Lean on me

Moving the other side of the world without a job and limited savings pool means one has to get savvy smart.

It also means I’ve had to drop my guard and lean on others – the most interesting observation I’ve made of myself since being in LA.

It's a tough city and not everyone is dependable, certainly not everyone follows through on what they say they will. 

LA geographically is an urban sprawl and without a car almost impossible to get around. So this was the first step – hire a car. But of course, renting anything doesn’t come cheap thus my second step: buy a car.

This is where my roommate, Rane, lent a hand.  She introduced me to her neighbour who trades cars.  Now Darrell is on the search for me but we’re still looking and I’m still paying a hefty car rental.

Rane has lived in LA for a number of years and rents two places – one in West Hollywood (WeHo) and the other in the upmarket beach precinct Marina Del Rey (next to Venice). We met through airbnb.

She and I share similar values and the match is working well.  Rane lived in Rishikesh for 18mths on an ashram – so we also have the ‘India’ connection. 

Part of my India adventure was to strip it back.  I wanted to shed the skin of my comfortable middle class existence and go back to basics.  India indeed achieved this.  It felt like I was the 21 year old European backpacker again – but even edgier – backpacking with streets full of cow shit!

On arrival in LA I was adequately indifferent to life’s luxuries that I could comfortably do dorm mates again.  Rane and I share the same room in her Marina Del Rey studio apartment – an unthinkable proposition to me before my Indian travels.

But when one’s been through that country and seen how ‘the other half lives’ as well with no real projection as to when my PR career will take off here – it’s amazing how little things like one’s own room and personal space become value-add over necessity.

It’s the rude awakening that I can’t be as independent as I was in Oz nor would like to be.  

Unlike my modus operandi of happily functioning solo - I need people.  And revealing your vulnerability is a tricky position to be in anywhere let alone a city as cut throat as LA.

It’s a difficult transition and an eye-opening life turn but another reason I chose to roll this dice and jump out from the comfort zone.

Man was not made for himself alone - Plato

Americans love to sit at the bar – or in a diner setting, the counter.

I resisted waiters directing me here for a while and requested my place at the table, but these days I just let them perch me where the bench top is too high and the bar stool uncomfortable. 

Even couples choose the bar over a table to eat their meals and it made me wonder what this counter culture was about.

Americans on par are a friendly bunch and my take is they don’t want people to feel lonely. Talking and being sociable comes naturally to them and it would seem they just want to be around others in the dining setting than by themselves.

I asked my room mate in Seattle whether she had an explanation for it.  Sasha said she prefers to sit at the bar when dining solo as people can freely approach her for a chat. It's a comfortable social setting for her and she thinks the majority of Americans share this view.

This style of dining is something I've had to get used to because unlike Americans, I’m used to my seat at the table.  It's where I'm not side by side with strangers inviting awkward small talk, I’m not under the barman’s armpit or across from the chef’s flame, and I can sit back and quietly contemplate whatever I want on my own in relative peace.  

But then, that’s partly why this country’s culture appeals.  I came here to break out of my comfort zone and widen my social circle for new opportunities to open up.

And in America, like the '80s TV sitcom, Cheers, it seems making new friends and acquainting with tomorrow's lovers, starts at the bar. 

Portland stirs time gone by

I’ve spent the last few days in Portland, Oregan, having arrived from the beach town of San Diego.

Why do I like this place?

“How do I love thee?  Let me count thy ways.”

For a start, it’s cooler. I don’t normally dig the cold but the lower temperatures are a novelty after travelling through India and while San Diego isn’t hot at this time of year, its weather is more akin to India’s warmer climate than the cool of North West USA.

So Portland is different to what I've been around lately - the people are rugged up, in an alternative, down to earth sort of way and remind me of the type of person one sees around Brunswick or Auckland and Wellington in New Zealand.  Many of the men have bushy beards, most people under 40 are tattooed and everyone wears a wool beanie.

Portland is set among a beautiful landscape, the air is cool and crisp and the place has a friendly vibe.  It seems colder (in spring) than Melbourne's winter – so climate wise and population size (close to 600,000) it has more in common with New Zealand or Tasmania.

It is clear from earlier blog posts that I have a fondness for New Zealand.  Add to that Tassie, I went twice to Hobart for weekend getaways last year to see MONA (Museum of Old and New Art) and both times ate at the fabulous 'foodie' restaurant Garagistes.

