Indira Nagar Procrasination

Time with my own kind
now alone, world's frightening.
Where is my courage?

I've made the choice to travel solo, and for the most part it's been easier than I expected. I notice the effects most when I meet fellow travelers along the way, suddenly there are people to talk to in our shared mother tongue, about our shared cultural baggage, observations and ideas to bounce back and forth, small talk, security in purpose.

Then we must all go it alone again, journeys seem daunting, looks from strangers seem to contain more menace, streets lead to nowhere I know, I must stop, take a breath and swallow hard. Remind my heart that it is fearless.

Mumbai part II ,south to Goa and life on the backpacker trail.

Before selling up, boxing up and setting sail one of the last books I read was Are You Experienced? by William Sutcliffe. My friends Christina and Phillip from Cologne knew that I would be travelling to India and recommended (urged) that I read it, perhaps as a kind of immunization (or warm -up) to the non-sense that life on the backpacker trail can steep you in for a few days at a time, or at least until you manage to get a ticket to the 'next place' where it starts all over again. The amusing thing for me is although differing slightly in some minor details and characterisations, the novel is disappointingly close to reality as I'm comfortable with without running screaming into the jungle with my pants on my head.
More about this later.

My first few days in India were a shock, you could probably tell. However couch-surfing saved the day once more when it introduced me to Louella, and one Sunday some time ago I found my way to the right platform at CST and out to Bandra (west); a fairly ordinary and affordable suburb of Mumbai while still being close enough to the downtown area to only cost 10 Rupees for the train fare. 

What a relief.
A real place where real people live, not trying to swindle money or beg from travelers, nor selling miscellaneous articles on little street kiosks to passes by who due to a combination of tiredness, anti-malarial medications and bad diarrhoea, may not quite know what exactly they are doing, buying or most importantly what change they are getting... Basically it wasn't a tourist area.
I liked the promenade along the seashore it Bandra, I always thought going for a stroll along the prom was a curiously British thing, however I'm discovering it may be one of the best pan-human characteristics there is. There's just something about walking at your own pace, with plenty of room to go where you please alongside the place where water meets land. Even better if the walk goes along a roughly north-south axis so the are views of the rising/setting sun.

Bandra 'promenade'

Sunset over the mangrove

You can learn a lot from walking in these areas, Bandra (west) is an affluent suburb. Overweight Indians march along in tracksuits and trainers, plugged into their iPods. Following doctors orders. Chubby over-loved dogs are barely walked by the professional walkers that stand in for the dog's busy affluent owners. The odd beggar stands in front of the 'NO BEGGING' sign, hand out. Looking hungry. Teenagers meet for a few extra-curricular sessions with their girlfriend or boyfriend, gangs of greasy boys in plaid shirts sit in rows following the beautiful girls with their eyes as they stroll past. Oozing hormonal frustrations, sebum, and black-heads. Old geezers wait at the chess tables for a partner, one or two crazy white people jogging, toddlers run after the pigeons, never catching one, never wondering why they're compelled to try. Everyone has a fascinating face; different hues, light coffee, dark chocolate, a story written on leather.
Ordinary, everyday things. People up to their business. it's genuine. That's what I'm traveling to see.

People up to their business

My host in Mumbai did a lot to break a bad mood I had from the 'Hotel' Windsor in South Mumbai, I realised that I'm missing some things. Stability for one, an absence of worry is another. I am usually grateful when a host offers a few extra days stay, but at this stage in my travels being hosted in my own room in a nice, comfortable house in a neighbourhood where the most exciting thing to do is to go for a little stroll down some lanes herewith unknown (and then a little washing-up) is delicious balm for the soul.

After the extended stay caused by the number of days the trains to Goa were fully booked (5) I pre-positioned in another hostel close to the CST terminus, had a terrible nights sleep due to a pair of baby owls, and boarded the Madgon express at 6.45am.

