Chennai2

Chennai

There is a yearly festival held in the suburb of Padur Village where Jake and Lesley live. It comes complete with neon-lighted figures several stories tall, nightly fireworks, and a parade. The parade consists of several “floats” wherein hang men dangling from hooks threaded through the skin of their backs and legs. 

Apparently, they are undergoing this agony to increase their odds of producing a male child. The men and the floats are adorned with flowers and brightly colored hangings. There are paper-mache peacocks, crowds of people, and even a man selling balloons. The atmosphere is decidedly celebratory. We observe the floats as they stand still on the side of the OMR (Old Mahalipuram Road) and it all looks pretty prohibitive. I cannot imagine what happens when the “floats” start to move along the uneven street. 

We visit Little Mount in Chennai. It is a church the Portuguese built beside a cave where the apostle Thomas was living a simple prayerful life in solitude, before he was martyred, circa AD72. The cave now holds a modest altar holding a statue of St Thomas. It’s a very small low-ceilinged space, with rippled blue-gray walls of stone. Impenetrable, yet with an opening large enough to walk through. 

Cave at Little Mount

It’s Ash Wednesday and mass is about to begin in the church. The service is in Tamil and the pews, at mid-day, are filled with sari clad women. They overflow onto the open stone floor where they stand, sit and kneel. It’s a sari fashion show with so many shades and patterns the room is a complex pattern of color. We find a spot on the periphery, exactly where we belong. This is one temple where we keep our shoes on. The music has an oom-pah beat in the bass line with the melody dancing overtop. It sounds like carousel music to Lesley and it’s characteristically LOUD. The neon lights framing the saints are lavender. I wonder if they change colors to coincide with the church calendar.

Claire’s smudge of ashes ends up on my chin. Take away ashes are dispensed in paper packets, so we take some home for Jake.

The Armenian Church resides in a peaceful enclave near Parry’s Corner one of the most congested areas in the city. Built in the 1700’s it no longer functions as a church but is retained as a heritage site. It’s most distinctive feature is a 6 bell belfry.  The contrast between the crazy busyness of the streets and the quiet churchyard is dramatic. We are the only ones here while on the other side of the walls the din carries on.

The Armenian Church

Next stop: Paris
Namaste

“I wish I were Claire Charlotte Culley
That is who I really want to be
For if I were Claire Charlotte Culley
Everyone would be in love with me.”
(To the tune of I wish I were an Oscar Meyer wiener)  

Kandy

February 18, 2012

We are heading to the central hill country of Sri Lanka for the day. Destination: Kandy.
The hotel has prepared a boxed breakfast with ham and cheese sandwiches, hard boiled eggs, OJ, and a pastry. It’s too early to eat, so we stash it for later.

As we progress inland and upwards the vegetation thickens and the habitation thins. Small thatch
roofed shacks along the winding roadside are loaded with fruit for sale. Each one is dedicated to a
specific product. One holds pineapples stacked like cordwood from floor to ceiling, another displays
watermelon in towering pyramids. We watch truckloads of banana bunches pass us by.

Early on, a hazy vapor hovers above plush rice paddies and fields of tea; soon enough the sun will burn it away. The sun encourages and the vegetation seems to respond: grow, grow, grow. It’s practically time lapse photography right before your eyes. I can identify several of Aunt Mary’s house plants growing in wild profusion.

Near Kandy in Pinnawala is an elaborate elephant orphanage. It was started in 1975 by the Department of Wildlife and is now run by the National Zoological Gardens. In the beginning there were 5 orphaned babies and now over 60 elephants of all sizes are cared for. It has become an essential tourist stopover. The buildings and grounds are attractive and spacious, an indication that the tourist monies are used for the good of the inhabitants. The posted fee structure shows a higher charge for “foreign visitors”, (us).

On the grounds a small enclosure is being constructed. The workers form bricks from the moist red soil and stack them into a wall.

Brick Makers

There are no cages, the elephants roam freely. One large viewing area allows the elephants to be
observed and approached (the handlers expect a tip and they encourage you to come and touch) as
the elephants stand around observing right back at you. They seem quite accustomed to their human
visitors.

