Final post (from Anne at least)

January 29

Travel day. Last night we have all said our goodbyes to Suru, who heads home to Udaipur. We will miss him and he says he will miss us. He has been an incredibly knowledgeable guide to both the monuments and culture of Northern India. Not only has he shared the dates and particulars of various monuments but he has answered thousands of our questions about everyday life from how marriages are arranged to whether it is difficult to use the traditional toilet in a sari. (He deferred to Rama on that one). He has been patient with our changes in plan on whim and smoothed our way through airports, especially the ramped up security checks. We are not sure that we will make it safely to our next destination without his expert assistance!

We head to Kochi (also known as Cochin) in the south via Chennai (formerly known as Madras) and we do manage the change in flights smoothly on our own. Suru has trained us well. We even know how to negotiate the menu at the airport restaurant, ordering foods that our Western tummies can handle.

We arrive in Kochi late in the afternoon where Shagzil, our guide for the south, awaits us. Even driving to the hotel via the highway and streets of Kochi, we can sense that the tempo of India here is more relaxed. The traffic is less dense, the driving more relaxed and the beeping of horns less frenetic. The air is clear, the temperatures tropical and the roads are lined with coconut tress and palms. Houses are the brightly painted stucco. Everything is cleaner. Shagzil tells us that Kerala, the state in which Kochi is situated, is the most educated in India with almost 100% literacy. Religious diversity abounds here. He is an example of both – a young man with a masters degree and a Muslim. In addition to Hinduism and Islam, we will see prominent evidence of a thriving Christian community and even vestiges of an ancient Jewish settlement. Everywhere we see evidence of a fervent Catholicism -- many churches, businesses names after saints (e.g., "Little Flower Tire Company.") It is said that Thomas, the apostle, traveled here in the first century AD to make the first Christian converts. Although no documentary evidence survives to corroborate this claim, evidence of an influx of Syrian Catholics in 400 AD remains and the Portuguese converted many people when they arrived in Goa.

We head to the old city or Fort Cochin, where we will stay at the Old Harbour Hotel, a former British boating club. Just outside our door and across a small park, lies the Arabian Sea. The sea extends inland to form an extensive inland waterway, the famous backwaters of Kerala. We venture out for a short walk before dinner and quickly come upon the Chinese fishing nets that line the shore just by our hotel. Chinese traders introduced the technology and technique for this type of fishing but it is all Indian now. Each apparatus consists of a huge super structure of interlocking logs that look like a lever system with a vast net suspended from the end of long log arms reaching out over the water. (Someone will need to post a photo!) In the dark of the evening, we cannot tell if the nets rest on boats or piers. The fisherman have gone home for the day so a solution to the mystery of how these contraptions operate will need to wait for the morning.

Along the waterside walkway, vendors hawk freshly caught fish. Their wares include live crabs, squid, and prawns the size of a turkey drumstick. You can select your meal and have it cooked while you wait. John and Anne are game to try but Rama reminds us that we are about to have the same fresh seafood prepared more expertly by our hotel. She was right -- the same huge prawns, coated with a masala (mix of spices) and grilled show up as our appetizer. Fish curry follows. Delicious. Off to bed in rooms where the staff have strewn fragrant jasmine blossoms on our beds. This is the life!

January 30...

John gets up at the crack of dawn to catch the Chinese fishing nets in action only to discover in the light of day that they are shore based and not yet in action. He does have a chance however to see the early morning auction of fish, shrimp, etc caught during the night by fishermen who operate from boats. The boats are large handmade canoe-style vessels made of boards literally stitched together, caulked with coconut husk and sealed with a coating of coconut oil. Outboard motors mounted on the side power some vessels; others rely on manpower only. John and Anne see yet another style of fishing -- a man who has waded out to waist depth and hurls his net like a lariat over the sea, pulling in anything that gets snagged. The biblical injunction to "cast your net for men" now has a much more vivid meaning.