Waiting to board the train at 6.30am, note the dust in the air

The day train was intentional; I wanted to be able to see the landscape changing as we rumbled on. I wanted a window show. The problem is that the windows were heavily tinted to the extent that unless the sun was incredibly bright outside I could just about make out the shape of the hills in the distance. However I slept a lot of the time, so I guess it didn't matter. Just another case of expectation being kicked into shape by reality. 
I think that might be India for me; I've always been interested in the country, it's cultures, peoples and histories. I've read a little about it, wondered what it would like, painted pictures in my head based on films and television, I even imagined the smells! There is no imagining reality, nor anticipating what will occur. I've learned just to accept what comes around the bend. Goa is a prime example of this:
I expected old Portuguese colonial buildings painted in bright pastel hues seemingly dropped into tropical Indian countryside and coastlines. I expected a few old hippies here and there, a cool and laid-back atmosphere, villages by the sea and inland where the freshly planted rice paddies turn the landscape ultra-green. A bit of history, perhaps. Some bars and the like, but mostly quieter than peak season as there are no holidays now in the west so there should be very few travelers and lots of cheap accommodation.
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

I've somehow managed to come to India in peak season for the area that I'm travelling. Accommodation is fully booked most days and train tickets need booking many days in advance. Rave (Trance I think) culture dominates the entertainment in the area and shitty dance music pumps out across the beach at the most inappropriate of times, like sunset. Waves of travelers arrive each day seeking the 'Goa experience' Traveler's hostels are plentiful along the coast, spilling forth keen youths each evening in search of a good party, many returning some hours later confused that all they found was a series of shitty bars giving the area something akin to a 'Blackpool in the tropics' feel.

Beach cows

The sea draws me back yet again

I didn't take any photographs of the shitty beach bars, the sneaky taxi drivers or the degenerate ex-pats who drink in them all day, every day. I can choose to remember the beauty instead, there is an advantage to not taking too many photographs in that you do not remember everything you saw and did through the frame of the selective lens-eye. The sunsets in Goa were all spectacular, however the humidity made the 35 degree daytime temperatures quite uncomfortable. The introduction of extra cold showers helped, however I cannot imagine living here in the summer.

The buses in India are a fantastic way to get away from the tourist coast and see little pieces of daily life. Unable to buy a train ticket online and from an expensive travel agent I went to Margao station in the south of the state by local bus. To my surprise the trip went very easily and apart from getting uncomfortably hot and sticky at times the ride was fun. They still have bus conductors here which helps the perpetually lost traveler no end. The best thing is that no bus ride cost more than 30 Rupees (30p) most being 15-20 INR.
The bus alternative to renting a scooter appealed to me on the grounds of:
1. My clumsiness
2. It's not driving, it's survival
3. No licence, deliberately may I add
4. Seeing the damage from a minor accident on some of the hostel residents
5. Being able to look around from a bus

Old Goa or Velha Goa ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Goa ) is an interesting former town inland from the current state capitol of Panaji which was was of the jewels of the Portuguese empire until plague decimated the town. All that is left of note these days in a group of religious buildings which seem very much out of context these days. It's a world heritage site, so the sign said.

 There was also a spice plantation tour to see, highlights included seeing the unfamiliar plants that provide the everyday spices we enjoy, an almost robotic tour guide, getting cold water poured down your back and watching a 6 foot 4 inch ginger guy climb a tree...

A vanilla plant, part of the orchid family

I enjoyed Goa for what it was, the impending 'issue' with my travels is that I'm not sure where to go next. The backpacker trail led to Hampi from Goa, but I decided to take another long train ride to Bangalore to see the ghost of India future, but what then? Mysore Is close by so that might be next. Problem is there accommodation there is a little expensive so I may only stay two nights then go on to Kerala. The problem might be that approaching 3 months of traveling I might be running a little short of mental energy and inspiration. The thought of a long bus journey in the heat, or another night on a sleeper train having mice dance on my head is losing it's appeal. That's why I've booked my outward flight from India for the 20th of February, I could only stay another 3 weeks after that due to the the visa running out in any case. It feels like the right thing to do.

Mumbai

I've decided what the secret of successful travel is: Reconnaissance. 

If you've booked a hostel or a flight at a particular airport what's wrong with knowing how to get there or having a rough idea of what to expect?
I used to have a romantic counter view that traveling is only traveling when you rock up in some archaic form on transport to a place you've never been and never seen, not knowing what to expect and really where it is in fact that you are going and then somehow making it all happen.