There is a large open sided feeding shed where a bottle feeding exhibition takes place twice a day. A
special ticket can be purchased to hold the bottle while the elephant wraps its trunk around it and slurps the contents down in a couple of gulps. Some seem pretty large for bottle feeding, but what do we know? While waiting to be fed, one of the babies picks up a straw broom and pulling one straw out at a time begins to consume it until a trainer takes it away. Another picks up a water hose and entangles it in his trunk.

Bottle Feeding

In a green meadow several elephants have worked away the grass. The red dirt underneath is perfect
for a bath. We watch them inhaling and exhaling until the tops of their heads and their backs are
speckled with what looks like brick dust.

Twice a day the herd is escorted about ¼ of a mile to the nearby Maha Oya River for a two hour bath.
They take an interesting route. A narrow cobbled street lined on both sides with shopping stalls leads
from the orphanage to the river. The street ends in a ramp that disappears into the shallow river water.
The elephants, (all 60+) with their mahouts (handlers) stroll through the narrow way. It’s quite a sight. Jake likens it to running with the bulls, only there is no running only lumbering. We watch while they appreciate the water. The babies, especially, cavort like kids, submerging themselves until only their trunk is visible. The larger, older animals drink and spray and enjoy.

We continue up into the central part of Sri Lanka. As we climb, the roadside drops off into a deep valley and we can see forever. Miles away on the horizon is the rectangular shape of Sigiriya, a huge ancient rock fortress and city ruin located on the flat top of a colossal rock. It’s a world heritage site reminiscent of Machu Picchu. A couple of hours worth of rusty stairs lead to the top. Unfortunately, it's more than a day trip away. I’m coming back.

The road cuts through a gigantic boulder lying naturally on a hillside strewn with boulders. The road
goes where the road wants to go, so a tunnel was somehow bored through the big dollop of rock.

Sri Lanka is the world’s fourth largest producer of tea, known to many as Ceylon tea. The industry
directly or indirectly employs 1 million people.

Troughs of Tea

 A tea processing facility is usually a multi-storied building where each level focuses on a specific
portion of the processing. Fresh green leaves fill troughs where they sit for 18 hours to “wither”
which removes excess moisture. They are then rolled in rotating cylinders which causes enzymes in
the leaves to react with the oxygen in the air bringing out the flavors. After firing, the tea is sifted
through mesh, sorted and graded. Women seem to be the mainstays of the processing work force,
many working in bare feet. Here they sort 7 kinds of usable tea, refuse tea and dust, both of which
are discarded.

The Temple of the Tooth, located in the royal palace complex on Kandy Lake, is believed to house the left upper canine tooth of the Lord Buddha. According to legend, the tooth was taken from the Buddha as he lay on his funeral pyre.

The actual tooth is kept in a two-story shrine guarded by two bronze elephant tusks. Supposedly, it
rests on a solid gold lotus flower, encased in a jeweled casket that sits on a throne. However, the tooth
is not available for viewing on an everyday basis, only the shrine. Once a year the relic is taken out
and paraded through the streets in an elaborate procession featuring torches, fire dancers, magicians,
acrobats and many, many elephants. Some one million pilgrims show up for the festivities. That would be something to see.

In the temple courtyard is a gnarled tree surrounded by a platform hung all over with prayer flags.
This is the Maha-Bodhi tree. Every Buddhist temple in Sri Lanka has a Bodhi tree on its premises. Since Buddha was sitting under a Bodhi tree when he attained Enlightenment, the tree is considered sacred. In fact, it symbolizes Buddha. In addition, there are believed to be spirits inhabiting the tree that can answer prayers in exchange for offerings.

Maha-Bodhi Tree

A staircase leads to the platform where thick white strips of fabric are tied around the weathered
wooden beams that hold it all together. Could they represent prayers? There are many devotees here
today, openly praying or sitting quietly. We try to tread carefully because we are intruding. Women
empty water jugs around the tree, bathing it in scented water. Tables/altars are piled with flower
blossoms and the scent of jasmine fills the air.

At the base of the tree is a long low enclosure protecting hundreds of glowing votive candles. Incense
sticks are burning in an ashy receptacle sending their scent to mingle with the jasmine. I notice people reaching up to touch the wooden joists as they exit.