We meet Shagzil for an early morning walk around Fort Kochi and quickly discover why he has recommended an early start -- Kerala is hot! Our first stop is the Chinese fishing nets, now manned for action. We see that they are not in boats but shore based. Five men operate each net and it works like this. Four men stand on shore and release ropes slowly to lower the log arms to which the nets are attached into the coastal waters. One man walks precariously out on the center boom to add weight and make sure the nets are fully submerged. The men leave the nets in the water for a few moments, trying to gauge from the luck of their neighbors whether any fish have ventured by. The four men on shore begin hoisting the nets while the "boom man" waits with a small net in hand to scoop up anything caught in the huge nets as they rise from the water. As we watch, we see that often the catch consists of only some stray plastic bottles. John and Tim get a turn at the shore positions and report that raising the nets is hard, hard work. How can these nets account for the bounty of seafood we see in the vendors stalls? The open boats are the answer.

We hop our bus for a quick ride to the other side of the peninsula to Montecherry or Jew town. The term "Jew Town" is not derogatory here. The maharajah who ruled this area highly valued the Jewish traders who came to Kerala and granted them rights to this land "as long as the sun and the moon shall shine." He also granted them the right to worship in freedom and the use the perks of the upper class, such as having servants, carrying umbrellas to provide shade from the sun, etc. Today only 11 Jews still live here; the balance emigrated to Israel when it was first founded in the 1940s. We meet Sarah, an old woman, who is supervising the hand embroidery of skullcaps. Shops line the street we walk down to reach the synagogue, which is sadly closed for cleaning in preparation for Saturday's service. Shagzil tells us how special this temple is and we can tell from his description that this place of worship means much to him as a symbol of his country's tolerance of many and varied religions. He explains how the emigrants to Israel took several of the original torah scrolls from here with them when they left. These scrolls were recently stolen from their new home, while the scrolls that remain here in Kochi with only 11 Jewish protectors are safe. We vow to make a detour on our way out of town to see the synagogue when it is open.

By this time, about 1:30 in the afternoon, the Seattle crowd is literally melting. Our synthetic travel clothes are a disaster in this climate. We crave cotton (and air conditioning). It is back to the hotel to rummage through suitcases (or head for local shops -- Fabindia is here too) to find clothing that breathes -- breathes a lot!

Some hit the pool and Rama confers with the chef on the dinner menu. "Tuna salad," he suggests as an appetizer. "Where is it from?" she queries. "It is tinned; imported!" he exclaims. Rama makes it clear that as we sit surrounded by abundant fresh seafood, this will NOT do. "Only Keralan cooking," she insists. And dinner is another adventure. What would we do without Rama -- canned tuna, indeed!

Before dinner, it is off to see Kathakali, a temple dance native to this area. We arrive early to see one of the dancer and his assistant applying the ritual make-up. The dancer we watch will play the prince in a Hindu myth. As we come in, the assistant is drawing exaggerated eyes on his green painted face. Next, he applies glue to the dancer's chin line and attaches paper "collars." These are designed to make the dancer's face appear larger for the actual ceremony. Our dancer leaves to don his costume, which consists of a tall elaborate headdress and a decorated tunic and wide skirt (think bustles on each side like Marie Antoinette). Another dancer demonstrates for us the stylized moves of the dance, each of which conveys a specific meaning.

We return for a mini-performance -- at an actual temple it would last at least 3 hours if not all night. We watch the tale of the prince and his attempted seduction by a beautiful maiden who is actually a demon in disguise. As in the time of Shakespeare, men play both male and female roles. The dance ends with the discovery and slaying of the demon.

At dinner, we vow to alter plans slightly to linger in lovely Kochi a bit longer in the morning before heading to the backwater area for our next stay.

January 31

Back on the bus after a morning of exploring on our own. We drive for an hour or so to Phillip Kutty's Farm where we will stay for the next several days. Before we left the States, Joanne had found an article about the Farm in Gourmet magazine. The article focused on great places to take cooking lessons and this Farm was one of them. Anne has searched through her Rough Guide looking for a listing for the farm, just to get a sense of exactly where on the map we would be. Couldn't find it. No wonder -- the address on the business card does not refer to a town but just to the small-scale local market that is on the main road. We turn at the market and make our way through the village to a landing where we catch a ride on a flat boat with a boatman who will pole us across the channel to the farm. The farm is on a 750-acre island that was totally reclaimed from the freshwater lake that surrounds it. The lake, in turn, is part of the same lake that extended in front of our hotel to the Arabian Sea. Here the mountain waters that feed this vast inland waterway have not yet mixed with the sea.

