A Visit with Old Friends

We had our first States-side visitors come through about a week ago, and all of us – Michael, Taylor, Matthew and I – had a chance to see some new parts of India and catch up on the past three months. Old friends from Philly, Michael and Taylor arrived in Mumbai and headed south to Turtle Bay, a quaint little beach resort on the eastern coast. After a few days of sleeping off their jet lag, playing cricket with villagers, and eating their first tastes of Indian food, they headed our way. When Matt and I picked them up in Madikeri, they had just come from a local bar, where Taylor drew some stares, I’m sure, over her glass of Kingfisher. This was very Philadelphia of them, and it warmed my heart. I still haven’t worked up the gumption to sit and drink in one of those Madikeri dives.

After excited hugs and a true feeling of displacement (Michael and Taylor in INDIA?!!), we jumped in our friend Charlie’s auto, four-to-a-rickshaw, and climbed up the hill to the Retreat. Up in the rainforest we spent a few quiet days hiking, dining around campfires, and catching up. We even put them to work a bit:  Michael helped Matt out with the new Rainforest Retreat website, and Taylor enthusiastically helped harvest the latest crop of green tea.

Soon enough, we decided to split from Mojo Plantation, and head to Mysore. After checking in at the brand new Hotel Ritz, we set about exploring. First there was the Mysore Palace, home of generations of Mysore maharajas, and embodying the inclusive spirit of India: Islamic spires coupled with Hindu temple architecture and topped off with a Catholic-inspired dome. Belgian and British floor tiles cozied up against solid silver doors, and dozens of optical illusion maharaja portraits rubbed shoulders with hand-carved stone elephants complete with moving parts. When I asked how the Palace was built, in other words, who paid for such opulence, our guide replied that they found a gold mine not far from Mysore that paid for the entire thing.

Next we set out for St. Philomena’s church, where I bought a few unexpected Christmas ornaments from the adjoining liturgical store. After that, we were off and walking through the streets of Mysore, for essential oil extracts and sandalwood, musical instruments and saris.

Our greatest find of the trip was undoubtedly the bright and bustling Dasara Fair that we happened upon later that evening. Now, Dasara is the biggest annual festival in south India. Schools close down, temples go nuts creating outlandish electric floats depicting religious stories, and Indians of all faiths pour out of their homes in the dead of night to dance in the streets on this Hindu holiday. But Dasara happened nearly three months ago, in the very first month of our culture shock. So it seemed a little odd that the Dasara Fair would still be in full operation as we approached the end of the year. Undaunted by this calendrical fact, Mysoreans of all ages and occupations flocked to the belated festival on this balmy Friday night, like any American schoolboy to the county fair. And like a county fair it was. Dozens of shops lined the entranceway to the store, and we immediately stocked up on gifts for Christmas and beyond. We were the only foreigners in the fairgrounds, and happily gobbled up the Indian prices on pashmina scarves and elephant print bed sheets before the vendors could figure out that we expected them to quote a much higher price. After that we explored the food court, with its giant pooris and unknown curry dishes. There was even a temporary Cafe Coffee Day set up inside, the Indian equivalent of Starbucks, stocked with microwaveable chicken rolls and thick slices of death-by-chocolate cake. We couldn’t resist.

We moved on to the agricultural exhibits and educational booths, which included odd collections of taxidermy and tourism. At one, we witnessed the month-by-month progression of bovine fetal development through square portals of preservatives and glass. At the same booth, we also got to see the objects most commonly found inside an Indian city cow’s stomach (loads of unidentified metal objects, to say the least), and we had the opportunity to purchase a live emu egg for just 1500 rupees (about $30). We considered bringing it home as a gift for the farm, but instead carried on through the truly gigantic fairgrounds.

For some time we had been eyeing a gigantic tiger head built up at the back of the fairgrounds. Now we walked toward it, until we stood under its gaping mouth. After paying a 25 rupee entrance fee (the fair itself cost us just 10 rupees, so that’s saying something), we walked through the tiger’s mouth and found a mountain to scale. But first, we had to deposit our shoes, which meant something holy was coming.

Here is what we found along the mountain:

First, we waded through a Himalayan river. I assume this was a cleansing ritual before our ascent up the sacred peak.

This is how I knew we were supposed to be in the Himalayas. We must be somewhere in or near Kashmir for turbaned Indian army officials to be planted at strategic points to guard pilgrims.

One of several small shrines along the way. This one, Matt felt particularly drawn to.

After the final ascent, we walked through another holy river, and then on through a dark cave.

I had known this was coming ever since we had deposited our shoes a whole plastic mountain ago. But Taylor didn’t, and she entered the shrine laughing. We were all caught a little off guard after the hilarity of the climb. Perhaps even more exciting than the 25 rupee “ride” we had just completed was the view we got on the other side.

Although we did much more in Mysore that night and the next day, the Dasara Fair wowed us with its peculiar mix of the agricultural, the scientific, and the religious, with both its joy and solemnity. We wandered wide-eyed in this serious and silly microcosm of India for several hours, through the “Scery House” and past the Om Shakti bouncy slide. When we finally left the fairgrounds, we had been over-stimulated and impressed, and we found ourselves exhausted by the fun and the reflections it provoked.

The next day we continued to explore, rising early to beat the crowds at Chamundi Hill, and spending the early afternoon seeing tigers, elephants, and apes at the Mysore Zoo. While we found some interesting things during our explorations of the city, it was the company that made it really special. After spending three quiet months very far away from old friends and family, Michael and Taylor rejuvenated me, reminding me that life goes on at home, and when we return States-side, our old community will be there waiting for us.

After one final lavish lunch, the four of us jumped into a rickshaw and directed the driver to the Mysore bus stand. Matt and I pushed our way through the madness of the city bus stand and delivered Michael and Taylor to a deluxe Volvo bus headed straight to Bangalore. From there they would head on to Nepal to visit some other old friends, where I was sure they would work some similar magic refreshing and rejuvenating in a far off land. Amidst hugs and hurried goodbyes, we promised to see them in six months back in Philly. “I can’t wait to see you there!” I shouted, and they were gone.