India – Page 3 – From Pyrenees to Pennines

Indian Friday: Bangalore to The Rainforest Retreat

I rather enjoyed re-visiting India via my blog last week. So I went and dug out the diary I faithfully kept. The events it describes have never yet seen the light of day. For the first ten days I was with the group of people my ex-brother-in-law had put together, to explore aspects of rural Indian life, focussing on small producers working in traditional and organic ways. We had no internet access during that period.

I’ve decided to share my diary with you. This may take a few Fridays. Bear with me. I suppose I’m pleased that I kept such a detailed record of a piece of personal history, and of a country I’d never visited. I wonder how dated this account would seem to the current traveller?

Bangalore to The Rainforest Retreat

Saturday 10th November 2007

Here I am, sitting outside our bungalow at The Rainforest Retreat. It’s 6.40 p.m., pitch dark: and about half an hour ago, the chorus began. I just lay down outside and listened. All those forest sounds – I don’t know what they are, but it’s like some complex symphony. Suddenly, one group of creatures will become silent, and others will chip in with their own song. Many multiple groups of course, who suddenly go diminuendo, only to be succeeded by a group of quite different creatures, or an individual bird, or whatever …

It’s been quite a day. For my part, I hiked all the way to Simon’s hotel, and it WAS a hike, where we shared breakfast. His hotel was so not-me. Lots of flamboyantly dressed flunkeys and a big help-yourself buffet, but no nice people making piles of idli, just for me.

Then into the mini-bus. Bangalore seemed to go on for ages, and even when I had definitively stopped, roadside settlements and shops went on and on. Village shops are a mystery to me. Even very small settlements have coffee shops, ‘bakery’ shops and a whole raft of others too. The landscape became more rural though. Palms; sugar cane; more and more working bullocks, yoked often; goats; sheep; cows …

Lunch outside Mysore, rather early – a large vegetable thali and a glorious salt lassi.

After lunch, the climb began and the roads deteriorated, and Indian driving came into its own – overtake on a bend? Why not? Honk and honk till the car in front gives way? Certainly. It won’t give way actually, so you will pass it on the other side instead. Oddly, we came to think of this as fairly safe. For all their bluster, the drivers are careful.

Pepper plantations, coffee plantations, rice in the early stages of growth. And still the villages came, some with very large markets which only prolonged hiking got us through. Tropical rainforest scenery … and finally we arrived.

Here we are in the middle of the forest. Our bungalows – I have one with C and M – are set amongst it all, as are their crops: small crops of beans etc. and others such as vanilla set among the forest trees. I went for a wander by myself, listening to the exotic forest sounds. Communal supper outside – all meals are taken in a shelter outside our bungalow. And so to bed. By the way, I forgot, Unpacking, I moved my rucksack, and a noisy clockwork toy sprang out. Only it wasn’t. It was an angry and upset hawkmoth, and it chattered angrily all the time we were evicting it.

My next days’s account is of exploring the estate and surrounding neighbourhood, so I’ll let my photos do the talking.

Just two extracts from my diary for that day …

We enjoyed munching fresh cardamoms, the ‘cherry’ round the coffee beans (sweet and refreshing – civet cats like them too), clove leaves, as well as looking at pepper(spice kind) plants, vanilla, pineapple plants, and all the organic produce they’re responsible for.

Sights on our afternoon walk: a massive millipede; a land crab; an aeriel ant’s nest; a palm whose juice in the morning is given to young children. By noon it’s like beer, and by evening it’ll do your head in it’s so potent.

Here is a link to the Rainforest Retreat. It’s clearly under different ownership now, and much more developed than in the early days when we visited. Though from this year they no longer cater for short term visitors. But it retains its interest in sustainability, biodiversity and organic practices.

How Life Changed … a Few Years Ago

I retired in 2007. Almost immediately, two life-changing events took place. First we moved lock, stock and barrel to southern France, and then only a couple of months after that, I went to India – by myself- apart from just over a week at the beginning when I was eased in by travelling in a small group tour of the more rural parts of Karnataka and Kerala. I even bought my first decent-ish camera for the trip.

