Terra Cotta Pyramids

The new "non-beta" version of blogger really sucks because it shows all of your photos in HTML rather than showing you the actual photos themselves. So I have no idea how the below photos are going to align, but this is a temple in Bishnupur, West Bengal, where we had another sight-seeing pitsop along the Rickshaw Run route. It was a very cool, off the beaten track town.

I'm in Madurai right now, where internet collections are slow but dosas are plentiful. I will update soon about my adventures here.

Golden West Bengal

Aji Bangladesher hridoy hotey kokhon aponey
tumi aei aporoop roopey bahir holey janoni.
O-Go Maa, tomai daykhe daykhe ankhi na pherey.

You, the epitome of beauty,
When you emerged from the Heart of Bengal!
Maa, I look at you in spellbound wonder.

- Rabindranath Tagore, "Sonar Tori"

We entered West Bengal, the final state of our journey, on January 9th. The state is known for being full of people who are fiercely proud and defensive of their culture. When, in the 19th century, there emerged what came to be known as a "Bengali Renaissance" in literature, led by the above-quoted poet Tagore, it became a legacy that no one is going to forget anytime soon. The other two things that define the Bengali psyche, a friend recently told me, are an outspoken political leftism (West Bengal, along with Kerala, is one of two states in Indian controlled by the Indian communist party, CPI-M) and an obsession with soccer. Apparently, during the last world cup, the city was in mourning when both Brazil and Argentina (for some reason their teams of choice) got eliminated.



There were some important things to see in Bengal. We passed by Kenduli just a few days after the countries largest Baul festival. The Bauls are a sect of religious mystic wandering minstrels who wander Bengal and Bangladesh singing songs, begging, and seeking enlightenment. I saw one of the most famous and accessible Baul singers, a dreadlocked chanteuse called Parvathy Baul at Banyan Tree Entertainment's Ruhaniyat festival back in October. Baul singing is incredible -- it reminds me vaguely of the unaccompanied Irish Sean-Nos style of singing, but you can also hear a bit of the fatalism in the singers that can only come from hard living and homeless wandering.

So yeah, we missed the festival, incidentally. But we did to some other important things, like crossing the Ganges after Suti (and almost got arrested for flagrantly violating the "No Photographs" policy, which is clearly marked, by hanging out of the rickshaw with a large SLR camera and taking pictures facing East, directly into Bangladesh, which is exactly why the "No Photographs" policy exists -- because of the porous border with Bangladesh...), but we don't have pictures of it. Instead, we have pictures of Rogier being stared at, pitilessly, by a bunch of Bengalis...



At this roadside thali, not so far from Calcutta, apparently...



Where you eat sitting or reclining (or uncomfortably straddling) on wicker mattresses...



I found the dal excellent, and gobbled it without utensils...



Then, we passed through Market Day somewhere outside of Bankura...





Somebody, at least, found an excellent buy. This kid is rocking the "It's an unfair life: So many girls, So little time" t-shirt.



Along the road, later on we found a whole string of lotus ponds, which were really just too picturesque. I took a few snaps I'm proud of, given the high crapometer reading on my Sony Cybershot. The landscape:



The art shot:



Benji's shot of me and Rogier, taking the art shot, which is, in itself, a meta-art shot, and also retribution for many long days of Rogier referring to Benji as an "arty f**k" for taking pictures of rocks and pieces of strings and random scraps of cloth, kinda like that kid from "American Beauty".

Gives you a sense of the place, though, don't it?





On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying,
and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my
dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.

That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to
me that is was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.

I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this
perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.

- Tagore, "Lotus"

Sunrise Chai

Most days on the Rickshaw Run, we said we would wake up at 5 and start driving straightaways. Most nights, Rogier and I would split 3 entrees (usually two types of biriyani and butter chicken), several starters, and four 650-ml Kingfishers, which would put to rest (quite literally) any questions about getting up early.

But 6:30 was early enough, because the Indian workday doesn't start until about 9:30 at the earliest, the roads were clear, the air crisp, and we would do what any normal Indian does in the early hours of the day: drink chai, smoke cigarettes, and read newspapers. Well, not the newspapers part, because Rogier's illiterate and the newspaper doesn't come out before 8 am, but Sunrise Chai was definitely the high point of the morning.