I've learned from my mistakes.

That time when I got of at the wrong bus stop in Oslo and wandered in completely the wrong direction making Linn come out and somehow find me after about a dozen awkward phone conversations and mispronounced street names.

The time where I only lined up one place to stay on a trip to Scotland and came home after four days.

The time where I tried to travel through central Europe with only a small smartphone for internet access...

By learning from such countless travelers mishaps, I've learned the importance of having some basic information on hand when you arrive somewhere new; how to get local currency, where the transport leaves from, the location of where you're going and for that matter the place you are going even has a place for you. A map pre-loaded onto a smartphone helps too!

I arrived in Mumbai early last Thursday morning, Google helped me find a place to stay and had revealed the location of the pre-paid taxi area and the location of the hostel. A little yellow star marked it's location on my phone, a little blue arrow my location and heading. I knew I could use my credit card to buy some rupees as spending money and for the taxi from the money exchange counters on the right and side as you leave the international terminal. On the taxi ride just after dawn I saw the morning vegetable markets in the roads, women carrying huge bundles of coriander and parsley on their heads and my first experience of the chaotic Mumbai traffic. When the driver got lost and began asking random people on street corners the whereabouts of my hostel I was able to direct him exactly to the location in under 5 minutes. A little research pays off, take note future travelers.

Still, India is a shock: Parrots squawk ask they dart between the bright green boughs overhead, new and strange foliage is everywhere, bright and verdant. The air is so thick even in the morning that you have no chance of seeing the sun rise. A stench is omnipresent, worse in some streets than in others, brown sacking containing indescribable filth lays discarded on the pavement, thread-like maggots writhe in the odoriferous fluid seeping into the street staining it black. An old woman lays, apparently dead, in the gutter, cracked and filthy soles exposed to the sun. Cigarette stand owners burn big cones of incense, increasing the morning haze and driving off the smell. Men and women brush down the pavements with large bundles of fine twigs. Old and new buildings look half abandoned, seemingly unpainted, battered and worn by the heat and moisture of the passing years. 

South Mumbai veiws

South Mumbai is an interesting place, formed from seven islands linked originally by causeways on order of the British governor it now lies at the southern end of a largely reclaimed (from the sea) peninsula. 'Fort' where I stayed for the first few days is where the old fortifications stood, an Indian naval base still occupies the east side of the area. There are surrealistic and beautiful colonial era buildings everywhere giving the place a similar museum feel to central London. Surreal to me as they simultaneously seem so familiar in all their gothic revival victoriana but as if they were built in a parallel universe where the buildings are decorated in Persian imagery (Persian winged bulls-everywhere) crazily overfilled buses and guys walking around barefoot in the 25 degree winter are normal.
Like central London once you have seen the sights it's OK to move on and see where the real life is, so I took a walking tour. I suppose that's the travelling equivalent of gritting your teeth and getting it all over with. However, my Swedish roommate and I thoroughly enjoyed  the 3 hour and something tour and the guide was very open and willing to talk about anything we asked, in fact having to stop the conversation to show us the buildings and to do the 'tour bit'.

Flora Fountain to the left.

The statue dedicated to the martyrs of the struggle for independence.

The Gateway of India http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gateway_of_India

The Taj Mahal hotel

Marine drive or 'the queens necklace'

Hostel bed-head

Crazy for cricket

Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus railway station

Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus railway station, formerly know as Victoria Terminus

People

Ladies only car sen through the grille of my train window

There are many things I admire about Mumbai, such as the way in which it all somehow works with twice the number of people it was designed for. There are many things that make me quite sad like the little children who are trained to walk the tightrope as a street attraction to raise money for their wranglers when they should be learning to read or are taken out late at night to beg for money when they should be asleep. Everywhere you look there is poverty and destitution. People just surviving, not living. The need for women only cars in the trains betrays a general acceptance of the inevitability of sexual harassment and assault in mixed sex carriages. The problem is that trains only have two women's cars, so they are often more overcrowded than the standard cars. On the other hand there is wealth and privilege too, you just have to look into the family feuds over how expensive the house they've built is or how much they spent on a birthday present for their wives. 