Security is in force at the temple. There is a metal detector and a strict dress code. No shorts. In order to enter Jake must tie Claire’s blanket around his waist and since my sleeves are considered too short I wait for Lesley to come out and then borrow her sweater.

At the Kandyan Art and Culture Center actual artisans are demonstrating their skills. One man is
embossing designs into metal sheets. He motions to us to print our names on a rolled up piece of scrap paper. Then he embosses our name and a small elephant on a small square of thin brass and presents us with a thoughtful gift. We present him with a thoughtful tip.

Our driver tosses popcorn into the lake causing a fast moving mob of fish to materialize. We pay to park upon arrival, and are asked to pay again upon departure. Coming and going….

We drive up into the neighborhoods surrounding the lake to admire the view. The hillside homes are
quite spectacular.

The roads are crowded, as usual, and the constant horn honking provides Claire with a lullaby. English influence in both India and Sri Lanka manifests in driving on the left side of the road with the driver sitting to the right.

Our driver seems in a hurry to get back to Colombo. He spends more time driving in the lane reserved for oncoming traffic than the one he’s supposed to be in trying to pass the never ending line up of vehicles, even though the signs clearly state: No Overtaking. Tuk tuks or motorbikes easily dodge us, but busses are a bit more bothersome. At one point a turning bus comes within a millimeter of striking us. It’s like a roller derby for cars. Jake tells our driver in no uncertain terms to slow down. He does, thankfully, and we arrive safely back at Mount Lavinia with time for Jake and Lesley to partake in an overdue Valentine’s dinner.

Re-entering India is no problem for the Culley's. They have resident visas. I have a tourist visa. I'm told to go to the Office of Immigration. We're not sure what to expect...maybe I'll be sent home. The clerk is summoned and he hands me a sheet of paper to fill out. He needs all of my passport info, plus visa info, plus where I've been and where I'm staying in India; when I arrived and most importantly, when I will be leaving. He asks to see my itinerary and my onward flight information. Lesley has foreseen all of the questions and is ready with paperwork galore. She's been worrying over this moment and has taken every precaution to keep her mother from being summarily deported. The clerk copies all of the information from my paper to a paisley covered, worn-away at the corners so the cardboard shows through, green-lined paper ledger. I sign and he indicates that we can go. Back at passport control we tell them I've been approved for re-entry. We have no receipt, no stamp, nothing. They take our word for it and I'm back in India.

Colombo

Colombo

February 15-16-17

We stand on our room balcony and look out on the Laccadive Sea embraced by the Indian Ocean. Wow! 

There are some 40 Sri Lankans standing in formation on the beach of our sandy cove, they’re stretching and limbering up, doing windmills with their arms. We watch as a first group of 15 or so go running into the ocean and starts swimming. We assume they will circle a rocky islet and return, but they continue to swim on out until they disappear, then the next group sets off and then the next.  For all we know they’re still swimming.

Swimming To Nowhere

Breakfast buffet is served on a terrace in the open air. Claire collects approbation in many languages. We watch bulky ships work the waters between India and Sri Lanka. One of the breakfast specialties is prepared on a grill. It’s a twirl of thin batter formed into a thin crispy, chewy bowl with the white and yellow of a broken egg swirled and cooked inside.

The upholstery in the lobby bar is exactly what we have on our patio furniture at home only it’s covering comfy couches and deep seated chairs. Makes me feel right at home.

We stop by the spa to make appointments for Balinese massages later in the day. The spa girls enthuse over Claire getting out their cell phones for pictures and putting an orchid behind her ear.

They serve banana tea and crisp chunks of fresh coconut.

The massage incorporates the use of elbows and the heel of the hand for deep stimulating bodywork. They massage the abdomen, flipping aside the towel without a thought to modesty.  The ocean sounds aren’t coming from a CD. They are for real.

Spa Girls

We set up an excursion into Colombo with the hotel travel desk. The clerk wants to know about Obama and what will happen next time? I reassure him that Obama will be re-elected. The world waits for the American people to do the right thing. 

A driver takes us into the city. We’ve researched a couple of stops we’d like to make and he, of course, has friends who would like to sell us things.

The umbrellas are still out but now they are sunbrellas.