Both those events meant I wanted to keep in touch with family and friends back in England, and frequent letters or emails to each one of them wasn’t feasible. The answer? A blog. I barely knew what a blog was, and was fairly technically inept. So I chose a platform that looked as if it might meet my needs: Travel Blog. And that’s where I stayed for our early days in France and my Great Indian Adventure. I’ve just looked at it now, for perhaps the first time in ten years, and discovered French posts I’d quite forgotten about. Eventually I moved, first to Blogger, which I didn’t like, and then to WordPress. For all I moan about its technical glitches, it’s here I’ve formed real bonds with bloggers all over the world (you know who you are!), and made more casual links with dozens more. Blogging has proved to be the positive face of screen-time for me, and the only bit of Social Media I engage with.

But hey! This is supposed to be a Lens-Artists Challenge post, delivered this week by Anne – photos obligatory. So here is part of my first blog post from India, typed on an ancient computer with not-always-effective keys in an internet cafe (remember those?) on 9th November 2007. I didn’t manage to post photos that day. So now I’ll include within my post the ones that should have formed part of it. I was even more of a newbie with a camera in those days.

The 36 Hour Day: 9th November 2007 …

…with no photos attached. Bangalore may be IT Central if you’re in the know, and I’m not. These are not good Internet centres I’m finding!

Still, life is very good. I arrived at 4.30 yesterday morning, just as you lot in the UK were tucking yourselves up. And that’s how I lost a night’s sleep. Way too excited to sleep all day. Bangalore for me vacillates between being stimulating beyond belief, and, er, overstimulating.

I loved arriving early. The dawn was breaking, and dawn chorus Bangalore style was a series of exultant yelps and squawks from various unidentified birds of the large variety. My hotel, luckily, is in a quiet corner, and I can tell you there aren’t many of those here. From early till late, all you can hear is the irritated honking of horns as auto-rickshaws, motorbikes, laden bicycles, flash cars, very unflash buses, occasional random cows, all jostle for the same space (today, in an auto rickshaw, I counted 6 vehicles, ours was one of them, lined up across the lanes designed for 2. I’ve learned to jay walk with the best of them. There is no alternative. Really, there isn’t. Despite the warning posters saying how many people have died in the last year on the roads, and the slightly lower number of fatalities. Eh?

I’m converted to Indian breakfasts. Up on the roof terrace of my hotel, I enjoyed their crispy rice pancakes which, because they’re cooked in a curved pan, puddle into a soft light sponge in the centre. 2 spicy dipping sauces, one based on coconut, the other lentils, and the undivided attention of 3 members of staff…this by the way is only a mid-range hotel, nothing fancy at all.

Eagles fly above Bangalore as I enjoy my breakfast.

Other early impressions: dozens of women beautifully dressed in saris, in the early morning, crouching in the already busy roads, sweeping and sweeping with handle-less brooms.

Cows tethered to lamp posts on busy junctions, eating the weeds round the lamp posts.

Security guards at virtually every building. Not I’m sure because of a crime wave, but because labour is cheap.

Only time to tell you about part of yesterday. When I finally set off with the intention of exploring for the morning, I hadn’t gone too far when I was picked up by an auto rickshaw driver. Well, he could see ‘Arrived from England this morning’ tattooed across my forehead, I’m sure. He offered to show me round for Rs. 10. I didn’t believe it then, and nor did it happen, but I WAS exhausted and it wasn’t an unattractive proposition. It was such fun! He proved an amiable guide, whose English, while obviously hugely better than my Kannada, often led to mutual incomprehension.

My first friend in Bangalore: the rickshaw driver who took me on a tour of the city

Still, he hared round a variety of sites (‘This is my Parliament building. This is my national bird. This is my Rajah’s Palace’, which I found quite endearing). He waited while I ‘did’ Bengalaru Palace, one of the homes of the Rajah Wodeyar. As the Lonely Planet says, you are personally shown round by an aged retainer who is rather keener to show you fly-blown pictures of the royal family than the quirky furniture and fittings. Seedy but fun. And it’s not often you see cows grazing in royal gardens. My new friend gave me his number and urged me to ring him whenever I wanted a rickshaw. I greatly enjoyed this ramshackle mode of transport. He’s had his rick 15 years, and I see no reason why he won’t have it 15 more.

Let’s see if I can include a photo or two next time. You may have to wait for ‘My Holiday Snaps’ when I come back.

Street scenes from my first day.

Caution! People at Work

People photos. That’s Tina’s Lens-Artist Challenge #292. This is difficult. I’m only just learning to be less shy about making snapshots of innocent strangers, with or without their permission. One way or another though, people at work is an easier ask, so I’m off to see who we can find doing just that.

