Silly little boy

Day 39 - 27th April 2006

Hiroshima

There are only a few countries with nuclear weapons: Russia, the United States, the United Kingdom, France, China, North Korea, India, Pakistan, Israel and maybe a few others who haven't announced their possession. There are 29,000 nuclear warheads deployed throughout the world at present. If you are to follow the United States' current attitude to the nuclear non-proliferation treaty (1968) and the comprehensive test ban treaty (1996), that these are 'documents of the past', then we are at the dawn of an new age of nuclear arms. This was always an exclusive club though; you had to be in the right place at the right time to get in. You had to have the force, the paranoia and the propaganda machine to do it.
Now that there's an unwelcome applicant to this club, Iran, which doesn't support the right UN-friendly neo-liberal policies, it's time to take action. Thank you John Bolton.
Anyway since there's a potential new nuclear terror threat and a corresponding war against it, we'd better be prepared hadn't we? John Reid's got it in hand, a new Trident replacement, for which AWE Aldermaston and Burghfield are already building the necessary buildings. Some people are trying to draw people's attention that there was no public debate over this issue.

60 years have passed since a nuclear weapon was used in warfare. 20 years have passed since the last major nuclear energy generation accident at Chernobyl. Time passes, people die and new generations are born into, but relatively unaware of the nuclear age. Fortunately Hiroshima is still something lodged in Western consciousness.

After the Manhattan project was complete and partly to justify it's cost, a list of potential targets in Japan were drawn up, mainly in an effort to end the Pacific War and curb the Soviet Union's influence in the area. Hiroshima was chosen as it had not previously been bombed (they needed to measure the results of the bomb on virgin soil), itwas a massive historical military stronghold and it was believed that it did not contain an allied POW camp. On August 6th 1945 at 8.15am the B52 Enola Gay dropped little boy on Hiroshima. That bit most people know. It destroyed everything within several kilometres radius. Thousands died instantly, tens of thousands of hibakusha (A-bomb survivors) died subsequently. About 200,000 have died in total as a result of the bomb or it's after effects to date. It flattened the city's building's instantaneously.

So James and I went. Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park with it's museum and memorial hall stand as a permanent testament to the city's new status as a stronghold and centre of international peace. After stepping off the street car, the first sight that greets you is the A-bomb dome. Formerly Hiroshima Prefectural Indutrial Promotion Hall, the building was almost directly below the exact place where the bomb exploded. Saved by a campaign to have a permanent reminder of the bomb's damage, despite the inevitable anxiety and grief it caused to the city's inhabitants trying to recover from the single worst atrocity (in terms of scale) ever committed during a war. When the bomb hit, because the dome was directly underneath it was not destroyed, but the intense heat caused the steel shell to instantly fuse the metal. As is often the case, when you visit places of extremely historical significance, it's difficult to imagine what happened here, especially in thriving modern day Hiroshima, where Mazda is based. We chatted to a Japanese tourist about why we were there, and he was pleased that we'd made the effort to visit; apparently the attitude to the history of the A-bombs is changing in Japan now.

The Peace Memorial Park and Museum used to be visited by hundreds upon hundreds of school children everyday (and there were plenty there during our visit), but apparently their numbers are dwindling. Every year on August 6, however, the Japanese Prime Minister joins the mayor of Hiroshima at a speech called "The Peace Declaration" to commemorate the atomic bombing of the city.

In the museum, an audio guide gives you a good history of Hiroshima, Japan's expansionism and total military focus during the First Sino-Japanese War (1894-1895) and Russia in the Russo-Japanese War (1904-1905), moving onto the scond Sino-Japanese war, the Axis and the Pacific War. It holds copies of the Manhattan project documents, during which the A-bomb was approved for use by Truman and Hirshima was selected. It describes in detail what happened to people after the A-bomb and displays pictures of those instaneously burnt to death or running away from the hypocentre with flesh hanging off them. It shows scorced roof tiles bricks, bent metal girders and shadows cast upon bricks of those who were caught in the full glare of the synthetic sun. A 360 degree view of central Hiroshima after the blast shows a city totally flattened as far as the eye could see. Many people were permanently disfigured or suffered perverse side-effects such as black fingernails or bizarre discharges. The bombs' after-effects and the subsequent nuclear arms race, were also covered.

