January 7, 2012 · 2:25 pm

The Goldie Hawn Tour of Varanasi

We’ve heard of walking tours in New York City based on celebrities or shows, such as the Sex and the City walking tour. But we didn’t expect an evening outing in the ancient city of Varanasi to turn into a Goldie Hawn tour. Varanasi is a holy Hindu city on the banks of the Ganges River. Our intention last night was to attend the sunset aarti, a daily outdoor offering performed on the ghats, or steps leading into the river.  We were warned the area is chaotic between the pilgrims, locals and tourists who all congregate within a few hundred meters of each other during sunset. Hence, we did what we rarely do. We asked the hotel to arrange for a guide.

Our guide, Pai, an enterprising business man, spoke perfect English. We later found out that he also taught himself French and Japanese (his abilities in both were better than my own, and I’ve lived in Belgium and Japan) because of the influx of tourists that speak these languages. One of the first questions he asked when he found out we were from America was “Do you know Goldie Hawn?” It seemed an out of context question.

For the rest of the evening, between explaining the goings on of the aarti and guiding us around streets that turned back on themselves, Pai went through Goldie’s entire life story, and her relationship with his family. Apparently, Goldie comes to Varanasi every couple of years for spiritual reasons. Pai mentioned several times that he is her guide of choice.

We stepped into the ghats and bought a flower offering. Pai explained that Goldie too buys offerings to give to the river. We were elaborately told how she and Kurt Russell have bought the offering together and the very same spot.

The aarti was far less serene than we expected it to be. Experiencing it from river certainly seemed the calmer alternative to standing along the banks, but the boats were packed so tightly we could barely hear Pai explain how much Goldie loved to take pictures of the aarti. He reminded us a few times that Goldie uses the same boat when she is in Varanasi.

After the aarti was over, Pai invited us over to his house, where we were shouldn’t have been all that surprised to find a silk shop waiting for us. We declined Pai’s offer of tea, which launched him into a discussion about how Goldie likes her chai. I would have thought the Goldie tales were fabricated, except that Pai pulled out a photo album of him and the star over the years. Goldie holding his baby son. Goldie talking with the same son some years later. I asked if I could take a picture of the album, and Pai said “Oh, if you want to take a picture, let me get the newer album.” And out he came with a leather-bound version.

I don’t know how much we learned about the sunset aarti. Our time was limited, and the aarti we attended at the main ghat, Dasaswamedh, was very much catered to tourists. But now we know how Goldie likes her tea and what color scarves she prefers to buy.

If we had more time here we would attend the aarti at one of the smaller ghats. I suspect these offer a more authentic experience. At least now I know to plead ignorance if someone asks whether I know Goldie Hawn.

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January 6, 2012 · 12:07 pm

Our Munnar Tea Plantation Getaway

We spent the last few days of 2011 staying in an old British tea estate in Munnar. Some of our adventures were just published on Huffington Post. I’ve been fascinated with Munnar ever since I saw it captured in the movie Before The Rains. Given the expectations I had built, I was worried that the real thing would dissapoint.

The trip was a gift from Sandeep’s brother, who generously hosted us for his own 30th birthday. Munnar is far removed from everything, and staying on a private plantation meant away from any modern conveniences. With time on our side, the kids were able to enjoy animated stories from their uncle, who works at Cartoon Network and came with plenty of supplies. A focus group was held on the spot.

The bungalow we stayed in was fully staffed and houseman, Silverraj, doubled as cook, guide, waiter and horse. Ava perched comfortably on his shoulder during a 3 hour trek one afternoon. As we strolled rolling hills of tea, I heard Silverraj wincing ever so quietly. Silverraj always has a bright smile on his face, so I turned around to see what was going on and found Ava diligently plucking his hair. I suppose she doesn’t find herself on top of a full head of hair very often.

We ambled across the only village within several kilometers and into the only tea shop in town. The tea maker was a colorful man in looks but somber in action. Any animation on his part was focused on churning out meter tea. The traditional cool tea in India is to employ a physics defying process of rapidly pouring the tea from a great height (approximately one meter) in one hand into the waiting tea cup in the other. Surprisingly, tea drops don’t splash about during the process.

