Indian Logic

'First Looking - Then Reading'

Newspapers on a daily basis report - axing, poisonings, road mishaps, suicides. After which falling chimney lamps, electrocution, head-slapping and wild rabid dogs, stolen legs and old ladies holding up banks to feed the poor and starving are a part of life.

My parachute lands in Grant Road, Pilahouse Naka, Bombay. Slums spill out onto the streets,  families live under shelters made of plastic bags and wood.  50,000 people share 2 taps for water.  Wild gypsies gallop through traffic bareback on horses. People hang pictures on the walls of the streets to make it seem more like home. The poverty here is in startling contrast to the wealth of other Indians on a massive scale.There are so many people. Everywhere.

Goa seems to be an India where most Indians don't live. Israelis cruise the lanes on old Enfield bikes.  Charra-heads live out the season. Gorgeous beaches. Some busy some more remote.  Acommodation 40p a night if you don't mind sleeping on the roof. At the southernmost tip of India, Kanyukamari really is a beautiful place.

After a long, winding, slow climb uphill on a bus with no doors or windows - I completely lost time to the stillness of the mountains.  Mist rolling in.  Chai runs and chillums, on the alert for incoming monkeys, waterfalls and open fires. Indian flowers, the most intricately tiny and beautifully coloured I've seen.

and over to east coast Chennai - communities of tsunami survivors live in makeshift shanties on the beaches, pulling nets from the sea, drying fish, living in rubbish.

India's an assault on every sense and emotion you could imagine you have. Off the beaten track, cows wander through your field of vision, wild boars, waterbuffalos, any animal you name it.  The light is amazing, people so funny and everytime you think you're in over your head - she pulls out and ace and puts the tablas on summertime.

Living with the complete uncertainty of knowing where I'd be from one day to the next, unable to plan anything, information? what's that.  Then, when you do find a bus which might be going somewhere you want to go, there's only a chance it will.. and then you might find a seat and if you do, you'll have conversations forced onto you and disfigurements of rotting flesh shoved in your face before you've even had a chance to buy every hungry person in the bus station a lentil bake for breakfast.

I've been woken several times by the sounds of men puking and hockling. Local people fall ill here too. While Indian people take great pride in personal cleanliness - the streets are used for spitting,  rubbish and  all manner of other daily convultions - which means they stink. The rivers in most cities are like open sewers. I'm surprised anyone here makes it past infancy.

I'm painting a grim picture but there's grace and humour, strength and beauty here too..

Travellers in this part of the world are in a category of their own as they make their way barefoot, on quests of enlightenment to their hotmail accounts. I find the Ayurvedics particularly strange with their clear sparkling eyes, discussing the cleansing of parasites from their lymph-nodes over their early morning avocados.

Temple elephants. Kailash  de Raya.
Indian stretchable time.
Contradictions and surprises
A lot like Life.

Antique Gypsy

After acclimatising more to the culture than the altitude in La Paz I  head up the hills - where indian Aymara women sit on roadsides, selling piles of whatever they have from blankets for pennies. In strange contrast to downtown with cinemas and swanky restaurants and everyone parading around in European dress. I wonder just how all the stuff they sell in the markets gets here? Labyrinths of shoes, jeans, casual wear... which no-one is buying and no-one appears to have money for.
I think I went too far off the beaten track as I not so much bumped into, as saw a man coming with tattoos up both arms, cut off tshirt, dark from the sun,  crusted blood on his face. He said 'do you speak english. I dont want any money. I just got out of the prison Im a bit stressed.. yeah Im in  the book you can read all about it'. Said he was from Washington heights,  they took him to the gates and said go.. he wanted to call his mother to wire him some dollars. I told him I hadn't called  my
mother for around two months so why would I pay for him to call his - and I was here to move away from trouble in my life so I'd rather not be around him any longer than necessary. My problem not his. So anyway we went to the phone place, he couldnt get through. I said I didn't trust him why didn't he just ask for the money.. he said what could he do to prove  it to me. I said nothing because I didn't trust him. But gave him the money for a call anyway and left...

Then bumped into him 20 minutes later.. shouting 'hey miss. I got through. She was in the bathroom She's wiring me 30 dollars'. He asked my name, said his was Mike, gave me a one armed fist salute 'thanks for that' and was gone. So it turns out there's a book called Marching powder about San Pedro prison and he's one of the characters.. . I think hes also scamming tourists with his story which is probably true.

