Posted on December 29, 2016 under Thursday Tidbits with 7 comments

" Gobsmacked on the Ganges "

( Photo courtesy of Father Abhishikt Anand )

Oh, the humanity.

Regardless of where you go in India, you cannot escape crowds. It is a fact of life for the 1.2 billion inhabitants of this country… and for visitors. Being a small town boy, the biggest crowd I ever encounter is at the liquor store on Christmas Eve, so travelling in cities or villages, and the highways and byways over here takes a lot of adjusting. Quite honestly, I don’t know if I could ever get used to it.

For months, I have dreamed about my visit to the Ganges River in Varanasi and finally the day arrived this past week on Boxing Day. By the way, there were no “Blowout Boxing Day Sales.” Christmas is observed but by and large, it is a very low key, non commercial event, at least in the places I have travelled.

To get ON the Ganges River, you must first get TO the Ganges River. Sounds simple enough. But you must understand that there are tens of thousands of worshippers and tourists who have the same objective, every day of the year. Actually the goal of many Hindus is to bathe IN the Ganges River! My host, Father Abhi, had planned a mini tourist trip around the city before heading down to the river. He mentioned five destinations. We got to two, including the Ganges.

It was a steely gray afternoon and very chilly. Our first stop was a three day festival hosted by the main church in the diocese, complete with a midway. Despite the weather, there were thousands ( it’s always multiples of thousands! ) of people. I can’t imagine what it would have been like if it was sunny and warm. Luckily, we weren’t there to try out the Ferris Wheel and made a hasty retreat after a cursory tour of the grounds.

Let me say something, right here and right now about taxi drivers. They have the reflexes of a cat, the patience of Job and nerves of steel. To the untrained eye, it looks like an accident is going to happen every few seconds with everybody and nobody owning the roads. They just merrily proceed, honking their horns on every second heartbeat.

It didn’t take long to realize that a change of itinerary was forthcoming as traffic ground to a halt on the old and in many cases, poorly maintained streets of Varanasi. Gridlock is gridlock but when the streets are narrow, it becomes very claustrophobic. The fumes and the noise add to the angst. The good news was that Father indicated we would be going straight to the Ganges. The other bright spot on the journey ( about 1.5 kilometers – it took one hour and 20 minutes to get there! ), was when Father opened his backpack and produced several pieces of the best tasting Christmas fruit cake imaginable… surely manna from heaven. He asked me if I cared for a piece. The only other thing that would have produced greater joy would have been an ejectable parachute.

There is no parking on most streets in Varanasi. There is one parking lot about a kilometer from the river that holds maybe 50 cars… that is, of course, if you park them like we do in Canada. No, in this lot, the cars are parked side by side, end to end, bumper to bumper so that there in simply no way out unless you are the very last car to enter the lot. ( The last shall be first ! ) The attendant immediately tried to convince us to hire a boat for the Ganges “ for only 2000 rupees ( about $40 ). It sounded reasonable to me. Father respectfully declined after some good natured bartering.

We proceeded to wade into humanity. Oh, the humanity. The middle of the narrow road was now occupied by merchants and beggars… and cows. Unbelievably, motorcycles were also allowed on what appeared to be a “pedestrians only “ thoroughfare.  Along the way, there were several very narrow footpaths off the main road resembling a rabbit warren where merchants peddled their wares. Father asked me if I wanted to do a bit of shopping. I thought he was joking. I politely declined. ( He doesn’t know how close he came to ending up on a funeral pyre ! ).

Most people visit the Ganges at sunrise and sunset for religious reasons. Because the mornings have been very foggy ( smoggy ) the last number of days, it appeared that everyone decided to come for the sunset ceremonies, even though the sun was nowhere to be seen. We walked elbow to elbow with the throng and had to endure motorcyclists and their incessant horn honking. Just about the time I thought I might lose my mind , after the taxi ride and the walk, the Ganges emerged from the mist.

The atmosphere was bordering on eerie as dusk settled in. The combination of fog and smoke from the cremations taking place, gave it a very Dickensian feel. We walked along the ghats to get to our boat. Earlier, while walking through the mayhem, Father Abhi had been working the phones and he arranged a private boat for the two of us for… 400 rupees ( $8.00 Canadian ). Methinks the parking lot attendant had a brother who owned a boat!

We made an initial pass upriver which was impressive but when we changed course and arrived at the Manikanika Ghat, everything that had transpired in the previous three hours, vanished in the haze. Watching ten human bodies being cremated simultaneously on funeral pyres , against the backdrop of a 5000 year old city, is hard to put into words. The pictures and video I posted will have to suffice.

Not all Hindus are cremated. I was told that a number of people ( for a wide variety of reasons ), are tied to chairs with weights and simply deposited in the middle of the Ganges. Much of the city’s sewage ends up in the river along with cows, fertilizer and human ashes… you get the picture. The Ganges is considered a holy river and many people come there every day to bathe. Please feel free to  add your own last sentence to this paragraph….