There have been a few times on this trip where I have found myself mesmerized. Sometimes it is an experience – like seeing 12,600 monks recieving alms. Other times it is a moment that catches me off guard, like when I found Ava and Kayan asleep holding hands across a bed in Penang. In Munnar it was nature – open, rolling hills of green, lots of fresh air and the perfect afternoons for freshly brewed tea.

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January 5, 2012 · 1:17 pm

Kaveman Kayan

When Ava was an infant, Dr. Harvey Karp’s Happiest Baby on the Block was our lifesaver. His simple methods ensured that we had a calm, smiling, rested baby. So when she turned three and started throwing tantrums, Sandeep and I bought The Happiest Toddler on the Block DVD. Dr. Karp’s advice is to see toddlers as cave(wo)men and deal with them accordingly.

As is generally the case, we didn’t find the sequel that good. Ava just didn’t strike us as cave-like.

Kayan, but contrast, is a cave person at heart. If Dr. Karp comes out with another addition of Happiest Toddler, we shall definitely send Kayan to the casting call. We’ve been studying his behavior closely during our trip. Weeks of constant togetherness have given us plenty of material confirming that his toddler-hood offers insight to our origins.

When faced with sand, gravel, dirt, pebbles – anything the earth has dusted off – Kayan’s innate reaction is to cool off in it. I have heard that cavemen may have used mud as natural sunscreens. This picture was taken on a Goa beach and, yes, it was a sunny day.

When faced with a choice of utensils, Kayan prefers his hands. That goes for Chinese soup, Thai noodles or cereal dipped in egg yolk in Malaysia.

Even when ice cream comes neatly packed around a stick, Kayan would rather use his hands as a scoop.

A brand new puzzle set to Kayan turns into a primitive digging tool. That too, in a flower bed.

Perhaps Kayan has caught on to the fact that norms differ among countries. He may as well resort to the common place we all came from before we had to worry about social graces. I also know that we, as parents, are contributing to the behavior. We have generally taken a more laid back approach to parenting. We’ve noticed in Asia that kids are less restricted than in the U.S. and parents don’t obsess over every spilled drink or dirty hand. Kids run around, some messier and more rambunctious than others, and people don’t see them as an annoyance. It’s been convenient for us to adopt a similar mentality, and certainly advantageous for Kayan to hone his connection to our ancestors.

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January 3, 2012 · 11:50 am

A Traditional Kerala Home Remedy

I’ve never had allergies, but something’s getting me in Kerala. My eyes are red, my nose is a faucet and my head feels like it’s about to explode. As I was wallowing in pity, I noticed Sandeep’s mom puttering about with various shrubs. She confessed that she was brewing me up a home remedy to clear out my head.

As with most of her cooking, some ingredients are a mystery. Some tulsi (holy basil), dried ginger, a liberal amount of black peppercorns, the leaves of what she called wild Chinese potato (she specified that it had to be wild), and a wad of coffee-ginger-Chinese potato mixture.

She pounded it to a pulp in her mortar.

And boiled it down to a thick opaque juice.

At first, things seemed to have backfired. My eyes started spouting, my nose turned red, my head heated up. But then, within minutes, everything cleared. When traveling, I do think it’s best to try the local remedies. Locals are much more used to the flora and fauna and have perfected these solutions over generations. Way better than a Benedryl and without the side effects.

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January 2, 2012 · 12:58 pm

Registering the Kids at a Kerala Pre-School

Sandeep and I don’t speak a common Indian language. My Hindi is shameful, and his Malayalam sounds to me like a fluent string of gargling but he insists it’s rudamentary. Since we’ll be travelling in and out of Kerala for two months, we figured we’d use the base to offer the kids a social network and an opportunity to learn Malayalam.