We shop at the House of Fashion. It’s a giant outlet store. They have a superlative selection of cotton skirts. One caveat: there are no fitting rooms, and since Lesley has Claire in the Baby Bjorn it is left to me to do the trying on for both of us.

 A sign states: Please remove shoes before fit on.

 I stand shoeless in the aisle hoisting up skirt after skirt. Some refuse to move past my thighs. I discover that I am a size large in Sri Lanka. Bummer.  But we are successful in finding some unconventional summery fabrics that we love. We leave with a bag-o-skirts for not much money. Look out Spokane.

Elephant Pants

We lunch at the Gallery Café. If you’re ever in Colombo, come here. The restaurant is set back from the hectic street. We enter through a vestibule with a long embedded water feature stocked with oversized koi. Clusters of purple crocus bloom in the water. The enclosed entry leads to an open air brick courtyard created by the cracked, rubble walls of the buildings on three sides and shaded by black swags of stiff sail cloth.   The complex is the former office of a famous Sri Lankan architect. The many drawers of his formidable desk are now used to hold silverware and napkins. We share a broccoli avocado salad tossed with honey vinaigrette and a mixed green salad with slim, tender green beans, slices of tart apple, sprouts and watercress tossed with the greens and one slice of lemon meringue pie split two ways. Heavenly.

Gallery Cafe

Old Desk New Use

Jake arrives after work on Friday. The driver meeting him holds up a sign: Mr. Lesley Culley.

Sri Lanka

Chennai to Colombo

February 14, 2012

We fly Chennai to Colombo on Sri Lanka Air. I notice that not just suitcases are being checked. There are white feed sacks with clothing sewn inside, odd shaped bundles wrapped in burlap and frayed cardboard boxes tied with colored twine. 

As we pass through Indian security our documents are scrutinized and stamped.  I’m hoping my visa will allow me to re-enter when we return on Sunday. India has firm rules about leaving. If you leave you must stay gone for two months before you are allowed to come back. There are a few exceptions and travel to Sri Lanka is supposed to be one of them. In India nothing is certain, but it’s a small risk. The official doesn’t seem concerned, so we’ll see.

 As always, there are separate security lines for men and women. The women pass through a curtained area which provides privacy. I listen to the squeals of delight coming through the curtain as Lesley and Claire are screened. The squeals are from the agents, not from Claire.

Sri Lankan Air? OK, I’m not an enthusiastic flyer but the plane is an Airbus and if the pilots are as professional as the flight attendants I’m thinking things should go well. The flight duration is just about one hour. In that hour, the women, dressed in graceful turquoise saris, manage to serve a hot meal. Food, imagine that, and done graciously. I can see into first class, and they are actually handed a menu.

 During the safety demo the flight attendant breaks decorum to smile and wave at Claire.

We land in a lightning storm. The clouds are sitting right on Colombo. It turns out the pilots must have considerable experience with this because each evening of our stay there’s a rain storm, gotta keep things green.

Behind the immigration counter a sign states: “possession of illegal drugs punishable by death”. Succinct, and one can surmise there isn’t a drug problem here. Signs also boast that Sri Lanka is malaria free. Glad to hear it.

The duty free shops are offering large appliances for sale. Can there be an advantage to purchasing your refrigerator at duty free? Must be so.

The Mount Lavinia Hotel driver picks us up after we wait 45 minutes for our bags, (Perhaps a feed sack gone astray is better than losing your luggage). The car is immaculate, sporting starched white seat covers.

We get a glimpse of Colombo through the rain splashed car windows. It’s a warm rain, evidenced by the shirtless men in bare feet hoisting umbrellas. There are saris here and there and a burqa or two, but for the most part the women are wearing long slim flowing skirts. Batik and embroidery are local crafts and they are reflected in the clothing.

Scenes From Mount Lavinia

It’s Valentine’s Day. Jake has stayed in Chennai to work and will join us on the weekend, and Jim is miles and miles away. Therefore, Valentine’s dinner has little importance for us. The hotel though, has big plans. Each restaurant has special dinner menus and chocolate flavored cocktails are being pushed at every venue. There are huge red tissue paper flowers adorning the dining rooms. All we want is a sandwich and then bed. The only option seems to be going to a fancy restaurant. We’re told it’s OK, we can order a la carte, but since we don’t have reservations we may have to share a table, cruise ship style. We don’t care; just feed us so we can get settled. We sit at a table for six and order. We’re soon joined by two older couples, ( yes, older than me), from Sweden. They don’t speak English. One of the men flirts with Claire and attempts to be pleasant. The others stare at their plates and do not speak a word to us or to each other, a clue to their time­­-tattered relationships. We aren’t looking to make new friends. We eat and escape.