We stayed long enough to watch a bit of a traditional Hindu ceremony that is held on the edge of the river every evening. We were chilled and departed for a well deserved restaurant meal. The trip back home was quick and uneventful.

Have a great week and Happy New Years!

P.S.  My trip back to Hyderabad the following day WAS eventful. Time is a moving target in India. I do not say this in a disparaging fashion. It’s simply true. After morning mass with the priests, I had just enough time to get to the airport to catch my 10:00 a.m. flight. Except, the regular cook was on holidays and the back up arrived late for work. Breakfast was a scramble ( scrambled eggs with green chili peppers ) as the priests chipped in to get the meal on the table quickly. They needn’t have hurried.

Father Thomas and his driver went as fast as possible to get me to the airport. When we arrived, there was a lineup ( I’m getting good at estimating numbers! ) of about 1000 people. That was bad enough but they were lined up outside the airport. Yup, the airport was locked. The first flight of the day ( mine ) was scheduled for 10:00 and I guess that opening early wasn’t necessary. Father Thomas simply marched me up to the front of the line and just as we got there, the doors opened. I picked up my boarding pass and breezed through security.

I noticed that the flight had been changed to 10:30. At the appointed hour , there was no plane at our gate… and no explanation for the delay. Word of mouth, innuendo and rumour became the soup du jour as the minutes turned into hours. With each passing hour, tempers flared and whenever an agent of the airline would appear, this would be followed by loud shouting and arm waving. The plane left at 2:30… with no explanation or apology for the delay.

The airline is called Spicejet. I think I’ll rename it “ Spicejest”!!!

Posted on December 22, 2016 under Thursday Tidbits with 2 comments

The building behind me is twisted…I’m not!

Most of you back home are in the home stretch for Christmas. I can visualize it. Most of the decorating has been done and other than last minute shopping for stocking stuffers, groceries and a liquor store run, “ all is calm, all is bright.” Oh, and there’s a good chance that you are completely exhausted, especially if you are the mother of small children.

I have to admit that if I wasn’t on Facebook or Skyping with friends back home, I wouldn’t know that it was Christmas. I don’t have a radio and I haven’t watched television for two months so I have completely missed the hype in the lead up to December 25^th. It’s not “ beginning to look a lot like Christmas” in the desert. Now many of you will think I’m an old Scrooge, but I haven’t missed hearing “ The Little Drummer Boy” played about 250 times. Of course, I will miss the family get togethers and singing at midnight mass but , by and large, I am “over” the commercial aspect of the festive season.

And let’s not forget, there are a lot of people who are not joyous at this time of the year for a variety of reasons.

Please don’t hate me but what I am about to write next is NOT meant to incite your inner rage. It is contextual. I swam in the Persian Gulf earlier in the week. I wasn’t sure what the body of water was so I went back to the apartment and brought up a map of the Middle East. I am not much of a scholar nor are my geography skills very impressive. If a teacher laid out a map of this region and asked me to write the names of the countries, I would fail dismally. I see many of you shaking your heads in agreement. Most of us in Canada know that “ it’s over there somewhere.”

Through my work with the Syrian refugees, I have come to know where Syria and Lebanon are located. I have heard of the Persian Gulf before but did not realize that I am only a few hours by air from countries like Iran, Iraq, Jordan, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Yemen and Oman. Many of these places continue to be in the news for all the wrong reasons. Did you see the piece on FB the other day trying to explain the impossibly complex situation in Syria? I am so grateful that Antigonish was able to help the Almasshouds find a new home while, at the same time, lamenting the tragedy that continues to unfold in their home town of Aleppo.

Matt Macdonald has been an unbelievable tour guide. We drove to Dubai earlier in the week. I have never seen so many construction cranes in my life. It is a sprawling city of 3 million or so people combining the ultra modern with the ancient.  The number one tourist attraction is no doubt the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world at 829.8 m ( 2722 feet ). No. I did not pay in excess of $100 Canadian to go to the top. There are many other spectacular things to see and do and if you’re weary at the end of the day, you can get a room ( the penthouse… you deserve it! ) at the Burj Al Arab Jumeirah Hotel for as little as $19,000 U.S. a night.

For someone who is not a mall person, you can imagine my consternation entering the Dubai Mall. The first challenge is just getting there. There is a very efficient rapid transit train that stops near the mall. The pedway to the mall is exactly one kilometer long. I remarked to Matt that this was by far the biggest mall that I had ever been in and wondered where it ranked worldwide. In total area, it is the largest mall in the world  at 3.77 million square feet and 1200 shops. I realize all these statistics are completely useless. You Albertans will be pleased to know that the West Edmonton Mall has the same amount of leasable space as the Dubai Mall.