Sandeep and I have been meeting interesting people and through cyberspace have managed to maintain contact with our friends. As parents, we now give Ava and Kayan undivided attention. Despite this, we could tell that Ava particularly yearned for kiddie contact. I suppose we all need our own peer group to talk, play and bounce of the walls with.  Thus far we’ve been so nomadic, it’s been hard for her to establish any friendships. It breaks my heart to hear her ask, “Do you think she’ll be my friend?” about every girl her age we see on our trip.

Enter Lullabies Montessori School and Day Care, which is up the hill from Sandeep’s parents. Our casual decision to enroll the kids was a stark contrast to the agonizing deliberations we went through for New York City pre-school aplications. We figured we didn’t know the nuances of Indian pre-schools well enough to research the matter, and for just two months, all we cared about was a safe environment and happy peers. The owner and teacher, Smita, was warm in her welcome and flexible in accommodating us for the short period.

When we told Ava that she was going to school this morning, she got herself ready for the first time. She changed her clothes, brushed her teeth, packed her Dora backback, and fed herself the entire bowl of oatmeal. Her excitement was so focused, this was the calmest morning we’ve had on our trip thus far.

Upon walking into the open air classroom, Ava went straight up to the row of kids and took a seat. Kayan, who hasn’t been more than a few feet away from her for over two months, followed right behind. Despite empty seats he attempted to sit on Ava’s lap. He must have needed more reassurance than she at being introduced to new faces. Ava firmly said, ‘Kayan, go sit in the green chair over their.” She’s gotten quite used to bossing him around. Naturally, he listened.

They immediately seemed to be in their own element and we left feeling happy and sad to be not needed by them for the first time in over two months. When we arrived for the 12:30 pick-up, both kids protested about leaving school and on the way home happily sang a newly learnt Malayalam song.

I’ve written before about how the kids are being educated without formal schooling, but we feel good that they now have an opportunity to mingle with their own peers. If that comes with some formal education, we’re not opposed.

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January 1, 2012 · 1:19 pm

The Three Day Indian Errand

Anyone who has been to India is well acquainted with the Indian head bob. It’s not a nod nor is it a shake. It’s as if one’s head has been temporarily disjointed from the spine and is bobbing about trying to relocate the hinge. So if you ask an Indian a question and get a head bob in response, you’re in for some guessing as to whether they’re in agreement or opposition.

In the process of getting together our Myanmar visa applications, we’ve met our fair share of headbobs over the past two days in Kerala. The visa application instructions are straight forward – submit a passport, completed application, passport pictures, confirmed itinerary and banker’s check to The Embassy of Myanmar in New Delhi. We were advised not to mail any important documents within India, so decided we’d give our applications to my mother to hand deliver on her January 2nd trip to New Delhi. The processing time is up to six weeks and we are already cutting it close to our February 10th departure to Yangon.

Our first task was to print the application forms and our itinerary. We headed into the closest town, Kottayam, which, with about a hundred thousand residents, is a small town by Indian standards. The results of our visit to a storefront marked ‘Business Center’ were flimsy paper sheets brushed with faint ink too hard to read. We asked to reprint, to which the attendant headbobbed, smiled and said that he was out of toner. We decided to try an internet cafe, but as we approached, the owner began lowering the shutter. “Connection too slow, I’m closing for the day.” We proceeded to a third spot, where finally we were able to connect and print. An hour into the our errand run, we had one task accomplished.

On to the bank for the banker’s check. Sandeep’s parent have a great relationship with their local bank – they even sent a plum cake to the house for Christmas. Yet they refused to create a banker’s check to The Embassy of Myanmar “due to US, India and Myanmar tensions.” We didn’t want to be difficult foreigners and risk the family’s removal from the plum cake list, so we moved onto bank number two. Upon entry, we were told “Systems failure due to power outage. All computers are not working. Sorry.” Onto bank number three, where we stated our request to the teller, Sonya. She responded with a polite head bob and no words. We stated it again. This time the head bob came with verbal translation.  “Sorry, you need to have an account with us to get a bankers check.” Luckily, my parents had joined us for what was supposed to be an hour of errands and happen to have an account at the bank. Dad pulled out his ID and bank card. Sonya studied it and head bobbed in response. Sheepish smile and more head bobbing “Sir, I can only issue you a bank card if you have your check book.” My mother has a bag of tricks in which she carries the contents of my parents’ house on her shoulders. She rummaged through and produced the appropriate checkbook. More vigorous headbobbing. We waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Finally, Sandeep asked if this would take much longer. Head bobbing, smiling. Sandeep asked again, stating we would be happy to step out for some lunch if it would. “Yes sir, maybe another half an hour.”

We were already half way through the day, so refueled next door at a South Indian restaurant whose efficiency was a stark contrast to our’s thus far. No sooner had we ordered than waiters came out with our thalis – pre-set meals of side dishes surrounding a central mound of rice. As the dishes ran low, waiters spooned in refills.

Sonya had disappeared when we returned to the bank, so we explained the situation to another teller. He was the only one who didn’t head bob back at us that day. He just stared blankly. Some discussion, some headbobbing amongst his colleagues and he came back with the check. It was stapled to several other checks, and he meticulously unstappled it, examined it, turned it around and restapled it back to the stack neatly facing the other direction. Sandeep asked if he could have the check please. Another blank look. Sandeep pointed at the check and then at himself. Head bobbing, unstapling, check handed over. Another task finally accomplished, but by this time it was nearing evening and we had a baptism to attend. We made what we thought would be a quick stop for passport pictures.

If you ever want to know what it’s like to be an Indian model, pay a visit to Bhaven’s Photo Shop in Kottayam and ask for a passport picture. It will only cost $4 and you’ll be treated to a choice of background – Bambi, the Parthenon, Niagara Falls, or plain white. Regardless of background, you’re in for 10 minutes of blinding lights, headbobbing art direction, (“head up”, “smile”, “less teeth”, “more hair”, etc) and plenty of encouragement encouragement “gooood”, “yes”, “nice”, I was almost expecting him to headbob “work it baby.”

After our photo shoot, we were told that the pictures wouldn’t be ready for at least a half hour. By this time, we had run out of time and had to get Kayan ready for his baptism. With no pictures in hand, we asked Sandeep’s parents’ helper to pick up them up later that evening.

This morning the helper announced “there was a road block yesterday so I didn’t get the pictures.” After what we had been through, I wasn’t sure if he was speaking figuratively or literally. Being New Year’s Day and a Sunday, every single establishment in Kottayam is shut down and we had no hope of retrieving our pictures or taking new ones. All two hundred thousand residents must be sleeping off their 2011 hangovers – Kerala does have the highest liquor consumption per capita of any state in India after all.

My mother is off tomorrow morning with our passports, forms, banker’s check and itinerary, but no pictures. Therefore, our task tomorrow is to procure the pictures from Bhaven’s and figure out how to send them overnight to New Delhi.

We have no margin of error at this point, so fingers are crossed that our last segment of this errand doesn’t spill into day four.

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December 31, 2011 · 1:40 pm

A New Year’s Baptism in Kerala

We decided to baptize Kayan in Kerala, where Christianity goes back to the earliest periods of its history. It is accepted fact here that St. Thomas, on of the twelve disciples, landed in Kerala in 52 A.D., much before Christianity had made its way to Europe. It seemed fitting to celebrate the occasion here, where Sandeep’s family is from and where his parents  have retired. Kayan, however, had other ideas for today, all of which involved tantrums of some fashion. At some point, I heard Sandeep muttering that he hoped the baptism water would cleanse Kayan of his temper, to which my father muttered that it was a baptism, not an exorcism.

After a forced nap and warm bath, neither of which did much to calm him, we managed to wrestle Kayan into the chosen baptism outfit. The only way I was able to avoid getting kicked while changing him was to point out that Ava, who is his idol, had a matching dress.

Once at the church, Kayan continued violently fighting back against his religious induction. On an occasion where parents are meant to step aside and godparents play center stage, Kayan refused to let me go. He returned the priest’s sign of the cross with a dirty look and smacked the bible out of his hands. When Kayan noticed that everyone had their hands clasped together in prayer, he loudly announced Ommmmmm. At least our New York City baby yoga classes registered somewhere.