We’ll start at the second biggest fish market in the world: Jagalchi Fish Market, Busan, South Korea. Here’s someone who’s probably been filleting fish for decades. She could probably do it with her eyes closed.

An experienced ajumma at the fish market

Here are some workers who have a head for heights: Window cleaners in Warsaw; a telephone engineer in Wensleydale; and two workmen doing something useful at a Thames-side structure.

This auto-rickshaw driver isn’t working at the moment. He’s proud to have taken a very green, very-jetlagged-but-too-wired-to-sleep English tourist (me) on an informative two hour whistle-stop tour of Bengalaru, and is cheerfully posing for a photo.

My first friend in Bengalaru: the rickshaw driver who took me on a tour of the city

Here’s a different kind of job. Most Brits have heard of Clare Balding, radio and tv presenter. One of her jobs is presenting a BBC Radio 4 programme, ‘Ramblings’ about the joys of walking. A few years ago, two friends and I had the pleasure and privilege of walking part of the Nidderdale way with her. You can read all about it here. And here Clare is describing the scene before her, as her producer and sound recordist Lucy saves her every word on that muff-on-a-stick while we hover in the background.

Not all work is paid of course. Every year, sheep farmers from all over the north of England and beyond gather for Masham Sheep Fair, to show their sheep off at their very best. Some of the keenest contestants for honours are under ten, the farmers of the future. But the featured photo shows someone who is paid – very little I suspect – for his work: A herdsman in Albania, constantly moving his herd of sheep and a few goats in quest of lush pasture.

Waiting for their sheep to be judged, two young contestants.

But over in India, you could be working with different animals -elephants, perhaps at Dubare Elephant Camp. You might be washing them in the river, or cooking their next meal of jaggery, millet and vegetation.

You might be a waiter. Here are two French ones. Only they’re not really French, or serving at table. They earn a crust as actors – in this case at Ripon’s annual Theatre Festival.

Zey kept ze crowds amused at Ripon Theatre Festival

Or you might be a slave. A willing one. At half term, my grandson was taken on – for half an hour only – to be enslaved to a Viking master who turned out to be extremely personable, and even helped him with some of his tasks, such as wood turning. Well, it was part of York’s annual Jorvik Viking Festival.

Children can be good at working for free – unless you want them to tidy their room. Catch ’em while you can.

It’s a Sign …

This week, for the Lens-Artist Challenge, Johnbo bids us to seek out signs. My header photo was taken several years ago, but seems even more prescient now that it was then.

Let’s stay with the somewhat political, some more serious than others. Do click on each image to see it full size and read the explanatory caption.

Warning notices, some more serious than others. There’s even one from the Lockdown era. Remember that?

And a miscellany to finish off with: a tribute on our local buses after the death of Queen Elizabeth II; a light-hearted invitation to a coffee shop in Liverpool and a less than inviting hotel name in Mahabalipuram, Tamil Nadu, India.

The Night Workers Spied in Pondicherry

The other day, when I posted some of my favourite photos for Tina’s Lens Artists Challenge, I included a view from my room in the quiet French quarter of Pondicherry of builders with their bullock cart full of bricks . Here’s another snapshot from that same room. It would win no prizes in any exhibition, but it’s special to me.

Sleep eluded me in India. One night, I was watching, as I often did, the street cleaners – all of them women – sweeping the streets with the kind of brooms we expect witches to fly around on, exchanging light-hearted chatter. At about two o’clock, they sat themselves in a convivial circle in the middle of the street, produced their snacks, gossiped, laughed and generally gave the appearance of contentment and good cheer.

Doubtless they could never have afforded my simple hotel room: nor could they have dreamt of travelling half way round the world on holiday. Yet they seemed at ease and content. I hope so.

For Debbie’s Six Word Saturday.

Spider alert!

Denzil, in this week’s Nature Photo Challenge, asks us to hunt for spiders and their webs – something that it’s easy to do at this time of year in Britain. Only yesterday, a huge specimen was standing guard over the shoe-rack. But by the time I’d got my camera, he’d vanished. These then, are all archive photos, and unidentified. Helpful suggestions welcomed.

The first one is from India. Perhaps I J Khanewala can help? And the second is also not from England, but from La Rioja in Spain.

The third is from Masham Parish Church, and it’s dead. Is it even a spider?

For the rest, I offer a gallery of webs, mainly taken on misty moisty mornings, or in fog, lending them a mysterious and often ethereal quality.