Everyone is wrapped in blankets...



Sally waits for us, like a loyal fillie...



The chai-making gear...



The tea shop...



The nice chai-walli...



The back room of the tea shop...



Sunrise chai on the road to Sikkim...



Complete with greasy Tibetan snacks...

What's a Ghat, Anyway?

For a while, I thought it was one of these...



Turns out it's actually also one of these...



Wikipedia told me it's city in Libya.

Dictionary.com says this: ghat 1.a wide set of steps descending to a river, esp. a river used for bathing, 2. a mountain pass, or 3. a mountain range or escarpment.

My only point is, when a Westerner comes to India, it's sort of assumed that we know what a "Ghat" is, but I had never heard the word before. There are two main "ghats" in India, when you're talking about mountain ranges. The Boondogglers crossed both of them, the Western Ghats between Goa and Hyderabad, and after I joined up, the Eastern Ghats in Orissa. They're very pretty, and look a lot like the southern Appalachians, in West Virginia and places like that.

Around this time, the weather started getting pretty cold. Especially in the mornings. Here's Rogier and Benji bundled up. Notice Benji's absurd get-up. He was usually in a sleeping bag, too.





Also, I was thinking about the song that I mentioned in my previous post, Charles & Eddie's "Look into My Eyes," in my opinion the best song on Rogier's iPod and undoubtedly my personal Rickshaw Run anthem. I recently saw this, the music video for the same song, and it's amazing. Especially when the white guy with all the hair products (is he Charles? or Eddie???) whirls around and shouts "Oh yeah!" into the camera around 2:10. Watch this video, and you'll understand the Rickshaw Run. Or look at these photos of Rogier dancing to "Look Into My Eyes," and you'll get the same sensation:

Chattisgarh

We tried to enter the state of Chattisgarh through the village of Venkatapuram, on the western side of the southern tip of the state. From there we hoped to get through to Orissa on a main highway called #16, but on the way we somehow got lost coming out of an Andhra Pradesh national forest. When we stopped and asked for directions, everyone kept giving us bafflingly roundabout directions, indicating that we should go south in order to enter Chattisgarh, rather than east, which made more good Christian sense. In case you'd like a map, here, to help you out, I crudely drew on this one for your enjoyment, with Microsoft Paint:



So we're lost. And we keep getting odd directions about entering the next state from the south. And then we finally find someone who speaks English, who tells us that the road from Venkatapuram is impassible because it is controlled by Naxalite Maoist rebels. I don't know much about these guys or their gripes with the government, and actually, up to this point I thought a Naxalite was a type of Christian, but boy was I wrong. These guys are REALLY VIOLENT!!!!:)!!!! In fact, they're considered terrorists by the Indian government.

We snapped some pictures of them as we went through the border crossing in South Chattisgarh, just to steal their souls and tempt fate. The one thing that was out of place was that I saw the words "Naga Army" spraypainted on some of the sandbags outside of their barracks, which is a reference to another separatist militant movement in way-Northeastern India. Maybe militant rebels in India share equipment. Maybe they have book clubs and cocktail parties! Maybe they trade recipes for tasty casseroles, curries, and pipe-bombs!

Here are some photos:







I apologize for the quality of those photos. It was an interesting scene, though. Driving a rickshaw through Naxalite rebel barracks. Good stuff.

Later, we visited the lovely Chitrakot Falls, billed to us as "One-third the size of Niagara". That it was not, but it was still really beautiful, and one of the various stops that the Boondogglers made, but other teams didn't, which made our trip worthwhile and a bit slower than everyone else's.

The falls,



meditating under the cascade...



friggin' Rogier...



We made paper airplanes. They dive-bombed...





On the way back from the waterfall we were racing the clock, because it always ended up that Benji would be behind the wheel when the sun went down. He would moan and groan, "Oh, God, this road!" so much. Rogier almost killed him for being weak, and abandoned his cowardly body. Then again, he and I never really wanted to drive at night. So it was cool. Here's what we saw on the way back:







And the Boondogglers fan club: