OOohh - we're in OOTTY!

Not quite living up to its description of wide boulevards, nor looking like a cross between Australia and Dorset (Lonely Planet), nevertheless, Ootty has given us two great days of getting out into the greenery of tea plantations, spectacular views and some bonding with horses. Today we took a three-hour guided ride on two spunky horses (had to book 3 horses, or the guide, Aujun, would have had to walk -novel concept!) and managed to get right away from the town and the roads and hit some pretty small trails through mountain villages, tea plantatations. At each village a cluster of small children appeared waving and shouting, following us till we left the village boundaries. Max progressed from walk through trot to canter without any problems (although we might have sore backsides tomorrow as we sit on the bus and train for 10 hours!!) and loved "becoming one with his steed" Surya! Luckily the horses were completely oblivious to the honking, swerving trucks, rickshaws and motorbikes that just grazed past their rumps. We even stopped for a glass of chai in a small village, which caused even more interest.
The previous day Anthony, trekking guide, took us on a full day's hike across hills, through a 100-yr old tea plantation started by the Brits, including a 45Rupee lunch at a tiny workers' kitchen where we were served a very tasty Thali (tray of rice, dal, veg curry and papadoms). A perky dog accompanied us all day - looked like a small Simba! Weird company included an Israeli currently working with plants in Kenya, who found the most oddball things to do all day (like trying to ride on TOP of the bus...) No shortage of quirky travelers - have met S Africans, Brits, Aussies, Germans, Polish, Viennese, Swedish and plenty of honeymooning Indians. (Seems Ootty is considered a romantic spot, with its waterfalls. Lots have their picture taken two up on a horse, then promptly get off again!) Oh well, off to sample some more local chocolate - hand made! along with some spicy Chai. Tough job, but we've taken it on.

No wayout of Pondi!

Pudicherry seduced with its French quartier glimpses, its grand seaside architecture, and its promenade wide as Le Promenade Des Anglais in Nice. It had us caught up in its ambiance for a while as we settled in to the Sri Aurobindo Society Seaside guest house, with its whitewashed walls, calm orderliness and courtyards full of pots and sunlight. We attended meditation at the Sri Aurobindo Meditation Centre, lighting incense and sitting in silence with several hundred other visitors as the evening breeze wafted the smoke to and fro. We go carried away by booking to see Avatar at a cavernous cinema in Pudicherry (aka Pondi), then found it was in Tamil. Stayed anyway and got the gist -not a taxing plot luckily! But then.. the rub. Next day we couldn't get out of Pondi. No buses or trains for a week, welearned, after queuing up for hours at various ticket booths. So what was it to be - a plane? a bribe? No - we opted for a car service. Smallest car ever, but a careful driver took us 13 hours overnight from our guest house to the next guest house on our route - over thei hills and far away in Ooty (aka Udhagamalame....) Arrived just as Santa was delivering the last gifts and hanging the last stockings on the tree - 5.45am. and here we are ready to go horseriding and trekking to wash away the toxins of urban traffic and explore the hills. It is described as a mix between Australia, with its eucalyptus trees, and England with its flowers and green hills. Looking forward to seeing the tea plantations - reminiscent of Kenya days.

Rajasthani and Bollywood concert

We nearly died of lung poisoning as we queued up with several hundred other folk for an hour on one of the busiest highways in Pune for a free concert. Do you think Pune's welathy stood in line? not likely - push and shove was the other way to get in, dropped off at the last minute by drivers. But no one seems to mind. it's the way it is here! We were there to watch a concert of Rajasthani music (a group of 8 fierce-looking men with turbans and handlebar moustaches) - although they were the support band - and - big drum roll - Bollywood-style singer, (Mrs) Rekha Bhardwaj, a well-known crooner with a big following (mostly women who swayed to her romantic songs). The stage was set up in front of an ancient fort (Shaniwar Wada), fabulous backlighting, and it felt like a cross between a Son et Lumiere at Hampton Court and an open air rock concert. The Rhajastini singing was sonorous and rippled through you, castanets clicking to accentuate the beat, while 2 young dervish-like dancers in elaborate traditional costumes spun and swerved over stage, dropping over backwards to pick up a note with their mouth to show off their suppleness. (no doubt they study Iyengar Yoga ...) The dancer in the picture danced and swirled and swayed with this tall headdress for about 15 minutes, looking graceful and sensual.

cooking lesson

Nothing like some spicy cooking to feel like you're really in India. Today one of my friends held a cooking lesson luncheon at her apartment. After practice 8 of us went to lunch and took notes on how to cook an authentic and simple (!) Indian meal: an entrepreneurial local cook (he has many jobs including selling books, being a "packer" and of course cooking) whipped up dahl, eggplant curry and a special rice called Metha Rice. Delicious. Then for desert, semolina - yummy - made with cardamom spice.

Inspirational yoga!

Each day brings new discoveries - during practice chatting with another student about a new to practice a pose, or how to use a prop is delightful. Practice is from 9-12 each morning and everyone follows their own plan - about 70 people in the room all doing their own thing with sometimes very complicated set ups. Geeta practices on her own or with her helpers beside the students usually and keeps a watchful eye on everyone. The young children come in after we leave and practice their special show for Guruji's birthday on Monday. It promises to be a very special day with dancing, music and food to celebrate his 92nd.

Chance encounters in India are what make it so endearing. Yesterday while buying our daily veggies from one of the carts, i engaged a couple of ladies in conversation by asking them about several mysterious vegetables and how to cook them. We chatted about the merits of steaming versus frying and which spices to use with them. They were so friendly and full of smiles. The vegetable seller too. Everyone loves to have their picture taken.

Yoga in 2000 yr old caves - Ellora and Ajanta

Our visit to the World Heritage caves at Ellora and Ajanta was a mostly spiritual experience interspersed with comedic interludes. Ancient Buddhist and Hindu caves have been carved into temples, monasteries and are full of glorious statues, Buddhas, elaborate sculptures and paintings - designated a World Heritage site. We were considered an alternative attraction, 4 white women, and had our picture taken about 50 times standing beside families, school kids, religious groups; had babies thrust into our arms, and introduced to countless people who wanted to know all about us! The hawkers were pesky and wouldn't give up - some savvy salesmen I'd say. They would each glue on to one of us, learn our names, tell us their name (Jack or Eric, usually instead of the more likely Sanjay or Rajkamur) - then call out to us a regular intervals to sell us their wares. Had a few quiet moments to reflect on the mysteries of getting 200,000 tons of rock out of one cave two thousand years ago, and to imagine the life of a Buddhist monk back then.

I’ve been exploring in our area of Model Colony: had small cups of spicy chai at street stalls, been introduced to an amazing (vegetarian) Indian restaurant, patronized by all the locals, tried bargaining with traders of veg and fruit stalls (not much doing!) and slaked thirst with coconut milk.
I’ve heard a lot about the markets here – clothing, fabric, pots and pans etc so plan to explore those by rickshaw soon. There is also a German bakery that apparently is a favourite haunt of the students from the Institute when they crave a cinnamon bun or some good bread!
This weekend have been invited to make a foursome and head off to the Unesco designated caves at Ellora and Ajanta, about 5 hours drive from here. An enterprising hotel manager, Mrs S has booked the driver (300 km / day for 8000 INR) and a hotel with great stone cottages overlooking the caves.
So a few quirky things: it takes about 10 minutes to summon up courage to cross some of the roads. The drivers here could learn a thing or two about pedestrian safety from Canada. You read about the trash sorters: here they are on our local street sorting through wheelbarrows and trucks full of plastic, paper and just… plain garbage. What they don’t sort the goats and dogs go through. I did see two cows on the pavement yesterday: just about 300 metres from a new shopping mall. They could be walking in to Sears – perfume counters, Armani, Gucci etc Incredible India as the slogan says. A land of contrasts.

So, what is the Iyengar Yoga all about? We have a 2hr class each day and a three \-hour practice where you choose your own poses to practice in the large yoga room. The Insitute is a hexagonal building built on 3 floors, with courtyards and plants surrounding it quite pleasantly. The Iyengars’ home (several generations it seems) is right off the courtyard. No real privacy. There are 2 yoga studios, a library and a book shop. The Institute was dedicated to Mr Iyengar’s wife, and named after her = she died in 1975. It has the air of a library, with the walls full of slightly fading certificates and dusty statues, plaques and trophy-like gifts. I like the main studio: it has all the photographs from Light on Yoga – Mr Iyengar in each of the 256 or so poses – on the walls. Inspiring. This morning Geeta, Mr Iyengar’s daughter was practicing alongside us all before teaching her class. Next week Mr Iyengar will be back from his grandson’s wedding to celebrate his birthday. It will be quite a party from all accounts. A bevvy of young children were practising in the studio this evening for their special birthday display. Everyone is getting atwitter about the outfit they will wear for it.

Model Colony is a relatively leafy suburb of Pune, thronging with traffic, mostly motorbikes and scooters. Elegant Indian ladies favour scooters, and speed along, saris flying, head masked by long scarves wound around  to keep out the pollution, except for chic sunglasses peering through; families pile four-up on 50cc bikes; auto-rickshaws make up much of the traffic, all painted black and gold, fairly uniformly, unlike the Thai tuc tucs. Other traffic includes wooden carts built on large bicycle wheels, peddling fruits or vegetables. The fruit man arrived ringing his bell this morning below our apartment and I stocked up on oranges, watermelons, kiwi and papayas.

 

The apartment is a fourth floor (penthouse you could say!) with three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a large living room on two levels. Marble floors give it a cool feel, and the kitchen and living open on to a spacious sun terrace. A few shrubs in pots, a washing machine and a some chairs and a table furnish it. Best of all there is a huge tree with magnificent boughs, creating some cool shade over the building. The tree is teeming with life – huge toucan-like birds with curved bills and long tails, and birds with extravagant songs that we haven’t yet identified.

The electrics in the apartment look frighteningly haphazard – wires hanging out of walls and huge panels of sockets and fuses decorate the interior walls.

I have a small room, single bed, lock up  cupboard, chair and bedside table, but I do have my own bathroom off the room. The temperature is very pleasant – cool mornings and evenings, when you’ll need shawl or sweater – and warm days. Definitely cooler than Mumbai – that’s why it was a retreat for the Brits wanting to escape the heat in old Bombay.

Arrival in Mumbai

Mumbai doesn’t sleep. Traffic jams at 2am. Trucks have no rear lights at night and only move out of the centre of the road when on other drivers flash with their headlights. As we wove through the pitted streets of Mumbai, stray dogs slept in the road, people sat around small fires, traffic swarmed through streets, sensing rather than seeing junctions, forks, turnoffs. Signage seems non-existent.  We bypassed the centre of Mumbai and were soon on the new Pune Expressway – numerous tolls later as we climbed steeply to an old hill-town, the road became strewn with broken down trucks parked haphazardly, broken down buses disgorging passengers on to the road. The hill seemed to weed out those vehicles just hanging on by a thread. My driver coolly wove his way between them all, arriving in Pune and by 5am. That was his second journey to Mumbai yesterday.