April 19-20, Chennai, India. A lot has been written about India, and now it's our turn to see it up close. Our stop in this city, formerly called Madras, was not part of the original itinerary. We were supposed to visit the country of Myanmar (formerly Burma), but that nation has been placed in the Regent Cruise Line's penalty box, ostensibly for bad behavior. Some veteran passengers challenge this move, claiming other cruise lines are still visiting Myanmar, and that it's a more interesting place than Chennai. Perhaps.
Interesting or not, seeing the dirty underside of a country is a good thing. Chennai may not be a pleasant place to visit, but it helps balance our story. It's a city that cruise ships rarely visit. Their port is an aging, unattractive coal transfer facility, so the air is filled with coal dust. After parking here for two days, the ship becomes filthy and must be scrubbed from top to bottom. Not much fun to breathe either. We are told they have a thriving IT community and we do actually see some buildings belonging to big multinational corporations. They also have universities, lots of engineers and a big Bollywood industry here.
Our first interaction with the people of Chennai begins with their elaborate bureaucracy. The Dance of the Rubber Stamp People. Clues to their penchant for paperwork began months ago with the visa process. Unlike any other country, they require a marriage certificate and birth certificate to obtain a one week visa. There is a two page form with lots of questions: did you go to college?; where do you summer?; boxers or briefs?. Once in port, the barrage continues. We must carry our passport AND a copy of our passport. We must complete a customs form declaring important items we will carry ashore - camera, make and model; cell phone, make and model. A clerk scrupulously inspects our customs form before allowing us to offboard. With solemn ritual, he applies the sacred red rubber stamp to our papers. We begin to suspect that the red dot that all Indians wear on their forehead is really a rubber stamp of approval. Officially approved, we enter the fray.
Driving into, through and past the city reveals a seemingly chaotic mix of aging concrete buildings, ramshackle huts with corrugated metal roofs, and clean shiny colonial buildings surrounded by nicely manicured lawns and tall iron fences, occupied by the police. People in the shacks sell every imaginable food or product. There are vast numbers of people everywhere except for the police stations. For the city portion of the two hour bus ride, the place is crowded with an endless parade of people. Some moving, some sitting, women in colorful saris, men in less colorful, mostly non-descript clothes. Some shoes, mostly flip-flops, some barefoot. Many more motorbikes than cars, and many of the cars are the local Tata Motors. Some bicycles, many travel by foot. Some folks look at our bus and wave or smile. Most of the people seem happy or at least wear expressions of contentment. A few soreheads are interspersed among the crowds. For westerners this is part of the mystery of India, as well as other poor places. Why are poor people so happy? What do they know that we don't?
Along these roadsides, with the crowds of people and makeshift shacks, there is lots of garbage. Trash lines the streets, trash fills empty lots, there is trash everywhere. And then there are cows - not your commercially efficient feedlot bovines. India's sacred cows roam freely, eat trash, and mingle with the crowds. The more plentiful goats do the same, though have not achieved sacred status. There are also quite a few dogs and cats. All of them, the animals and people, share a common trait: they are skinny. Sure, occasionally we see a fat cow or a well-fed person, but for the most part India is a nation of skinny mammals.
On our tour we visit a few unremarkable temples in this Hindu nation, where street vendors try to sell us hand-carved trinkets or postcards or scarves. Prices are ridiculously low, and we cannot help but notice that while somewhat assertive, the Indian peddlers are far less aggressive than Chinese peddlers. There is an undeniable niceness to the Indian people. You can't spend one day here without noticing it. Even the annoying, pushy peddlers are, at their core, nice. They just can't hide it.
Beyond the city, we pass a massively wide, very long sandy beach crowded with people on this very hot, humid day. The Indian ocean is the warmest in the world, with water averaging about 82 degrees F. The tsunami in December 2004 hit this particular beach and we are told that it swallowed 10,000 lives. Not too many people wandering the roads once out of the city, so we can see some greenery and hills. In the countryside there is still trash, though less of it.
Our tour finally ends up at a very nice resort, sequestered away from the masses, where we enjoy a delicious Indian meal. We love Indian food, and notice that it tastes better here than back home. Perhaps fresher spices, or just better know-how than elsewhere. The staff are incurably nice. We finish our eight-hour tour, the first of several scheduled in this country. Too early to draw conclusions, though my food-centric brain automatically gives extra points to any country that produces such tasty meals.
We will spend the next several days in Sri Lanka, then return for two more stops in this populous nation.
For photos see Brigit's blog: http://anchorsawaygrandworldcruise.blogspot.com/ (coming soon)
No comments:
Post a Comment