Of all the things I've seen and heard it is this vast gap between the rich and the poor that is the most troubling.

On my third day I took a boat to Elephanta Island http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elephanta_Island where there are caves with spectacular carvings and some rather naughty monkeys.

A Shiva Lingam in one of the caves, still being used today

A huge carving of Shiva with three faces, the creator, preserver and destroyer...

The naughty monkeys were everywhere, one was amusingly trying to steal food from a dog while others were drinking from water bottles that they had pinched from the tourists!

Due to the railway network being rather busy I'm in Mumbai and the surrounding area until Saturday which gives me more of a chance to explore other areas and learn more about life here, but for now, that's your lot.

Izmir, Karşıyaka, Çanakkale and back to Istanbul

It's cold in Istanbul, very cold indeed when the north wind sweeps icily in and across the city from the black sea. So like a flamingo, I migrated south to warmer parts during the night. I suppose I'g better tell you how this unplanned part of my travels has gone: Terribly.

Don't take this the wrong way, I loved every day I spent in Izmir and the surrounding area, the hosts I found were fantastic and even a few people from the local couchsurfing community got in touch (albeit too late) to meet up during the day. 

The problem is after three weeks inside Turkey, I still feel like I haven't scratched the surface. I go from large city to large city because that's where the hosts are, it takes days just to find a good host for 2-3 days, meaning I'm always on the internet either scanning lists of potential hosts, reading profiles or writing personalised requests to stay with them. I've toyed with the thought thought of just finding my way to some random small town and letting fortune take over. Walking into the town  square, waving my arms in the air and yelling 'HELP!'

The problem is language, I can order food and drink, I can buy a bus ticket, I can ask where something is, and say please. This however isn't enough. I want to tell people I like the way they've arranged the flowers in their window box, admire their Ataturk portrait, talk about the things we dream about, ask if the land here is good for growing olives or grapes and understand the complexities of the answers. I will always be that goofy tourist, no matter how many phrases I learn. Perhaps it's about time I accepted that and swallowed my pride.

The night bus to Izmir boards a ferry.

On the way to Asia for the first time!

I decided to take the night bus to Izmir, I could sleep on the bus and arrive the next morning bright and full of energy to explore this new place.

Why don't I learn?

I arrived in Izmir after about one and a half hours sleep, poorly dressed for the pre-dawn cold and somehow an hour before the bus was supposed to arrive. It was a shock to be dropped shivering on a street corner, but just along the road the most amazing view awaited me, so I took a seat on a little wall and had a breakfast of biscuits and mandarins.

Pelicans of Karsiyaka

Sunrise over Karsiyaka

The waterfront is often said to be the pride of Karsiyaka, indeed it is beautiful as, unlike the view across the bay in Izmir, the sun is always near or over the sea. Many natives of the area (including one or two I know well) have fond memories of going to the sea with their relatives as children, including these rather fetching dolphin statues in one plaza. Admittedly it is a nice place to spend an afternoon, especially if the wind is not so cold. One Saturday afternoon I observed a sizable percentage of the town's population just walking along the sea-front, promenading if you like. This is not the only familiar pastime that the locals practice; they also like to ride the ferryboats across the bay. In fact I do to.

Feeding the seagulls from the open back of the ferry. I tried to get a nice picture of the food being given to a bird directly, but the timing was too difficult.

The Sea-front in Izmir

I like Izmir, it has a much more 'chilled out' (perhaps Mediterranean) feeling than Istanbul. Also it has around 1% of the street hustlers of Istanbul, meaning I was only accosted by a smartly dressed gentleman offering to be my guide and friend once. By the old bazaar/market in fact, right where you'd expect this species to have it's niche. I did try to buy socks here too, but couldn't find a shop that sold them all of the time. It was always a case of 'come inside the shop sir' whilst they send a boy (in uniform bad fringe and black leather jacket) to the actual shops for right and left socks to find some matching pairs for me to buy at marked-up prices.
Izmir has a few things to do and see, but not nearly as many things as I expected so my conscience was free to just do what I wanted to do and wander around wide-eyed taking the whole place in.
The minor residential streets just inland from Bostanli are quite something to wander through. Plants line the balcony rails, still many are in flower and you can just catch their perfume from the street. Turkish flags with the image of Ataturk hang from some while from others women beat carpets or shake brooms or mops over the unsuspecting pedestrians below. Municipal workers seem to be on a perpetual break from laying the new cobble-bricks in the wet sand that has been spread evenly and miss the local stray cats using it as a toilet due to being pre-occupied talking  (presumably about their boss, football or politics) over tea in little tulip-shaped glasses.  