Valentine Traveler

There are no Gideon Bibles in the rooms. Instead, there are books on Buddhist teachings. I read mine.

Chennai

Chennai

This is Jake and Lesley’s home base. I saw the sights in and around Chennai when I was previously here, so this trip I’ll enjoy doing what they do in their daily life. Lesley cooks their meals at home achieving appealing results with limited tools. I’m a big fan of the falafel with homemade flat bread, (Lesley makes the dough, Jake rolls it out, I watch). There are guests for dinner one night, both new at FLSmidth, one from Salt Lake the other from Denmark. They are grateful for a homemade meal. Beef Bourgeon is served.

Although they could have someone do their cooking and cleaning they’ve opted out in favor of privacy and being alone in their home. They live in a three bedroom, three-bath apartment in a gated and guarded community. India is a safe place, but the guard house monitors who comes and goes which provides peace of mind. 

Food prep in the Culley kitchen is a bit more complicated than what I am accustomed to. Every fruit and vegetable is washed in a vinegar and water mix and then rinsed in fresh water. (Of course this is good practice in the US nowadays too). They do not use the tap water for cooking or for brushing their teeth. The tap water is filtered, but not to a degree that is consumable by Westerners. Fresh water is provided in large jugs similar to our Culligan system. Jake’s company provides the fresh water and Jake comes home from work with replacement jugs when needed. They wash and rinse dishes by hand and then dip everything in a Clorox and water combination. Dry food is kept in sealed jars. Power cuts are a daily occurrence. A generator clicks on, but even so, the power comes through at a lower intensity.

Akshaya Homes

We spend one afternoon doing the grocery shopping. There are three stops. First the Fresh and Frozen meat market. Yes, meat of all kinds is available in India, but there is no guarantee that you will find what you are looking for on any particular day. When Lesley finds something she knows she will use she buys it and freezes it. Today there is a chicken bonanza. Next stop is the fruit and vegetable market. The displays are beautiful and abundant. Some of our most familiar choices are not available here; however papaya and mango, pineapple, melons and bananas are plentiful and cheaper than at home. Last stop is the grocer for staples. There are long aisles of lentils and rice. This particular store caters to the ex­­pat community so the selections are expanding. Three stores, each in a different part of the city makes hunting and gathering a multi-hour affair.

When Claire goes out, her car seat is protected by mosquito netting as a safety precaution. She has not had a mosquito bite since she arrived in October. Knock on wood.

Under the Net

Lesley has made many friends through the Overseas Women’s Club, the OWC. I’m fortunate to be here for their once a year garden tea. The tea is held in the outdoor courtyard of a lovely home. When we arrive, the lane in front of the house is a jumble of cars and drivers dropping off their charges. In Indian tradition, an elaborate colored chalk design has been drawn on the sidewalk in front of the gate to welcome the guests and add to the festive nature of the occasion. We walk down a shaded pathway to a cluster of tables dressed in bright linen set in a brickwork courtyard.

Welcome Design

 It’s super interesting to talk with these women who are here mostly because of their husband’s job. They are from all over the world but they all speak English. Jean is an American married to a Scot. She hasn’t lived in the US for ten years. She recently gave birth to twins in a Chennai hospital. Brave, in my estimation. Hao is Chinese and is married to an American; Lei is also Chinese married to a Frenchmen. There are numerous nationalities and combinations. Lesley’s favorite friend is from the UK and is married to a Malaysian. He owns a tech company. Others are here to work on the construction of the Chennai metro, or for Xerox, or in finance and on and on.