The farm consists of a main building, the family home; an open air dining pavilion; and a necklace of cottages on either side, with all buildings facing the lagoon. The cottages are built in typical Keralan style and furnished with local antiques. Each has a gracious verandah, suitable for sitting and watching birds or just "vegging out."
Our hosts are Mummy, the matriarch, whose husband reclaimed the last of the land that makes up the island and Anu her daughter-in-law, the early widow of the artist/farmer who created this retreat. Her children, Phillip, and daughter, Ana, are informal hosts. The family is part of the Syrian Christian community that is prominent here in Kerala. The village also has a VERY active Hindu temple that is celebrating a 10-day festival. How do we know this? It is because they broadcast their chant over loud speakers.

Except for the heat, this is paradise. We will need to learn to adjust as the cottages rely on ceiling fans for cooling. No AC here where power is expensive and subject to scheduled outages that the farm compensates for with a generator. We all go native. Dorothy borrows salwar pants from our hostess and Anne breaks out the full salwar kameez she bought early on at Fabindia. She vowed she would never wear those funny pants but the heat will drive a woman to break many a vow. She wears it every day and launders it in the shower every night. Boring but cool.

On our arrival, we were met with glasses of refreshing coconut water and later in the day John and Anne get a tutorial from a farm worker on how it is harvested, or so we think. The man speaks no English but beckons to us to follow as he shimmies up a tree trunk and does something we can't see at the top. Down he comes and he offers us some milky liquid from the vessel tied to his waist. Tastes like coconut water but a little different. Hmmm....

Susan arranges to have an Ayuvedic massage at the local (I mean local) treatment center and dares others to try it but refuses to describe the experience except to say, "You should see the treatment room!" She looks VERY relaxed.

On our first evening, we settle in for some of Mummy's famous home cooking. Dinner is served in the pavilion where we are served along with four other guests at a round table with a huge lazy Susan in the middle. Course after course of fabulous food arrives. We begin to truly worry about the extra baggage charges we will need to pay for ourselves on the flight home. John and Anne find out that the coconut water they sampled earlier is actually sap drawn from the coconut flower that has fermented and is the native alcoholic drink!

February 1

John and Anne arise early to cross the lagoon for Catholic mass at St. Mary's, the local Syrian rite church (to the sound of Hindu chant and firecrackers). As with the Hindu temples we have visited, we must remove our shoes ("Avoid slippers" the sign outside warns) before we enter the church. Inside, we find that, as in Africa, men gather on one side, women on the other. Or you could say, bland color on one side and color, fabulous color, on the other. Anne feasts her eyes on gorgeous saris throughout the service. Both John and Anne are glad to have this distraction, since they can't understand a word of the service and are finding that the marble floors are hard on soft Western knees and butts (no pews!)

After the service, 16 muscular young men in colorful dhoti's (the male version of a sari, a piece of cloth wrapped around the waist to form a short skirt) stand in the courtyard with drums and beat out a wonderful rhythm. At the end of the song, the men peel off to join small processions, each led by a church elder carrying a decorated, fringed umbrella. Is this an every Sunday event? No, it is the feast of Saint Sebastian, we discover, and a procession group will travel to each Catholic home in the village to bless it (and set off a loud firecracker, which explains the booms that started early this morning). They visit our farm at breakfast, arriving by flat boat, umbrella, drummers, and all -- what fun!

We then get a quick tour of this organic farm where we see coconuts growing as well as vanilla, ginger, cinnamon, and all manner of spices. It is fascinating to see spices we buy in bottles at the supermarket hanging from vines and bushes.

