My question is – what happens when it stops flowing? What happens to all the foreigners? Who maintains the entire infrastructure? What happens as young Emirati, who are now educated, choose to leave the country? Where will it all be in another fifty years? When Daddy traveled in this area he didn’t even bother to stop – it was deserts and poor villages. Who knows what comes next.
December 4-6 – Dubai
Bob and I didn’t plan any tours here since we were told that Dubai was one huge ‘work in progress’, with tons of enormous shopping malls and gated communities all built out of the sand. The tours provided by the ship were meant to appeal to those hoping to ‘feel and see’ the wealth of the area: Dubai by Helicopter; Hot Air balloon Adventure; High Tea at the Burj (the largest hotel structure in the world…built to resemble a sail …where the entry fee for tea begins at $50, and no one is allowed in without a reservation). Our goal - feeling less wealthy - was to use the Hop On Hop Off bus (HOHO), which for $80.00 gave us a two-day pass and promised to take us to all the highlights of the town – sans the Burj.
The impression one gets is of uncontrolled growth, infinite resources, and amazing cleanliness. As we drove along the waterfront, we would pass a large high rise complex under construction and be told that it would hold over 27,000 people, and within a mile there would be another construction site promising equal occupancy. Who will be in all these buildings is the question. We rode out to the Atlantis Hotel, which is at the tip of the large Palms island complex. This is a man-made complex built out into the Arabian Gulf, designed to resemble an enormous palm tree. Only from an airplane (or from a postcard) can one actually see this design. The’ trunk’ consists of a 4-lane roadway, an elevated monorail tramway leading through the complex, and a series of high rises – each identical to the next. Each ‘frond’ of the tree consists of another community of private homes and waterways. The whole is girded by a circular roadway which consists of a protective sea wall. At the end of the main ‘trunk’ was the mammoth Atlantis Hotel built to resemble the one in Nassau, Bahamas. It is a luxury hotel (to match the other 16 luxury hotels in the Palms), with an aquarium, dolphin pool, 2 mile water ride, and, of course, a golf course among its many amenities. I kept thinking – why would anyone want to live here? But someone must, since they are planning two additional palm-like complexes in the future. The Burj is another of the off-shore complexes, on a man-made island, built to resemble a large wind-filled Dhow sail, and now stands as the symbol of Dubai.
Of course there is also the off-shore complex called The World where each little privately owned island helps to make up a map of the world – again only visible from the air, or post cards, or the top of the Burj. In between all this wealth built out to sea, are beautiful sandy beaches and perfect aquamarine waters.
The HOHO had two routes: the blue route which took you to all the malls, the residential complexes, and the various government and business complexes built to accommodate the startling growth in the area...and the red route: the older core city, with souks, museums, boat rides, and the old commercial ‘river’ commerce. There were ‘cities’ for knowledge, for technology for medicine. The malls – each larger and more elaborate than the last, had something unique: an indoor skating rink, an indoor ski run, an aquarium, ’24 waterfront restaurants’, an Egyptian pyramid, etc.. And every known retail store, be it French (Gallerie Lafayette), English (Harvey Nickels and Debenhams), American (Saks 5th Avenue), or Swedish (IKEA). The major benefit seems to be that there are great tax advantages both for the customer and the retailer.
The narrative on the HOHO bus spoke proudly to the boom that has taken over Dubai – be it the number of businesses moving in, the number of complexes built, the height of buildings, the number of stores in any of the malls or the number of dollars flowing through the country. All of this exists because oil was found in 1959. But the current Sheikh ‘also understands that the oil can’t last forever’, and is building Dubai to become the center for financial, academic and retail industries. His picture is seen everywhere - HH Sheikh Rashid bin Saeed Al Maktoum is part of the Baniyas tribe that has been in Dubai since 1833. He appears to be well liked and has created a world that is comfortable, safe and tolerant of the many foreigners brought in to build this unique place. For now Dubai is enjoying a real hay day where growth seems endless. Of course the news reports, which came out days before we arrived, noted that they have a serious debt issue and are trying to restructure their finances. My question is – what will there be to see in 100 years? Is this going to be like the tomb of Ozymandius?
Since this is not our concern, we went into the humongus Emirates Mall to spend some money. This is the mall with the indoor skiing slope. It was fun to see modestly clad Arab women, in their full black clothing, donning mall-provided-parkas so they could play in the snow with their children. Outside the enclosed, and obviously cold, ski area, they had an Apres Ski restaurant complete with a fake fire in the fake fireplace. What a hoot.
The stores were all very upscale and had all manner of high fashion including ones selling full Arab gear for men or for women. I kept wondering what these fully clad, modest people thought of the tourists going through the mall in more scanty apparel. Obviously it’s the price of their success, but you can see how a terrorist who believes in the Koran would take offense at this western immodesty.
Were it not for my knee, I could have walked these malls for quite some time enjoying not only the stores but the people in the mall. (They are obviously doing well since everyone was carrying bags and the stores were all busy). Instead we covered only a small portion, had lunch, and made a great acquisition: Camel’s Milk Chocolate bars - Amazingly good. The young man who was selling it said that it was made by one of the sheikh’s farms where he has over 2000 camels.
Shopped out, we returned to the ship for the day to relax. We still had the Red route of the HOHO and we would conquer that the next day.
The red route turned out to be very interesting in a different way, in that it focused primarily on the inner core of Dubai – the older section which has existed at least since 1950. This older portion with its many souks, is centered around the creek which runs to the sea. In olden days this creek was critical to traders, and even today, in very rickety dhows, merchandise which has come into Dubai sails out to Persia, India, Pakistan, and other Arab states. These dhows, crammed to the hilt with everything from refrigerators, to TV’s, to food, didn’t look sea worthy… but what do we know. They certainly were colorful. Our HOHO ticket allowed us to take a one hour boat ride up and down the creek to get a sense of Dubai from the water. We watched the small abra water taxi’s scooting from one side of the creek to the other. Each carries no more than 20 people and based on the traffic jams we saw, proves to be a most efficient way for locals to get about. These abra, reminded me of the ferries in Hong Kong – just a lot smaller and simpler. I must say I liked this older section better because it seemed more authentic and not so glitzy. This was a Dubai of the past where people bartered and traded and lived simple oil-less life…where cars were almost a hindrance, and men with push carts moved through narrow alleys. I’m sure that the current residents are quite happy that they have been able to improve their life, but it is truly a world built on sand.
Here was the prime example to me: we were told that in the UAE having a car is secondary to having the right numbered plate. The lower the number the richer you are, with some of them selling for millions of dollars. Once you have the plate, THEN you buy the car to match it. How nuts is that?
It is all so artificial and instant. There is almost no history and it is only a short time since this was a poor fishing port. I keep trying to find the words to describe it and they escape me. Surreal works best. But now we’re off to India which is surreal in a whole other way. Good-bye to cleanliness and modernity and back to a life where wealth and luxury do not exist. I’m ready.
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