I found the Peace Memorial Hall most intersting; it holds a massive public database carrying information on all of the hibakusha, including personal accounts or the recollections of relatives. You could search alphabetically for each and every victim. This was clearly unpleasant, and I could only stomach so much; for instance how people searched among the rubble for their children. One story was of a man who searched for day and days for his daughter and finally recognised her corpse by her scorched wooden sandals in the wreckage of her school. Many carried dying loved ones home and nursed them for several days before they finally succumbed to radiation poisoning. Within the country hibakusha were often treated with contempt or regarded in horror as people thought they might be contagious or cursed in some way, though general attitudes changed over time.

The H-bombs subsequently developed and tested have been up to 1000 times more powerful than the one dropped in Hiroshima, using nuclear fusion rather than fission. It is unsure how powerful you theoritically make a nuclear bomb.

It pleases me that the Japanese school kids we've met (and not just the ones in Hiroshima as in the picture) always like to make the two-fingered peace sign in photos. Beautiful sentiment; I hope it becomes embedded in the culture. Peace to humanity.

O-kee-nee!

Day 38 - 26th April 2006

Kyoto

I'm a bit embarassed. We're in a new open-plan hostel, easily the best hostel I've ever been in. The kitchen facilities are top notch, the bookshelf is full of useful literature, the staff are lovely, there are plenty of pretty girls around and the bedrooms are safe and secure. Despite this, I am sat by myself. For a reason. You can't wear your shoes in a Japanese abode and my feet absolutely stink. They never used to; I used to be able to stand week upon week of wearing trainers without an unpleasant smell, but they really reek now. Normally you don't even notice your own 'odours', so it must be especially bad. James is the main person having to suffer this, being my near constant companion, so I should really take his advice and buy some odour eaters.

Time I digressed. When we arrived the day before yesterday, we knew Japan would present us with a new set of challenges. Speaking English is the exception not the rule, even in Tokyo. During the short time (a day) we spent in the capital, our time was taking up having a nightmare withdrawing cash. We departed our hostel for Ueno (where Nick sadly couldn't meet us), a brash downtown area, gradually getting hyped up as we dodged the fantastically beautiful girls and vendors with silly hats, ready for a few beers to celebrate our arrival in Japan. Better get the money, we thought. Well, the ATM's were hard enough to use in the first place, especially the ones which didn't have an 'English' button. We must have tried a dozen cash machines before giving up and heading for central Tokyo, incredulous that we couldn't get any money out in a major shopping area. We had no better luck at Tokyo central station. OK, it was a Sunday night, but even so I was surprised how quiet this metropolis was at 9pm. Nowhere accepted Visa cards it seemed, after 30 further minutes of effort. We bought dinner in Ueno station on James' credit card, and clearly we were a bit downhearted by our first taste of Japan. Just goes to show that capitalism doesn't equal freedom ;) Needless to say we sorted everything the following morning. The afternoon trip on the bullet train to the former capital, Kyoto, was flawless.

Both of us absolutely love Kyoto, Japan's capital from 794AD - 1868AD. One day's lazy cycle around this most tranquil of cities was spell binding enough. In the eastern Gion district, buddhist temple after temple stretch off in the mountains that hem Kyoto in. The number and scale of these places of worship and ceremony is surprisingly large. Getting around them by bike as we did was not a problem, but the lack of tour guide was, therefore a large chunk of what we understand about these relics was cut off. The space and peace of the area spoke a universal language, however.

In our first stop - the coffee shop at the Kyoto National Museum - we were the most relaxed we have been on our travels, or perhaps even a while before that. Everything was settled and content. The still water troughs by the sides of the footpaths really appealed to me, and the clearly delineated fencing, foliage and flora was colourful and vivid. James and I took a long while to get out of lazy bastard mode in that place, I can tell you. The museum itself reminded me that my mind's eye pre-conceptions of Japan were sorely limited. I had no idea of the chronology of the history, cultural touchstones or national psyche beyond martial arts, Japanese warriors, WW2 stereotypes and cutting edge technology. Maybe this is because Britain never got it's grubby mits on the place. A quick wander around the archealogical artefacts, ceramics, painting and sculpture started to fill those gaping holes. I've never been drawn to sculpture, for instance, but I was in this museum. The wooden Buddhas were so finely and exquisitely carved that it was hard to imagine what time and complex mathematics would have been involved in their production.