Today on St Paddy’s Day in a quaint, little bar called Interurban in the Portland suburb of Mississippi, I sat at the bar with wooden interior, three mounted deer on the walls, across from rows of whisky bottles (single malt a certain young Kiwi's favourite tipple) and I fell quickly down memory lane.  I found myself reminiscing about that short, sweet interlude in South Island, NZ, where I sat in a bar similar to Interurban  - with my company drinking whisky - and despite the chill outside, felt warm.

All this wrapped in, Portland has been a special place for me to visit.  But it’s also in part for these reasons why I choose not settle here.

Life’s like that. You don’t get too far ahead living in the past.

I head to Seattle on Tuesday. Surely I won’t feel the same romantic sense I do here (having said that, my early 20s were heavily influenced by the Seattle grunge scene and there’s a lot of film and TV that I’ve enjoyed that's set there (Sleepless in Seattle, Singles, Frasier, Grey’s Anatomy, The Killing)).

Seattle is renowned for its hi-tech community, Bill Gates founded Microsoft there.  It’s where savvy entrepreneurs take risks backing ‘start-up’companies setting their sights on a successful future. 

Not a bad place on premise.


Photos - the Portland bar Interurban.

I once was lost but now I'm found

It seems rather apt – given I am a person of faith and in the world’s most spiritual country - that my six week journey through India comes to an end in the holy place of Rishikesh. Not surprising also that I’ve had to put the brakes on my usual traveller’s pace as I finally (we all knew it had to happen right?) succumbed to ill health – run down immune system and upset stomach.

So the last few days in India have been taking it easy and resting in the divine surrounds of the Himalayan foothills by the sacred river Ganges.  I've basked in the nostalgia that this was the place one of my favourite childhood bands (thanks to my dad, mum was more an Elvis fan) The Beatles spent three months to attend an advanced Transcendental Meditation (TM) training session at the ashram of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.

Rishikesh attracts its spiritual seekers and yogis gravitate here – the latter currently in abundance for the International Yoga Festival 2013 which carries through the first week of March annually.

I would have liked more time to travel through this expansive country – however to satisfy US visa requirements – I must press on.

Irrespective, it feels time to farewell India this trip. 

I recall saying to my friend Fleur before leaving Melbourne: “I’d like to give it more than six weeks but that’s all I’ve got” and her response was: “I think you’ll get there and find six weeks is enough!”  As usual, she was right.

I met a Canadian here in Rishikesh who has been travelling every Canadian winter for seven years.  His website is www.ronperrier.net.  Ron’s latest post Practical Travel Advice in India describes what one sees in all the Indian towns I’ve visited well.

Ron practiced as a doctor and saved the amount he knew was needed to see the world on his terms.

In a way that’s how I feel about my own path. I’d too like to see the world. I think travelling sets one free and what better feeling (outside love) than that of freedom?

As I read today in a book I bought from one of the many spiritual bookstores in Rishikesh – the thought of a situation (in my case, long-term travel through unknown countries) can terrify us more than the reality.  

Photo - The Beatles, Rishikesh, February 1968.

Postscript - the title of this blog post was inspired by of course the hymn Amazing Grace, but more timely I was listening to the version recorded by musician Krishna Das and Sting while writing this.  I bought three of Krishna Das' CDs in Rishikesh. Krishna Das hails from the US and under the guidance of an Indian guru found a new and awakened life.  He sounds free.  All things said, it seemed right.

There’s good and there’s bad

Despite recent media coverage in Melbourne about the harassment Western women can face from the local men in India – I’m pleased to report the majority of my experience has been smooth sailing.

My six weeks' travel started in the south and ends in the north.  I was warned to expect an onslaught of unwanted attention in the north but I’ve been here nearly two weeks and have noticed no difference between the two.

Perhaps the words of my old work mate, Tom, who is an Australian Trade Commissioner in Delhi, describe it best.  During a rickshaw ride in Old Delhi, I made the observation to Tom that I’d found the trip much easier than I’d expected.  Tom simply said in reply: “It’s a state of mind, Caz.”

I’ve met some wonderful people who have played an important part in making my journey that much easier.

Such as the waiter who returned my wallet after I’d inadvertently dropped it outside the popular cafe in Goa. He handed it to me with full contents – my coveted US green card, my only credit card, and the equivalent of $200 Australian dollars in rupees. 

There was Syam, the London-raised businessman, who I met on the tarmac in Kochi in Kerala after a plane trip from Bangalore. I had turned to the closest Indian person walking alongside me and asked whether I should worry about malaria in the south (apparently not).  