At 11 am, we embark on a houseboat tour of the lake. We will get a taste of what it is like to vacation in this famous Keralan style as we lunch and cruise the lake. Our boat has two luxurious bedrooms, each with its on bath, and comes equipped with chef and crew. Lots of water bird spotting, waving to fishermen, and just slow cruising along the shores learning about this beautiful area. Back in time for another fabulous dinner! More chanting from across the lagoon.

February 2

A quiet morning (the chanting from the Hindu temple has become part of the atmosphere). In the lagoon, kingfishers, herons, and other waterfowl. As they sit by the lagoon spotting birds, John and Anne are reminded that we are truly celebrities in rural India when five young farm workers stop by to say hello. Only one speaks ANY English and the others are just content to stare at us during the long lapses in the conversation. Anne finally resorts to her stock of family photos and Seattle postcards to keep up her end of the conversation. Gopi, who speaks the local language, comes to the rescue.

Today, the men will cross the lagoon and explore the area on bicycle, led by Shagzil. The women stay behind for the cooking lesson. Mummy will prepare lunch and we will madly take notes and try to guess the amounts she is adding. She has helpfully laid out each spice and ingredient on plates and explains what each element of the dish is, how to prepare it, when to add it, and how long to cook it. Key ingredients are green chilies and curry leaves. They seem to be in every recipe. We gulp when we see the amount of salt Mummy adds but remind ourselves that each dish is prepared for 12. After scribbling furiously, we discover that many of the recipes we have observed being prepared appear in the issue of Gourmet Joanne has. Phew!

Lunch is served. John and Gopi return from the bicycle outing but where is Tim? He has decided to strike out on his own, we are told. "He will be fine. He has a cell phone," they assure us. "No, he doesn't" says Susan. We start lunch without him but Susan is looking over her shoulder to see if he has arrived on the next boat. The afternoon proceeds. Still no Tim. We all begin to be a bit concerned. The group decides to visit the temple that has haunted our morning and evenings. Tim still not here. Our bus driver assures us he will be fine. We go to the temple and make a quick tour. Only Gopi and Rama, as Hindus, are allowed into the inner sanctum. As is traditional, Gopi must remove his shirt to enter. John is secretly relieved not to be able to enter -- too much good food. Rama hits upon the idea of making a donation to the temple that will ensure that all the oil lamps will be lit and we make plans to return at dusk to see the sight. We hope Tim will be home to join us!

Finally before we head out to the temple, Tim appears. It seems he has quite a story but we make him wait until dinner so we can all hear it. (Susan gets an early preview, I'm sure.) Anne stops at the tailor to have an native outfit of cool cotton made up with some fabric from Rama. He will make it up overnight and wants 100 rupees ($2) for his work. He pulls out his tape and makes some quick measurements.

When we arrive at the temple, a group of eager young boys greet us. Aru, who is about 9, is the stand out. With their limited English, they lead us to the temple walls and give us oil-dipped torches to begin lighting the temple. Each of us seems to have our own boy attendant, who encourages, adjusts lamp wicks, and generally makes sure we get the job done. We light only the hundreds of lights on the front of the temple. Devotees start to stream in and begin lighting the sides and rear wall. In the end, thousands of oil lamps light the temple on all sides. Drummers and two cymbal percussionists appear to beat a rhythmic song. They dress just like the musicians at the Christian church on Sunday and the song is almost the same. All members of the "orchestra" are men except for one young boy on cymbals. The boy senses he is being videoed, turns, and flashes a big smile. It is Aru, the leader of the temple boys who helped us light the candles. We leave reluctantly as more and more worshipers continue arriving. Judging from the chanting we have heard, we know the ceremonies will continue until 10 PM or so and some of us have an early morning departure to prepare for.

Dorothy stops to visit the Ayuvedic practitioner to find our about her "dosa." This is a diagnosis of the primary physical type she is and will influence any Ayuvedic treatment she might receive in the future. She tells us the doctor has categorized her as prone to phlegm, which seems right on as she as her asthma has been acting up during the trip.