My first hosts in Karsiyaka, a sneaky picture while they were cooking supper. (Yayla Corbasi)

The best thing about living in Izmir, in my opinion. Too dirty to swim in, apparently. And most definitely too cold.

I like how the Izmir mindset is generally pragmatic and cosmopolitan, liberal and progressive. Both my hosts in the area were very laid back and open-minded (no, not in the couchsurfing reference-code way!) which they assured me was common for the area, the current prime-minister seeing the city as a thorn in his side and a hotbed of opposition to his conservative policies. I never did get to ask anyone about 'The Great Fire' although there are reminders here and there if your eyes are open. There are certainly no monuments to the suffering of the civilian population although there are a few victorious monuments marking the day the Greek army were driven back to the sea, but not the aftermath. Too messy I expect, someone with too much pride may need to acknowledge something dreadful happened. Such is the state of Aegean national politics. 

A much-overlooked sculpture park. The lion to the right of center is at least 2600 years old. 

However, after just over a week it was time to move on. Without, may I add seeing almost all of the 'must see' attractions in the area  I chose to travel a few hours north to Chanakkale where there were many more interesting things not to see. 
I've grown accustomed to missing out on tourism by now; I don't have a driving licence with me, nor would I use a hire car if I did, it's a matter of stubborn principle. I find excuses of course, like not going to Ephesus because I was out drinking the night before and woke up late, the weather being cold and nasty and the public transport being sparse. I think I didn't go because it was OK not to. I'm allowed not to visit these places. It's my yardstick I'm being measured by, no-one else's.
It's my bloody trip.

The Bosphorus straights at Canakkale

In Canakkale I began to get the feeling I was starting to understand the country better; if you don't know it is the site of the Battle of Gallipoli http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gallipoli_Campaign in particular Canakkale was the site of the WW1 allies' first attempt to run the Dardanelles straight, reach Constantinople, knock the Ottoman empire effectively out of the war and open a southern sea route to Russia. It may well have worked if mines hadn't been laid in the straights prior to the attack. The Denial of the straights to the British and French navies and the subsequent land campaign occupies a colossal part of the Turkish folk memory. I suppose it is as if the Battle of Britain (national survival) was crossed with Thermopylae (overwhelming odds) and the Battle of the Somme (horrific casualties). It is also the battle in which modern Turkey was largely conceived and forms a part of The War of Independence.  

The replica of the minelayer Nusret

Ataturk forever..

The battle also ties in with the Ataturk story, so it's pretty much the most important thing to have happened to the Turkish people since yogurt was invented. However, when walking around town and going into the visitor attractions and museums in the area I cant help feeling that a myth has been built up around a truth, historical fact has been pumped up and given steroids where appropriate and quietly left out if not. This wall and rampart has been re-built after being destroyed by the allied bombardment but not labeled as such, however this shore defence gun was destroyed after the war and most definitely  not by British shells and clearly labeled with these facts. The examples will long outlast the time available to me to write. However what I can say is that a lot rides on the myths built on this place. Many are mutually supporting, the largest myth of them all; of the identity of the state of Turkey. More on this later.

Ramparts for artillery at the fort in Canakkale

The caption for this model was just the slightest bit weighted towards a politically convenient narrative of national survival battles against a cunning and powerful foe. But what did I expect if the exhibition is built and staged by the military?

Hmm, a Trojan horse.

That feeling when the breakfast buffet is all just for you...

Happy new year!