We also travelled to the old part of the city to spend some time in the “souks” or markets. Dubai is famous for the gold souk, the spice souk, the textile souk and the fresh fish souk. All of these shops are housed in small alleyways and have all kinds of twists and turns. Everyone goes to the gold souk to see the world’s largest gold ring. ( 68.2 kilograms )  If you don’t care for pushy sales people, then you might want to stay clear of the souks. These men are absolutely in your face trying to sell you gold , frankincense and myrrh… and everything else imaginable. Even for a non shopper, it is quite an experience.

Any F1 fans out there? If you’re not into car racing, you won’t know what I’m talking about here. F1 or Formula 1 is the highest class of open wheel auto racing. These cars can travel to speeds exceeding 300 KPH.  The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix is held every year in November. One circuit of the track covers 5.5 kilometers. Two nights a week throughout the year, the track is open to cyclists ( thousands of them ) along with joggers and walkers. We did the walk and it was an amazing spectacle to be on a world class race track.

Off to Varanasi,  India tomorrow for Christmas. It will be a sizeable culture shock going back to India and to one of the oldest cities in the world  after  experiencing the affluence of the UAE.

Thanks for reading my rants. I know I’m all over the map ( literally and figuratively ) but hopefully my travels are giving you a glimpse into the lives and cultures of other people.

Merry Christmas to one and all.                

P.S. A huge thank you to Danny, Pat and Jenna Berry for having me over for a barbeque. Friends from home… the best gift of all!

 

Santa’s elves!

Posted on December 1, 2016 under Thursday Tidbits with one comment

Rush hour on Highway 76

 

Sometimes it’s good to be lucky.

By the time you receive this, I will be on a train back to Hyderabad. I have just wound up four days of field visits in rural India to capture the stories of farmers. Of course, I had to take a train to get to the villages so that’s where the story begins today.

Last Sunday evening, I was driven to the train station via the airport. There was a man from Germany, Carson who was returning home after a visit to our offices. He has been in the humanitarian aid business most of his life and has travelled and worked extensively in Africa, the Middle East and Asia. He does financial audits to ensure that foreign aid is being delivered efficiently. He has concluded that most foreign aid does not reach its intended target group a great deal of the time.

We decided to go into the airport as rumour had it that their ATM’s were actually dispensing cash. False. Nobody was able to get cash from a bank or ATM all weekend long. I can just imagine getting of a flight after travelling for 30 hours ( like I did ) and not being able to get the currency that I needed to get ground transportation in to the city. The demonetization crisis continues, folks.

We left the airport and headed to the train station. I have seen lots of traffic in my day but this was the worst by a factor of 10. It took us two hours to go 9 kilometers. And when my driver turned off the air conditioning to open the windows ( I think his son , who was travelling with us, was ill ), I thought I would gag on exhaust fumes. And the noise. The vehicles, motorcycles and auto rickshaws were jammed together like sardines. At one major intersection, ( 6 streets converging ), my driver simply turned the car off. I’m rarely claustrophobic but this was pretty intense.

The train stations in India are busy… Heathrow or O’Hare airport busy. Even though this was my third train trip, I was infinitely grateful that Govind ( my driver and caretaker of the building where I work and live )escorted me through the maze of people, helped me find the correct car ( there are 60 or so ) and even showed me to my seat. What a saint. After the exasperation of the previous two hours, I was so relieved to plunk my arse down. Small problem. I was told by someone that I was in the wrong seat. I only had to move one seat away. No big deal. Once again. “ Sir, you are in the wrong seat.” I had this vision of standing up for the next 11 hours. The porter came by and beckoned. He waltzed me down the aisle to the only private, first class car of the 60. I ended up in a large, air conditioned room with three of the nicest people you could possibly meet. And my bed was made for me before we turned out the lights. I could have cried I was so overjoyed.

I can’t and won’t bore you with the details of the field visits but it was an awesome experience. You can find the most wonderful people in the poorest of places. I had an amazing conversation with a group of landless women farmers. They greeted me with flowers and served me tea and cookies. After the meeting, I went to the home of the group leader to do a one on one interview with her for a Faces in the Crowd piece. Alert: there is no such thing as privacy. I swear the entire village followed me like the Pied Piper. They crowded in to her living room and those who couldn’t fit in, stayed outside. Every question that I posed through a translator, was answered by anyone in the room. Remember… “ it takes a village.”!

One last thing. I almost made a huge Freudian slip. When I boarded the train last Sunday, someone asked me where I was going. The name of the town is called Puttaparti. I almost answered Porta Potty!

Oh yes. There is an amazing temple in Puttaparti. I went to attend one of its twice daily ceremonies of worship. No cameras aloud. The place holds…. 20,000 people. My guess is that there were only 6-7,000 that evening. Hard to describe. Glad I had a chance to go.

Have a great week.