Buddhism came to Japan in the 6th century, and the courts and other local culture mingled with it to create different buddhist sects and forms of worship. Buddhism's generation in India, meant that it shared a lot with Hinduism and many of it's orignal texts were in Sanskrit. Using the Sanjusangendo temple as our starting point was a piece of good fortune and we received a good feel for the calm and contemplative nature of the temples. Crowds of school kids on day excursions to Kyoto surrounded us, larking about, but still respectful. One group spoke to us as part of an assignment. We were really pleased to see how chuffed they were after exchanging a few words with us and one of them even started punching the air in joy! They gave us both a small key-ring as a token of thanks after we posed for photos with them. I kicked myself for not having any of the trinkets I'd brought from home on me, which would have allowed me to reciprocate. The temple interior was a sight to make anyone slack-jawed; hundreds of beautifully crafted, human-size buddhas formed an army raised on a vast hall of ascending steps.

Later on as we cycled further around the town and walked through the ornamental gardens it occured to me again how clear, clean and orderly everything was. The parks are lovingly tended and everything has a clear border, compartmentalised from it's surrounding, be that a footpath, a flower bed or a tidy well-swept back yard. It even extended to those walking in its environs; neat school uniforms and well brushed hair. Outside the gardens everything else is also calm and organised. The pedestrian crossings have the sound of bird song to aid blind people. Even the toilets have taps that run water into cisterns that you can wash your hands underneath whilst it is still clean. It's all in hand, but this creates doubt in me. There must be a downside to this control. Things have there place, but can they grow at will? The trees are closely trimmed, so I wonder if the school kids have their wings clipped in private too.

Today we visited Nara (capital of Japan from 710AD - 784AD) we walked through more park land where tame deer rome as a tourist attraction. You can pet and feed the deer, aided by a vendor selling oatcakes. You give the attendant 150 Yen for a pack of the biscuits, you feed the deer, the deer defecate where they stand and the attendant clears the faeces up immediately with a brush and pan. It's anything but organic, in fact it's pointless. As a result of all the human influence the deer are very bold and one of the buggers ripped a hole in my plastic bag and nicked a banana out of it, when I'd hardly even set foot in the park.

An exception to this regulation and rigidity I mention is the Japanese love of improvised jazz which plays everywhere. James and I visited the Blue Note bar in downtown Kyoto last night to listen to a local quartet play. The bar itself was great, crammed full of Jazz vinyl and interesting people.The band were pretty good and the vituoso trumpeter managed to produce the most filthy sound I've ever heard emanate from a trumpet during his opening flourish. We also learnt to say 'o-kee-nee' (that's how you pronouce it), which means 'thanks' in this region.

Hong Kong cuts

Hanging out in Kowloon Park is always a real laugh.













Good job James didn't come on the cable car up to HK Peak. It was pretty damn steep.












Yuck, another ugly corporate HQ.

Be Cause (way Bay) the world is round

Day 33 - 21st April 2006

Hong Kong Island

When my friend Craig went missing from Marish Middle school in October 1989, I wondered what had happened to him. When he returned at the end of the month, it turned out that he'd been to Hong Kong with his parents (well, he was only 9) and he came back with some brilliant stuff, as Craig often did. Amongst his booty was a pirate cassette of Michael Jackson hits recorded by some local artist ripping him off. Many was the Sunday afternoon Craig and I would spend listening to this on Craig's Dad's beat-up old JVC cassette recorder whilst playing Nintendo. I'd always wanted to check Hong Kong out since that day.

17 years have passed, James and I are in Hong Kong (Causeway Bay to be exact), and Craig is in a printers in Petersfield Avenue. Ha ha ha. Sorry Craig.

It's certainly a difference from India. In terms of economic development, we've wheeled forward several decades. My first impressions of the place were that everything was clean, well organised (apart from our hostel) and enjoying the life-style products produced in the sweat shops of it's near neighbours. It is a very trendy place and everyone is wearing branded clothes, I think it's more secular too. The place is a chain store paradise with streets delineated by block upon block of high rises. We're going out for the night tonight, so hopefully I can speak to a few HK residents.