 Bolivia seems to to me, a rich country held in poverty.. The  people are beautiful and highly skilled in traditional crafts. I went down an active mine in Potosi. Health and safety wouldnt let you go 2 miles near it in the UK but 8000 people, all men some as young as 12 are down there working manually every day in terrible conditions while tourists crawl around the tunnels giving them gifts of dynamite and coca leaves. As we arrived at the mine, a body was being pulled out. There was a funeral the next day.

 The US, backed by the UN who I have rapidly lost faith in,  have been trying to erradicate the growth of Coca which is the national crop of the Andes and a staple of local trade. Coca leaves are not the problem. Western chamicals mixed with them to make the dugs are. and a massive illegal industry . To date the only 'legal' growth of coca is for import to the US for Coca Cola - subsidiaries of which are used in anaesthetics for surgery the world over! Bolivians do not profit from this and are  held in cultural suspension by restrictions. It is still easy to find mate coca tea and chew leaves which make your tongue numb, your teeth green and your lips black. Also all the gold and silver was stolen by the conquistadors and is in  Europe.. The levels of poverty I saw here have been the most startling in South America mostly because they are the ongoing result of actions by richer nations.

I catch glimpses of news. Wimbledon. The G8.. the Olympics. .. and then the  bombings.. suicide and major disruption.

Meanwhile I spent 4 days crossing the most gruelling landscape I have ever encountered, the Altiplana - between Bolivia and Chile. My feet were so cold I couldn't speak because of the pain. I swear I will never complain about the cold again. minus 4..  minus 5. minus 15. We were up at 6, left at 7, stuck in the middle of a salt flat at ten past seven. Our driver decided to go straight across the middle of a lake in a car which wasn't a 4x4 although it had 4x4 stickers on the windows...  the winch was broken, he didn't have any tools so his wife the cook began digging out the wheels with her saucepan and his son who was with us because Franco was too fat to get on the roof of his own car without falling off was sent to the nearest village for help. He disappeared gradually from sight  and came back an hour and a half later with a boy who looked like Mogli from the jungle book on a bike with a spade..
Two cars eventually ventured from the safe road onto the ice. we were then surrounded by Quebecan girls doing a glove dance. Their drivers jacked the car with planks and wood and stones and another 2 hours later, we were on our way. The scenery was stunning. amazing. The changing colours of lakes  and mountains from blues to greens to reds, flamingos standing on one leg and sulphur, stinks.

To the desert town of San Pedro de Atacama. With its unpaved streets, adobe houses and clear blue skies. Surrounded by volcanos, hot during the day, cold cold at night. An oasis in the desert.  The restaurants and bars with blazing fires in their courtyards, open to the skies. Tipped by dreadlocks, I stayed in a place they were so laid back they weren't interested in taking money.. They leant us sandboards and bikes and were more like mates than hostel owners. I was so sad to leave. I love the desert.

 And now in Peru.. with Mexico beckoning. A man on the bus said I looked like a Gitano (gypsy)..  people keep commenting on my an antique poncho. It came from a Tarabucan Indian in Bolivia. Its warm.

 Just wanted to say Im alive. I'll have to walk about  and  use my feet again before they  freeze.

High Altitude

What am I doing here!!  I arrive in a plane circling tin shack rooftops above a desert town from the bible. I'm in La Paz and it's winter. It's cold when the sun goes down and central heating doesn't appear to have been invented yet..  I've had to buy clothes, a coat, a hat. I haven't been able to go anywhere or do much while I acclimatise.. drinking water and mate tea and sitting with my feet up. Which is quite a difficult thing to do for two days.. I don't know if you've had the opportunity to try.

.. I was an extra on Mexican TV last week skiing in the Andes in 80s rented skiwear and a woolly hat  which had gone baggy from the snow.  Rastafari. Froze my face off .
I could actually do with a balaclava for sleeping. It's been so cold.
On a mission to ride Region V Ritoque Dunes farside Valparaiso 'only the British go to the beach in winter'. After the initial shock of finding I had to hold the reins with one hand and on no account rise to canter or gallop but sit back in the saddle and shout like a cowboy. I had a great time. and because it's winter and no-one else is interested in being outdoors, we had the forest,  the river,  the dunes, and laguna all to ourselves. I saw three otters swimming, ducks & gulls. Then we galloped along an empty beach in beautiful mist. Low visibility . Crazy fun.