Back at the farm, we have dinner and hear Tim's adventure. Seems he had a "bee in his bonnet" about taking a swim in the Arabian Sea. He had missed his chance in Kochi, where the beaches admittedly were not very inviting. So... Tim decided to bicycle his way to the sea. He knew the general direction but did not have a map, nor in this rural area, any language advantages. Still he pressed on. Occasionally, he stopped to ask directions, making friends despite the language barrier. He got a tour of a local temple complete with a temple elephant and met tons of friendly kids. Folks continued to assure him that he was heading in the correct direction. "Three kilometers," he was told more than once when he asked for directions using hand gestures to signify waves. Persist he did and finally he found himself on a beautiful beach on the Arabian Sea and then in the water, his dream accomplished.

With his dip behind him, Tim faces the task of finding his way home. Now he is truly tired and he decides to take an auto rickshaw home but finds no one here has heard of Phillip Kutty's farm. As noted previously, there is no there there and Tim does not know the name of the identifying local market. Finally, by describing the dam he crossed and the Catholic church near the Farm he is able to communicate with the driver and arrive safely at the boat landing. What an adventure! We all raise a glass at dinner in honor of his dream fulfilled.

February 3

Some of our party depart (Rama, Gopi, Susan, Tim and Dorothy). Joanne, John and Anne linger for another day. Joanne takes up residence on her porch and makes fast friends with all the Brits who are our fellow guests. Anne and John head off Ayuvedic massage, taking up Susan and Gopi on their dares. We walk in the village for an hour first (and re-encouter Aru and friends at drumming school) and thus arrive at the Ayuvedic hospital hot and sweaty.

We see the doctor who takes a pulse and blood pressure and asks about any special conditions. We then are led to separate massage rooms. Susan is right -- this is a very BASIC experience. The rooms are in a large shed-like structure and are clean but spare. Anne has two women; John has one man (half his height, poor guy). I won't go into the details but the treatment involves so much oil, we worry about slipping off the table and a full body scrub down when we are done. The oil and the water are hot but surprisingly, since it is midday, we are cool and relaxed when all is done. Anne finds this $18 massage more relaxing than the $80 one back in Agra. You will need to ask John about his thoughts on the whole experience. Expect a blush -- men are not used to that whole “nude” massage thing.

Back to the farm for more wonderful food with deliciously relaxed Joanne.

February 4

Time to leave! We get an early start so that we can visit the synagogue in Kochi. The early departing group has texted back that it is a "must see." They are so right. Hand crafted Chinese tiles pave the floor of the main room of this small building. Above hang old, old Belgian crystal chandeliers. Some have been wired to accept electricity but others are still filled with oil. Hearing the story again of how the maharajah gifted this place to the Jews of Kochi takes on new significance now that we are here. Shagzil gets the staff to illuminate the chandeliers briefly for us so that we can enjoy the special light that they radiate. We are enchanted.

Outside, on Synagogue Street, we succumb to some of the wonderful handicraft shops that line each side. Anne gets a handmade tablecloth and both women and even John buy beautiful handmade shirts. We can't get over how inexpensive it is to buy intricately crafted garments and fabrics here in India. It is so seductive that all of us will come home with more than we ever dreamed of purchasing. (Anne and John even purchased a gorgeous silk rug back in Delhi.)

Off to Bangalore to join the others at the Leela Palace. Our travel agent upgraded us to this wonderful hotel, we think as a reward for overcoming our jitters after the Mumbai attack in December. When we see the hotel, we can't help but wonder if they will let riff raff like us in! We meet up with everyone including Susan and Tim who should have been on their way home but were delayed a day due to the snow storm that incapacitated London. They will now be leaving early the next morning.

February 5

Bangalore does not have many monuments or sites to see but the city is a site in itself, so different than any place we have visited thus far. This is the most Western of cities on our tour. It looks more like New York than Delhi. Of course, the city is dirtier and some sections more dilapidated than NYC but all in all we feel quite at home. We visit the famous Bull temple in the AM and split off, some to shop and others (John and Anne) to sightsee a little longer and then shop.