The ferry ride to Eceabat

So what is it to be Turkish?
I have made some vague conclusions based on the observations I have made throughout my limited time in the country. I have asked the people I have met about life, their beliefs and habits, probably asking some awkward questions in the process although I only asked the toughies to people I thought wouldn't react badly. The results are most likely skewed by only travelling in the west of the country and only talking to young, educated and 21st century minded people. This is what I have found:

Turkey is a multi-ethnic, multi-racial and multi-faith society, in fact it is several societies telescoped into one physical space, several ways of seeing the world and even several economies coexisting on the same income. If it were a person it would be schizophrenic. This is evidenced best by the political views of the people I have stayed with versus the party currently in power. One side liberal and reformist, the other traditional, religious and conservative. 
However, there is more than that,
Historically much nationalism was and probably still is based upon the idea of 'Turkishness', however Anatolia has an incredibly long and rich history before the Turks arrived. These peoples of Anatolia were not wiped out  by the invaders from the Asian heartland but persisted with their own language and customs in many cases. Even those groups that converted to Islam and learned to speak in the new language kept many of their old ways. Then the Ottoman Empire drew new peoples in from near and far and of course moved a few around against their will. This all contributes to one of the most racially diverse populations I have ever seen, just riding the metro is a delight for a casual face spotter, in one car you can spot individuals that would not look out of place in Britain or Denmark, France of Spain, Northern Italy, Poland, European Russia, Asian Russia, Mongolia, China, Greece, Egypt and the Levant. All speaking Turkish.

In my last week in Istanbul I began to get a better understanding of how this happened; after the collapse of the Ottoman Empire the remnant of the empire centered on Anatolia was fighting for survival. Arab nationalism to the south, Soviet expansion to the north-east, Greek invasion to the west which at first threatened to capture the whole west coast of Asia minor, Constantinople and push along the Black Sea coast re-capturing ancient Byzantine territories. Everywhere there were pockets of the very people threatening to consume Turkey practicing their own languages, customs and religions.

Gunner Sayit saves the day yet again, in statue form.

The Mehter band perform for me and 200 schoolkids and their teachers

I love this picture.

The Turkish army under Ataturk managed to carve a new country out of this mess by first driving out the invasion, putting down rebellions and then the stage that interests me; the consolidation. Turkish became the only language to be spoken, Sunni Islam the only form to be practiced. The Koran was to be translated into Turkish as was to be the language of religious affairs to remove the influence of the new Arab states forming to the south. Of the disparate peoples in the new republic many left or were forced to leave the country, a process that continued until the 1970s. Many died in events that still inspire controversy and hatred today.  If you ever visit Istanbul after you have 'done' the main sights and buildings I recommend a visit to the National Military Museum which in spite of it's name is half cultural center. The legend of the Turkic tribes spreading from their home in central Asia, conquering and populating the world as they went is right there, presented often in face-slappingly gaudy modern artworks painting these ancient eurasians in the palette of modern Turkish faces.  Here is the myth distilled and presented for you in a single building, cherry-picking historical fruits here and there and fusing it into a single narrative. As the quote , written over the theatre where the re-created Ottoman Mehter band play, from Mustafa Kemal himself says: "Nations that are unaware of their history are obliged to die out". What else was there to do but write a history.

An ossury built from gravestones from the relocated graves of Le grand champs cemetery

The Roman Catholic cemetery  contains the graves of French, Italian and a huge Levantine population, descendants of Byzantine Constantinople.

Gravestones of the English merchant families that settled in Galata and the surrounding districts, I wonder if this is the cause of some of those faces on the metro?

Myths again. Bilge.

My hosts district.

Modern Turkey, too modern.

However, it worked. The myth covered the cracks, it took like a skin graft on raw flesh. Turkey was born. Or created. The choice is up to the individual. It is a modern country, but it is not western, rather it exists at the cross-roads of the world. I would like to see the nation acknowledge the differences between it's disparate peoples, the shared origins with it's neighbours and the need to encompass all traditions within it's borders. I wonder...

Well done if you've read this far. This post is huge. I'm finishing it off in Bahrain waiting for my connecting flight to India and another adventure. I'm sad to be leaving Europe behind. I miss the places I've been and I miss it's peoples, especially the ones who have opened their homes and their hearts to me. I have the feeling even if I stay in my Aegean loop I will never be ready to leave, never be finished. There's always more.

See? Modern?