At the baggage terminal, I asked Syam if he could recommend any budget accommodation given I hadn’t booked anywhere and it was getting on in the evening.

Syam called a hotel he regularly refers his London guests to and secured the best rate for me that included breakfast.  He then suggested I share his taxi as the hotel was on the way to his home.

During the ride I established Syam was unmarried with no children, but I was able to avoid any awkwardness by saying I was engaged (refer Hampi post) which made it easy to accept Syam's dinner invitation.

Syam took me to a swish hotel and we ate steak and drank South African wine.  He wrote down the places I should visit in Kerala, paid for our meal, and dropped me back at my hotel. 

Up until Kochi I had been encumbered with three travel bags and for the most part was paying considerably more to hire personal drivers to make it easier to travel with the extra weight.  The most I had paid for a driver was $200 Australian dollars covering a seven hour trip from Hampi to Bangalore airport.  To put this in perspective, a local train ride the same distance would have put me back $2.  Thus I was relieved to finally ditch the added luggage in the hotel’s storage and continue further down south with a lighter load.

I have seldom felt more alive than sitting up the front of a local Indian bus watching the driver skilfully navigate through a mass of activity abound – people going about their business on the street, wandering cows, goats, dogs, rickshaw drivers, bicycles and of course cars, buses, trucks and motorbikes - all the while zooming ahead with impressive speed.

I had a particularly sweet bus driver on the 4.5 hour journey from the hill station Munnar back to Kochi.  The driver had cheekily grabbed my cowboy hat from my seat and put it on his head - chuffed by the attention he received by people as he drove on. 

What an act of kindness he displayed when on one of his short driving breaks he initiated a call to my hotel in Kochi to determine the best bus stop for me to get off!

I experienced a similar goodwill gesture from the hotel staff in Jaipur who sent a personal driver to Pushkar – a four hour journey – to return my credit card that one of their staff had been remiss to hand back to me after I’d signed the bill. 

There are other stories like this – and yes, there are dodgy ones – but the better far outweigh the bad.

Sure I think the blonde hair, big smile and tall stature have played their part in the reception I’ve received.  But overall, I think Tom has nailed it.

 

Getting around India involves a sturdy pair of hiking boots (for the puddles in the potholes and cow dung in the streets) and the right ‘state of mind’.  And true to its spiritual leanings, India serves up its fair share of karma.

Like today in Jodhpur when I shared a ride in a tuk tuk with an Indian woman.  I noticed once she’d got out that she’d accidentally left a top behind.  I asked the driver to wait while I chased after her to return it.

As I waded through the narrow alleyway she had disappeared into I passed a group of local men hanging out in a shop. One called after me (the usual catchcry I hear): “Hello, come into my shop...” and I replied as I ran past, “I can’t, I have to catch that lady, I have her top, she left it in the tuk tuk.”  

I heard him call after me: “Give it to me, I will make sure she gets it.” 

But I carried on and eventually caught her. She gratefully took the top and I made my way back to the tuk tuk.  As I passed the men I smiled at them and said: “Thank-you, thank-you, I found her, she got her top back.”

And one of them quickly darted back:  “No...thank-you for being here.”

Photo - local bus driver wearing my cowboy hat on part of the journey from Munnar to Kochi (South India).

Stand up for your rights

On 16 December 2012 in Delhi, India, 23 year old physiotherapy intern, Nirbhaya, was gang raped by six men on a moving bus. She died on December 29 at a Singapore hospital.

The trial of the gang rape case formally began this week - on Tuesday 5 February.

I have now been travelling around South India for close to three weeks and as a person who earns their bread and butter in the public relations field, I take a keen interest in the media.

Daily, there have been opinion pieces, columns, feature articles and poems in India’s (English) newspapers about the treatment of women in India.  Usually these articles pinpoint the Delhi rape case as their precursor for taking action now. I like the way the (female) writers and contributors leave their email addresses at the end of their pieces, inviting two-way communication.

I am saddened India has to go through this, but I am also excited to be travelling through a country on the cusp of change with so many intelligent and passionate female voices fighting for its means.

I would like to share two pieces I’ve read that help demonstrate my point – as appeared in The Hindu, Sunday February 3, 2013 in a section called ‘Open Page’:

Apologies for being born a woman

Nazreen Fazal

I’d like to apologise

For a crime so great

That it demands punishment severe

I am sorry

For being born

With the wrong chromosomes

In my defence, I wasn’t asked to choose

‘Would you like an XY or XX?’

‘My personal recommendation is XY,

It’s hot in the streets, I hear!’