The sightseeing includes a chance to see how Bangalurians (and in fact other Hindu Indians) embrace their new vehicles. Proud owners of new cars, scooters, trucks and other things moving bring them to the temple for "puja" or a blessing. The owner decorates his or her new purchase with flowers (and sometimes a beautiful bow) and pays a fee to the temple priest for a blessing. The priest scatters red powder over the car or scooter, blesses it with an oil lamp and then the owner places a lemon under each wheel and drives over them. We explain to Shagzil the association of a lemon with a new car would not be considered a good sign back home.

Anne goes to see a business associate that she "met virtually" on a consulting project 2 years ago and verifies that there really is a Mitesh P. John hangs out at the Leela, not a bad rap. Others continue to explore the modern bazaar of Bangalore. We skip a formal dinner (at last) and go to see Slumdog Millionaire instead. A great movie! We make the tough decision to meet in the lobby at 5 AM the next morning so that we can visit the famous city flower market before flying off to visit Hampi.

February 6

Five bleary-eyed travelers gather in the lobby at 5 AM. (Gopi has left us to conduct business.) We pile on to the bus and head off to see the flowers as they are auctioned off from the wholesale market. The main streets of Bangalore are empty at this time of day but the streets around the flower market are already bustling. Our driver has told us that by 6:30 most of the action will be over. In the dim streetlights, we see heaps and heaps of flowers, usually with a woman sitting in the midst stringing flowers into lei like arrangements. Folks here love to be photographed and smile whether in the picture or not. One woman gifts Anne with a string of jasmine and a hairpin to fix it in her hair. Just another example of the warmth of the people here. The photographs of this area should be incredible -- ask to see them. Back on the bus, Rama gifts all with a jasmine bracelet and fragrance fills the air. At the airport, we gather compliments from the security screeners and from fellow passengers. We leave a trail of jasmine petals wherever we go.

A short flight (with celebrities -- the revered ex-president of India and the head of a famous corporation) and head out on a bus again to Hampi. This new bus is not just new to us but brand-new. It sports its own flower garland -- it was just blessed yesterday. We have a wonderful ride, stopping to photograph women sorting through huge piles of red chili peppers and pluck a piece of cotton from the fields. Our new bus sadly has a bad fan belt that whines loudly and fairly regularly. We wonder if someone missed a lemon yesterday or if the bus is a real lemon. As we get closer to Hampi, we are surrounded by the verdant green of rice paddies that are terraced amid mountains of brown boulders; some balanced precariously one on top of another.

We arrive at Boulders, a rustic hotel, across the river from Hampi itself. It is too late to cross the river to visit the ruined city of Hampi so we head out to a women's village cooperative recommended by a friend of Rama's. It is 5 when we arrive and the workshop is closing for the day but we get a quick tour. Most of the products, hand woven baskets, purses, etc are made from dried coconut leaves that have been tinted different colors with vegetable dyes. Off to the shop, which is not closed, to buy some of the crafts. Here we can even feel righteous about our spending since all income goes to the cooperative that supports over 100 women and their families.

February 7

Only one day to see the ruined Hindu city of Hampi. We cross over the river in a ferry, accompanied by high-pressure 10-year-old salesman who sells us all postcards during the 5-minute ride. Who can resist this entertaining huckster! We climb through the simple market. It is all that is left of a fabulous city that was built in the 16th century and then pretty thoroughly trashed by Muslim invaders. Not much is left but you can still get enough of an impression to imagine the rich silks, spices, and gold that foreign visitors of the time say filled this city. We visit the active temple in the village and are blessed by Lakshmi, the temple elephant, who accepts our donation with her trunk, hands it to her mahout, and then lays her trunk atop our heads for the blessing. Then we climb to see the actual ruins, which remind of us Palatine Hill or the Forum in Rome.

We have lunch at Mango Tree restaurant, another recommendation of Rama's friend. It is an unusual lunch and I'm not talking about the food, which is traditional south Indian. The restaurant itself is the attraction. It consists of a series of slate terraces overlooking the river. The staff spread out reed mats for us to sit on and pull up small benches that will serve as tables. It's delightful here under the shade of the mango trees and we enjoy ogling all the hippy backpackers from Goa who are our fellow diners.