I should have been wise enough not to try and orientate myself in the city yesterday, with next to no sleep on the previous night's flight. I stumbled up and down Nathan Road on Kowloon in the afternoon, getting mardy and decided to stay in Causeway Bay for the evening. It's not easy being vegetarian here. 'nuff said.

This morning we went to Stanley Market on the south side of Hong Kong Island to buy new gear, simply because everything we have is dirty and now in the laundry. The market is small-ish and mainly sells cheap clothes.

In the photo of me at Stanley Bay, to the left, I am wearing the Chinese workers hat my Grandparents brought me back from their holiday in 1986. I just wanted to reunite it with it's home land.

In the market you can buy t-shirts with Mao Tse Tung on the front or 35 Hong Kong Dollars. I'm sure this place has changed a lot in the last few years...


Being a vegetarian in Hong Kong is pretty difficult. Last night's pumpkin pie turned out to be some rotten jelly thing in melon sauce (see left). I should have known I wouldn't get much in a posh restaurant for 20 HKD. The parsley didn't fill me up. Today I have made my own cheese and tomato sandwiches from the supermarket.

Bye Bye Bharat, Bye Bye

Day 31 - 19th April 2006

Mumbai

It's all change today. Jaz left for Heathrow this morning, and we're off to the airport in a little while. I'm sad to be leaving India and losing our companion of the last few weeks. I think we'll be back in India soon enough though, though I doubt I'll ever get the place out of my system.

Nothing much to say about the last few days, because we willingly lapsed into tourist mode and went to Palolem beach in Goa. This is a paradise beach resort catering for European trade. Lovely, relaxing, but nothing to right home about. The local dogs and cows relaxed on the beach whilst we swam, ate western food and got ripped off buying crap drums. We stayed in a beach hut; James and I think we've had a preview of what Thai islands might be like.

This morning, James and me headed across town to fulfil the promise we made to kids in the Emmanual Orphanage at Thekaddy - to buy them a replacement for their busted guitar. We headed past stinking Crawford Market to the packed SV Patel Road (no the first time we've had a diffucult time finding a place - taxi drivers in Mumbai don't seem to know the place at all). We went to Singh's musical intsrument merchants and bought an acoustic guitar, strings, strap and tutorial booklet for the kids. We hope that and the tambourine will accompany them when they sing their hymns; even if it takes them a while to master the instrument, their music teacher should be able to help them out. We just hope that once the shop has shipped it, the guitar gets there in one piece! I don't know if we've done the right thing, especially after Jaz rightly pointed out last night that I was only giving to beggars to appease my conscience, when I felt low.

As we headed back across town it occurred to me that I should list some of the things that I associate with our trip across this sub-continent. Here we go:

Red Paan stains and chalk Hindu welcoming patterns on the pavement. The smell of rotting fish from Crawford market. Spending almost a solid month in Indian transport and not seeing one accident! The orange earth and green jungle of Periyar and Masinagudi. Insistent street traders, crowing tailors and grumpy rick-shaw wallah. Fabulous temples and esoteric faith. The colour of the street food and willingness of anyone to help out a confused Englishman. Mile after mile after mile of slums waiting for the monsoon to reduce them to a pile of corrugated iron and rubble. Knowing that after the monsoon they'll be reconstructed in a matter of days.

'GO' - karna (Karnataka state)

Day 24 - 12th April 2006

Travelling is unpredictable, so your emotional response is whimsical. We now know this is fact.

After getting into Gokarna, an isolated town just south of the Goan state border, we thought the tribulations of sweaty Cochin we at an end. It began well enough with a simple taxi journey to a hotel which provided us with a three bedroom room (though not a/c). We thought we'd take it easy on ourselves, get dinner and go to bed. This was another opportunity for my 'South India Rough Guide' to really foul things up with it's out of date information. We had a bit of trouble finding the Green Gate cafe to begin with and our patience wore down in line with our blood sugar level. After wandering around the local bus station, we found a shoddily constructed hut, lit by a single base light bulb. After being put off by the table-hopping stray cats and straining our eyes in vain to read the menu, we decided to take another piece of dubious advice from the 'Rough Guide to being worng', as James calls it. The Sea Green restaurant was at the end of a dimly lit path, and consisted of a deserted picnic site with two idle waiters picking their nails next to a service hut. Jaz and I were hungry enough to go along with it, but the snarling dog put James off entirely. By the time we got to the Prema Cafe and belated sustenance the mood was dour. Sleep deprived James was (understandably) grouchy, Jaz was paranoid that she was responsible (I've no idea why) and I was trying to please everyone and consequently pleasing no-one at all. We got back to a stuffy room after being hounded by an unwanted tour guide and struggling our way through a procession of several hundred people (Gokarna has abundant medieval holy temples).