I apologise that my chest isn’t flat

And that my hips form curves

I do understand that my body

Invites attention,

In fact, demands it!

So sorry if I didn’t take your crude passes

With a demure smile

But I know better now.

I apologise for my presence

In the public space

It must take a lot

Not to pounce on me.

So sorry that I provoke

The caveman in you

Every time I step outside.

I apologise for demanding

That my sister gets rights

‘cause, in the end she asked for it.

After all, it was her fault

***

(I have been following the Delhi rape case closely. This poem I wrote after reading a woman’s comment that Nirbhaya (not the real name of the victim) shouldn’t have resisted the rapists and should’ve just given in to their attacks. I was appalled that a woman could say such a thing. The writer is a final – year student of Media and Communication studies. Her email: nazreenfazal92@gmail.com)

Thus far...and no more

Sneha Verghese

A burglar breaks into a bank and says he was “provoked” by the huge amount of money kept there. Is his explanation accepted?  No. When a person is murdered, and the murderer says he was “provoked” is he left scot-free?  No. Corporal punishment is condemned and many teachers who meted out inhuman punishments have been brought to book. And if they say they were provoked by the student’s behaviour, is it accepted?  Never.

Then why do men think it is acceptable in the case of rape? And yet, that was the exact reaction that came from many quarters, especially from policemen, when the shocking gang rape of 23-year-old in Delhi came to light. And shockingly, most women too, think that victims of rape and molestation bring it upon themselves.

This attitude is deeply rooted in our patriarchal system, where the male alone gets to make all decisions and where the women are forced into submission and are made to believe that they have no right to live their lives for themselves, the way they want to. And if they violate this decree, they are asking for trouble. And what’s more, the women who are submissive will force other women too into submission. 

It starts right in our families, where the son is given more importance than a daughter, and a free rein. A boy’s bad behaviour is most likely to be dismissed “as typical of a male.” And what do we get?

We get men who think that any kind of behaviour is acceptable, including violence, and he can get away with it, simply because he is male. They think it is the women who should know their limits, and not the men. And it is certainly this attitude that exists in homes, which blames the girl entirely and encourages such incidents in our country.  

When a sexual abuse occurs within the family, the women who are closely related to the victim create a false impression that the responsibility rests with the victim alone. This creates feelings of guilt, depression and hopelessness in the victim, and she will find no support, even from her own mother, to complain against the culprits.

There are limits to a woman’s patience and tolerance, and men have far exceeded these limits. It is time that women stopped taking the blame for men’s crimes. It is time that women realised that it is never their fault.  That they alone have the right over their bodies and their dignity, and that no man has the right to even touch them without their permission. It is time that women spoke out, fearlessly.

It is time that women were provoked. Provoked to fight back.

The bystander phenomenon has gone on long enough in India. This is a plea to all women – stand up for yourself, stand up for other women. You see some girl in trouble, immediately go to her aid –each and every woman in the crowd – reach there, mob the molester, given him a public lesson he will never forget.

Start doing this, and you will see the bullies cower.

A bully lasts only as long as his victim fears him.

Women power has always been underestimated.

Power does not lie in muscles. Power lies in retaliating. Together. This act does not need a Bill to be passed by Parliament. It needs no law to be enforced. It needs only courage.

As for those so-called educated men, who believe that this situation is a result of women crossing their limits in their dressing, let me remind them of an incident in the Ramayana.

When Sita was abducted by Ravana and her ornaments were shown to her husband Ram and brother- in-law Lakshman, Lakshman could identify only her anklets.

Because he had looked only at her feet, out of respect.

And this respect for women is what is lacking in men today. Before you criticise women for losing their morals and not emulating Sita, remember that you have lost your values and do not respect women anymore. Change yourself first!

(Email: snehaverghese@yahoo.co.in)

A poem about India

I wrote this today while riding the front seat of the local bus from Alleppey to Varkala in South India:

No shades of grey

Black

Drowned rat bloated in the backwaters, guts hanging out

Rubbish everywhere

Dead dog hit by car

Squat toilets with no loo paper

Russian tourists in Goa

Men spitting on the ground

Shane Warne and Liz Hurley in the gossips

Mozzies out to getcha

White

Indian hospitality, helpful and kind

Women in saris

Vegetarian thalis

Chai chai chai

Newspaper columns - journalists will philosophise

Sun drenched days
Yoga asanas

Cheap for a travellin’

Head wobbles

Photos: Kerala backwaters & vegetarian thali