Party Girls

Party Shoes

All in all this gathering is much like a ladies group in the US. They hold a raffle for an elephant quilt. They award door prizes (Lesley wins one). There is a charity booth selling woven bags.  They chatter and mingle and enjoy the afternoon. Coffee and tea are served, of course, but also a cold green minty concoction. The food is set up buffet style with white coated servers dishing out miniature fajitas, a baby corn nest, (don't know for sure, but it was good), tomato cucumber and chicken sandwiches, (crustless, naturally). I meet an Indian woman who is proud to tell me she is the niece of the Indian ambassador to the US, who served in the 1990’s.

Fajita Grill

One day we make a foray into Chennai proper to check out a department store that’s been recommended to Lesley. Saravana has 8 floors of merchandise. It’s in a part of the city we haven’t yet ventured into. The street vendors are displaying ready- to-wear clothing and shoes; an attempt to entice customers who’ve come to shop Saravana for similar items. Each floor is vast and filled with stock, racks and racks of stuff. Inadvertently, we stumble upon the shoe department. Really, it’s the sandal department, and there is a large assortment with prices varying from $4-$5. Mother lode. The only deterrent is the shoes are mostly in small sizes. Apparently we have really large feet compared to the Indian population, but fortunately, although our choices are limited, there are still choices.  So we choose.

Each floor has a separate check out. We stand in line. The first clerk itemizes our purchases and places them in a basket. A second clerk takes our rupees and issues a receipt. A third clerk takes the items out of the basket and checks each one against the receipt, stamps it then puts the items in a bag. If you wish to shop on another floor you must check your bags at a counter where you are given a token for redemption. On the jewelry floor purchases are heat sealed into a plastic bag. 

As I wait with Claire while Lesley redeems our bags (shoes) a woman attempts to wrest Claire from my arms. We compete in a tug-of-war. Literally. I win.

On Sunday we go to mass at Saint Louis Church. The building is open air; white-washed inside and out with glass lined shutters flung open leaving decorative grate work in the window frames. Ceiling fans are spinning, creating a cool current of air. Pictures of saints are lit with borders of red or blue neon bulbs, movie marquee style. Nuns in full habit are intermingled with the laity. Some wear a white veil with blue robe others a black veil with white or medium blue. 

The Indian priest seems to love tradition and enters enveloped in copious incense. Soon we are all feeling a little high. The music is upbeat, provided by an electric piano and guitar and a small choir. Their rendition of the Our Father could be in the top 40. A movie screen hangs from the ceiling where words to the hymns and prayers are projected. A nifty idea, doing away with printed missals. At first, the congregation is sparse but people drift in and by mid-sermon the church is full. The bells are small brass jingle bells. Our priest intends the service will be heard for blocks. The loudspeaker dial has been spun all the way to the right.

St Louis Church

Here, the ritual of the sign of peace is not a hand shake; instead people fold their hands over their hearts and bow to one another with a murmured “Namaste”, a perfect salutation of respect. Mass ends with a holy water shower dispensed up and down the aisles. 

After church another adventure waits…

I’d never experienced a fish spa; don’t even know if they exist in the US. PETA would probably object. First your feet are washed by an attendant, then sitting on a long padded bench you lower your feet to about mid-calf into what amounts to a long rectangular aquarium populated by small black energetic fishes. The moment your feet break the surface the fish converge like a pack of benign piranha and begin nibbling, scouring away roughness like an animated pumice stone. The preliminary sensation is tickly and wriggly and just a little disturbing. I’m not sure what the fish gain from all of this, but after the initial strangeness wears off the sensation becomes pleasantly odd. The attendant massages back, shoulder and neck muscles while the fish nibble. The whole experience results in smooth feet and a dash of serenity. Nice.

Fish Spa

Lunch at the Mainland China restaurant. If you’re ever in Chennai and you like Chinese food, come here. They feature a buffet of veg and non-veg (cracked crab claws, sauteed shrimp, chunks of tender marinated lamb, one yummy dish after another), plus they come around with trays of dim sum appetizers. Really good.

That's Entertainment

We're tempted to have Claire's portrait sketched by an artist who's set up in the mall. She's a moving target and try as he might he doesn't really capture the essence of Claire. We are astounded by the crowd this little vignette draws. People line up with their cell phones to watch and record the whole process.

FYI the shows we pay a premium for on HBO and Showtime are available here on basic cable. For example, the current season of Dexter has already aired. On Saturday, a Dexter marathon played, rolling out the entire season 6 in one day. Yes, I did.