The main threat in Chile is the risk of an earthquake.. & there was a mild one in the north.. Fully prepared to stand under the doorframe of the house, and on no account run out into the street screaming, the door rattled violently as if someone was trying to come in. Everything juddered shook then, it stopped.
  

Wondering what -backpackers- do all day..   I asked a few and they asked me if I wasn't one.. sometimes I wish I had a suitcase on wheels.. but I do have a rucksack which seems to qualify me to -look about - have breakfast - go sightseeing which I'm not crazy about, it tires me out and depresses me. Especially as most of the notable buildings seem to have been constructed for the glory of the few by the back pain and death of the many..  I don't mind museums and art galleries.  So mostly I just look about. And read and draw. and search for food that won't poison me.. and make 2 day friendships and move on, which is the real beauty of it all. I'm much better at saying 'goodbye'.
 

I've been out for a couple of gentle walks and do find it strange the ladies all wear shawls and bowler hats.. which were dumped on the Bolivian market years ago.. and caught on. It's an odd site. I wonder if I should wear one to fit in.  It seems there's a higher risk of being robbed and ripped off here - as soon as they hear your accent double the price. Maybe a bowler hat would help. But then, I always seem to lose money on my first day anywhere so maybe not. The main threat here seems to be the risk of a demonstration being broken up with tear gas. But so far everything seems calm.. The people are colorful.. and playful.. more so than Chile which I found steady and safe with no good skateparks for the youth. They love young people in Argentina.. and in Brazil you can party all night at full volume and the neighbours like it! In Chile they indulge their young with material goods but the children don't look like they're having much fun.

The sun is shining and this computer  is strange as you have to stand up to use it. Guess that stops me staying on for too long.. The server connection keeps going down, so I'll post while I can.  Before my feet do the deep freeze.  Must remember to keep breathing.!

Title: Out of Time Description: Seek alternatives, resolve old problems. Leaving La Paz

Rio

Rio is gorgeous.
Long sandy beaches, hazy blue skies. Copacabana has seen better days - the waves crash onto the shore - still compelling. Ipanema is the place to be seen with your face corrected by surgery in swimming trunks walking your dog. It was named by the Indians and means dangerous water because of the undertow. Im staying away from all that pazazz in a 100 year old house on the side of a hill not far from a shanty town. You' re never far from one in a city of 6  million with 1 million people in favelas.  We heard machine guns and rifle shots not far from the house. The city is full of contradictions.  Street kids backflip in traffic for loose change while the rich roll by with their car windows up- air-con on. Man-made and nature vie for space along the tropical coastline. The big
Jesus the great equaliser looks down over us all.
We misjudge the weather and arrive on Corcovado in an envelope of cloud. Zero visibility. Is this being blind?  Blank Bright White Light. We saw his feet. No view. and an eerie silence high up above  everything.. then a break in the clouds and everyone snapping pictures. Strangest thing, there are escalators up there.. on top of the mountain..

I'm taking quite nicely to not working .. like a duck to water. Hanging around doing nothing much seems to come quite naturally to me. My worst mistake was going to the hairdressers where I let a man called WELLY who clearly couldn't understand a word I was saying loose with a pair of scissors on my head.  I'm embarassed to say I cried like a baby on the way home.
The roads here are mad. Eveyone is competing in the Grand prix. No one stops at red lights, taxis dont slow down and there's a lot of lane switching.  I'm seeing traffic from a Fusca - a South American Beatle - which in my eyes is - travelling in style.

I bought a football shirt. Fluminense were playing. I was caught up supporting the local team and chanting like a hooligan in the street. They take it all very seriously here and have ID cards and DVLCs stamped like true Geordies.  It's a part of their identity. I have it on good knowledge,  Brazilians are more skilled because they play with smaller balls in schools but still cry like people with Ipanema mullets if anyone tries to  tackle them.

No one ever seems to sit down here. They're either  doing pressups backflips pull ups or some other kind of activity on traffic islands, in parks, beside the sea.

I just returned from a weekend in Sao Paolo. One daunting place. The size of London but all
high rise. Glad I was with people who knew where they were going. To a house belonging to one Carcaraca which means nutcase and his freind Cabeza which means Headcase. What a laugh. Even without translation they were high in entertainment value. Best night out in Rio so far was in
LAPA which is like nowhere I have ever been. A non stop party of soundspeakers spilling out on the streets. Gave me an idea of how crazy the carnival must be. .  La Festa.
Heading to Iguacu - major waterfall
just in time for the rainy season

Hope all goes well in
your lives there.
From here.