Once in the pool of water, Kayan’s temper cooled enough to allow his godfather, Sandeep’s brother, to hold him. Maybe the water really did cleanse more than just his sins.

His pleasant mood continued when, after the baptism, we allowed the kids to dismantle a left over wedding bouquet.

At the after party, we also celebrated Sandeep’s dad’s 60th birthday, which is a big deal in Kerala. The cake ensured a happy temper until the end of the evening.

Today, as we celebrate the end of 2011 and the start of a new year, Kayan celebrated a new beginning that hopefully includes a cooler temper.

All our best for 2012. May your year include happy journeys with those you love.

 

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December 30, 2011 · 9:15 am

Ladies Only, No Gents Please

Apologies for the short hiatus in posts. India has been a whirlwind of family oriented travel and unreliable internet. I can’t understand how the country supplies the world’s IT brains, but can’t seem to network the motherland. Anyway, it’s good to be back online and reunited. Here’s a recent Luke story.

We were on our way from my parents in Goa to Sandeep’s parents in Cochin, with a layover in Bangalore. In Goa, once our bags were checked, we proceeded to the security line – the four of us, as usual, moving in an efficient pod of kids, carry-ons and our faithful stroller. By now we have the airport drill down to a well practiced march. After ten flights in eight weeks, even the kids know their parts.

When a uniformed policeman ushered Sandeep and Kayan to one side and Ava and I to another, we were thrown off order. Kayan went into a state of panic at being separated from Ava. “Where is Dada going?” yelled Ava, as she made a run towards Sandeep, “Dada! Dada!”

It took me second to realize that we weren’t being detained, but separated by gender. “They’re putting the women on one side and the men on another,” I explained to my tear streaked daughter.

“But waaaiiiiii?”

As I understand it, based on my time in India, there are Ladies and Gents lines and sections for two main reasons. The first is conservatism. India is still a conservative society, and giving women their own space without being forced to mingle with strange men is appropriate. Second, being a society with zero concepts of personal space or boundaries, giving women their own space reduces improper interactions.

For a family traveling within India, this poses a few challenges. Here’s where to expect gender segregation.

  • Lines at any government run facility, including train stations, airports, and monuments. Where security is not involved, women can choose to be in the general line. If a woman so chooses, she should be prepared for plenty of staring and close contact. The upside for a woman, however, is that Ladies lines tend to be much shorter.
  • Certain public transportation, such as the bus we took in Goa, offers Ladies Only sections.
  • Restaurants in South India offer a Family Section at the back. It may as well say Ladies This Way Please. The front of the restaurant is usually a bar area where men mingle, drink and eat, while the back is where it is appropriate for (it is assumed) non-alcohol drinking ladies and children to hang out.

When we arrived in Bangalore, we realized that we had a limited number of diapers in our carry-on. In an effort to conserve, we let Kayan stay in bit of dampness as we passed time over cups of coffee and juice. Ava was on my lap and Kayan on Sandeep’s while we people watched the happy greetings and weepy goodbyes at the airport entrance. As we stood up to board our Bangalore-Cochin flight, we realized that a little more than dampness had made its way out of Kayan’s pants and onto Sandeep’s.

A speedy check in through security (this time we knew to separate ourselves by Ladies and Gents), we made a dash for the Baby Care room. I had taken Ava there when we were in Bangalore two years ago. The facility is maintained by Himalaya is the most well equipped family room we’ve seen – clean cribs, changing tables, baby soap, oil and lotion are all available for passenger use.

As the four of us jostled the door knob, a guard appointed to care for Baby Care stopped Sandeep with a polite “No gents allowed.”

India is seeing a rise in dual income families as it races along the highway of development, yet the assumption still exists (in Bangalore – the model for the modern Indian city) that women take full responsibility over child rearing. Even in an age when baby accidents happen on gents just as much as they do on ladies.