These were taken in Dumfries and Galloway, in Cairnsmore of Fleet National Nature Reserve. As is the header photo.

The next group come from just down the road, near Sleningford Hall.

And lastly, we return to India, where a tunnel spider has made his complex lure.

A Work in Progress

That’s this post, really. We’ve been away all week, discovering Shropshire with friends who’ve moved there. Getting to know this county and its landscapes, its industrial history, its towns and villages is a work in progress for us. But it’s left me only with time to throw together a quick response to Ann-Christine’s Lens Artists Challenge: Work in Progress.

We’re all Works in Progress – all our lives. But children especially so. Fierce concentration here, and enjoyment too …

Slightly older children can hold their own with adults when it comes to demonstrating proficiency – in this case sheep-handling at Masham Sheep Fair.

Sheep-handlers young and old at Masham Sheep Fair

Over in the city, street art out-numbers sheep. Here are two works in progress: the first in Valencia, Spain, the second near Brick Lane, London.

And finally, two shots from India that I remember well: the house opposite my hotel in Puducherry, whose construction was a work-in-progress from about six, till late… it’s up there as my featured photo … and a metalworker hard at work producing figures inspired by the nearby temple at Kumbakonam in Tamil Nadu.

Messages in the Street

Walk along any street, anywhere, and it won’t be long before you come across a message. Maybe light-hearted, like this one spotted in Liverpool …

… maybe political. You can’t go far in Catalonia, Spain without coming across messages and slogans demanding independence. These shots were all taken in Berga, where the mood of virtually the entire population there was not in doubt.

The next shots were all taken when thousands of us took to the streets, again and again, in 2018 and 2019 voicing our misgivings about the prospect of Brexit. It gives us no satisfaction whatever to see that our fears were entirely justified.

In India, I saw messages that were more like public service announcements ..

And in Edinburgh, in the National Museum of Scotland, this …

Inuksuk, by Peter Irniq, 1998, uses a traditional technique used by the Inuit to convey messages about good fishing grounds etc.

Let’s end though, as we began, with a message, this time in Thessaloniki, simply intended to bring good cheer …

For Donna’s Lens-Artists Challenge #234: Messages

Buses and planes, boats cars and trains …

The best way of travelling hopefully? Let’s see.

A bus can be fun, but that’s strictly for local exploring. Unless you can get yourself to India and hitch a lift in God’s Own Palace … Though you’re much more likely to be catching the long-distance bus whose driving seat I feature here …

Air travel has lost its sheen, since Airport Security and Queuing became a A Thing, not to mention those CO2 emissions of which we’re now so horribly aware. Even so, there is something thrilling about watching the changing landscapes of the earth far below, and cloud formations too.

You could take to the water, and sail to your destination near or far…

Car travel gives you the opportunity to please yourselves and follow your noses, and even to get off the beaten track, but again … all those emissions.

My own favourite way to get from A to a distant B is by train. I sit, I watch the world go by. I read. If I’m lucky, there may be coffee on offer. And the journey eases the transition from home to away by gradually introducing fresh landscapes, fresh outlooks. There’s something discombobulating about leaving – say – foggy England by plane and arriving two hours later – say – in sunny Spain. Here’s the TGV from Barcelona to Paris. It says it all …

Station architecture may be inspired, whether from the Golden Age of Steam, or assertively twenty first century.

All things considered, I can’t agree with the disconsolate boredom of this particular passenger. By the way, you, get your feet off the seat!

Or … there’s always the motorbike … as spotted in their dozens and dozens outside Mysore Station.

All the same, modern travel with all its advantages can seem busy, stressful. Sometimes, we might just want to exchange the traffic jam for something rather simpler.

John has provided this week’s LENS-ARTISTS CHALLENGE #215 – Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, and the places they take you.

Summer Travel: it’s worth it in the end

This is turning into a Sunday Thing. Experimenting with different types of poetry. But with added photos. Always with added photos. This week, as my contribution to Tanka Tuesday‘s task – to write a 4-11 (the clue is in the name: 11 lines of 4 syllables each – last line repeats the first) I thought I’d focus on summer travel.

Summer travel

was always fun.

But now passport

control (Brexit!);

Covid control;

train strikes and queues;

airport queuing –

make journeys long

and so irksome.

Worth it though – for

summer travel

And to prove that travel’s always worth it, here’s my photo gallery. There’s just one problem. Most of these photos were taken in January, in February, in March … you get the idea – any month but August …