More hot touring in the afternoon but it is worth it to see the Queen's quarters and bath and the stable for the King's prized elephants. As we tour, we seem to be on the same schedule and route as a class of fifth graders who delight in shaking our hands and practicing their "hellos" and "how are yous" on us. At our third chance encounter, we all burst into giggles. One final stop to ride in a coracle, a saucer-shaped boat woven from reeds that looks like a big sawed off basketball. With the five of us carefully aboard, there is barely room for the oarsman. We have a short paddle down the river and a demo of how the boar spins in the water. I can't help but sing... "rub-dub-dub, three men in a tub... ).

Next we are off to Hospet, the nearest real town, to catch the overnight train to Bangalore. This will be our only train travel experience and we are not sure what to expect. It turns out we have six bunks in a shared space. Four stretch out from the wall lengthwise, then an aisle and two more horizontally squeezed against the other side. We down some sandwiches made quickly at local restaurant == filling but a definite come down from our feasts thus far. Shagzil helps set up the beds, then he and John take the longer top bunks and Dorothy climbs up to the upper across the aisle. Suddenly, the sound of something falling and we realize the window curtain and rod have spontaneously fallen on Rama. Much hysterical laughter ensues. The Leela Palace it ain't.

February 8

Thanks to Ambien, we arrive in Bangalore somewhat rested but it is a relief to be back at the Leela. We are mostly on our own today. John and Anne hang out by the gorgeous pool while Anne blogs and then they visit the Botanical Gardens to see Bangalore out in its “central park” on a Sunday afternoon. The highlights of their day a chance encounter of Thomas Friedman in the lobby, the sight of a nut brown man walking nonchalantly in total nudity down the streets of this sophisticated city, and a chance to commune with almost tame monkeys at the park. Others finish off their shopping checklists. Rama is off to join Gopi at festivities associated with a family wedding they will stay in town to attend. The rest of us crash early so that we can be in the lobby at 5 AM yet again to catch our flights home.

February 9

Farewell to Shagzil, another fabulous guide whose enthusiasm about the culture and history of his country is infectious. He sees us safely to the airport before he begins his 12 hour train journey back to Cochin.

Heading home at last. Others will get copies of this blog and add their own thoughts and experiences, so I'll just finish with my own.

India overwhelms but not necessarily in the ways I had predicted. It is culture shock, especially since there are so many people everywhere and so many religions and styles of life. Although I whined in advance that we were trying to see too much, I now appreciate that we have touched so many parts of this diverse country. I would describe our trip as comparable to traveling through 8 or 10 different countries in Europe over the course of 5 weeks. Each area has its own language and its own culture. Ox cart tilled fields coexist with tech centers; dirty, packed street markets with marble covered high-end malls. The contrasts can be mind-boggling. The long bus drives I was dreading turned out to be incredible cultural voyeurism instead.

The one thread that runs through it all for me is the warm hospitality of the Indian people. I had expected to be bothered constantly by beggars and indeed there have been some (and a lot of very persistent souvenir hawkers) but I had not expected to be greeted so enthusiastically by toddlers, children, adults and elders alike. In India, it is not considered impolite to stare at someone and we got lots of prolonged fixed stares. At first this made me most uncomfortable but as the weeks wore on I learned to flash a big smile at my gawker. Nine times out of ten my smile was returned with an even larger one usually accompanied by a friendly wave or even a "Hello! How are you?"

I am dubbing our whirlwind tour "Tastes of India" and am most thankful to Rama and Gopi and the wonderful Enchanting India, our travel agent, for leading us on this adventure. To Rama and Gopi special thanks for their patience with all our questions and their special guidance on the marvelous cuisine of India, a highlight of our trip. We have paid for a "puja" or blessing at several of the temples we visited during the trip and I truly do feel blessed at the end of this fabulous trip. Dhanyavaad, Gopi! Dhanyavaad, Rama! Namaste...