As we’ve said before, this trip is a chance for us to get out of our comfort zones, no matter if it’s in the country of our origin or it means reversing on the road of social progress.

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December 26, 2011 · 2:33 pm

Interval Training in Goa

We set out this morning on a one hour run. We ended up doing a combination of walking, jogging, running, ferry riding, coffee breaking, and bus riding.

Goans have a reputation for being lazy. Our family lives on an island in Goa, so some say we are even lazier. I prefer to call it laid back. In an effort to prove this reputation wrong, I joined Sandeep for a run this morning. I even convinced my cousin, Zarine, to come, while my other cousin, Keri, was on kid duty.

We walked the first stretch due to Sandeep’s fear of dogs. Many dogs, even if they belong to a home, run free on the island. What with all the laziness and all, there aren’t that many people running so the dogs see runners as somewhat of a novelty meant to be chased. Our first animal sighting, however, were the chickens taking their morning stroll.

Followed by what Sandeep was convinced were feral dogs.

Followed by a goats grazing in the grasses and cows roaming in the paddy fields. When we reached the stretch of open road between the village houses and the river, we began to jog. We rationalized that there would be no dogs given there was no property to protect. Two minutes after convincing ourselves, we heard a growl and some clicking behind us, so our jog turned into a full on run until we reached the end of the road – the Mandovi River.

With no desire to turn back towards the growling, we hopped onto the incoming ferry, heading across the river to Old Goa. Sandeep looked back to make sure the dogs hadn’t decided on a similar excursion.

Old Goa is dotted with 400+ year old churches, and in the early morning serenity, we couldn’t resist strolling by.

And what better way to enjoy a morning stroll than with a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

Refueled, we took the ferry back to Divar island, in time to see the morning commuters.

Back at the scene of the growling, the local ferry shuttle bus through the island was a welcome alternative to running home. We didn’t know the exact fare, but the collector let three of us ride for 10 rupees (20 U.S. cents). When we saw men seated in rows marked ladies only, we figured some rules no longer apply, even on an island where time seems to have stopped.

Although I do hope the no spitting rule is still followed.

Back home, with no sweat to show for our journey, we enjoyed our second cups of coffee. Looking back on it, we only ran 15 minutes. I refuse to call it laziness, though. It’s interval training.

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December 25, 2011 · 1:25 pm

We Found Our Christmas Spirit

What is the Christmas spirit? When we were in Thailand we thought we missed it because there wasn’t snow, carols or Christmas trees. In Malaysia, the consumerism over Christmas was almost off-putting.

Landing in tropical Goa hardly screamed Christmas.

But we are in the heart of Catholic India. Goa was a Portuguese colony for about 450 years until 1961, and it has a very strong Catholic influence.

For those that observe, each of us honors Christmas in our own ways. For some it’s observing traditions, for others it’s decorations, food, families and gifts. Christmas includes all of this for our family, but this year provided us with a ways to observe the holiday.

Tropical Christmas decorations are everywhere in Goa, and make up for lack of snow and mittens. Most houses are decked in holiday attire, with traditional Goan paper lanterns and stars.

Every village in Goa has it’s own church, some of which are several hundred years old. We attended Christmas mass in Konkani, the local language, at my ancestral church, built in 1590. My grandfather had the Portuguese last name Menezes, but changed my father’s name to Malarkar, meaning from the village of Malar. Here you can see the original church plaque for our village, Malar.

My religious observance was particularly moving as I reflected on the fact that several generations of my family had been born, married and laid to rest at this church.

For some, Christmas is centered around gifts.  The greatest gift we got was seeing Ava and Kayan with their great-grandmothers for the first time.

Christmas usually isn’t complete without food. For us, nothing is complete without food.

And in homage to our Portuguese heritage, Christmas this year was also about port.

Most of all, Christmas was about family – the generations that have passed and the ones that will carry on their own Christmas spirit for generations to come.

From beachy Goa, we wish you a Merry Christmas and hope that you found your own special mix of Christmas spirit.

 

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