James was seriously thinking about packing up and heading straight for Goa the next morning, but we managed to persuade him to give Gokarna a stay of execution. Good bleeding job as well. Gokarna was absolutely fabulous in the light. Built along a single main road - 'Car Street' , it still had a strong Indian identity, aided by the fact we were out of the tourist season. The fine temple and halls were holding varying rituals and gatherings and the place had a great buzz from all the traders and Indian pilgrims-come-holiday-makers here for the week long festival we'd stumbled across unaware. Down by the pretty beaches cows and dogs lay asleep in the shade or frolicked in the surf next to the sunbathers. Everybody chilled out and cheered right up. In our hotel the Indian pilgrims had hired out small rooms but fitted scores of people inside by dossing down on the floors. I felt a bit guilty about our new spacious three bedroom a/c room.

The most serene place we visited was Om beach, a few kilometers south of Gokarna. Om is a secluded cove in the shape of Om symbol. It was the perfect place to swim, drink and relax.

Time is moving on swiftly now, and we'll be leaving India in under a week. We are in Palolem, Goa now. It is pretty, and has great amenities, but it's really touristy. Now we've found some nice beach huts James will get some time to catch up on sleep, Jaz gets her sun tan time and I'll do some swimming. We're not going to learn much from the place, though. I still feel like we could have got more out of India, even though a month was too paltry to do much. We've got our train tickets to Mumbai booked for the 17th. James and I have found our feet with travelling now, so it's time to knuckle down when we get to Hong Kong.

To the left is a pictue of Jaz and me mucking about.

Great news about Chirac/Villepain having to remove the CPE in France, this has cheered me up no end! Now if we could only learn the lesson and do the same thing with ID cards in the UK...

Elsewhere, United have got rid of Cornforth and are relying on Ian Atkins, which is a sensible move. Let hope it's not too late. Come on you Gulls!

Congratulations to Ms. Dorman on successful application to the Civil Service fast stream. Well done, I knew you'd do it. Now you just have a to hand in your personality and political conscience to fit in, and be just like me :( Still you can always look forward to your bowler hat and endless cups of tea if you go along with Michael Howard's view of Civil Servants. If you have any CS questions just drop me a line.

As we are now on the last leg of our time in India, I probably won't have an update for a week or so until we get to Hong Kong. Thanks to Isaac, Sue and Mr. Jagger for all their advice, we are now well prepared!

The 'South India' Intrepid tour group

From left:

Jim, me, Isaac, Karmapriya, Karmapriya's Mum, Sue (Jaz is taking the photo).

Who said I wouldn't make an arse of myself in India?

The Boomtown Rats circa 1978? Or maybe Elvis Costello... and a hot chick.

Cinnamon leaves in the Spice Garden

Abraham explains the virtues of Cinnamon to me. You can eat the leaves like sweets, they are mouth-watering.

Shiny happy people

Patronising enough for you? Actually they wanted to be photographed. Don't worry, the tables were soon turned as we in turn were snapped back. The locals can't seem to get enough of photos with honkees, presumably to laugh at our pasty skin.

An average Joe

In the Keralan backwaters.

Best bib and tucker

You dress up for a visit to Cherai Beach.

Ooty tea plantation

The happiest tea merchant you'll ever meet.

Me, Jim & Jaz

On our way to Fort Cochin via ferry.

Spice Garden

Banana flowers smell surprisingly unpleasant.

Kathakali

This is the make up before the Kathakali performance, a local ritaulized theatre in Kerala. Esoteric, but we still enjoyed it.

A local resident thrilled to see us

I believe he is wearing what Craig calls a 'Dude Rag'.

Train from Cochin to Mangalore

Day 22 – 10th April 2006

We’re back on our own, left to our own devices and masters of our destinies again.

Even though we’ve grown an extra head – Jaz – we still couldn’t work our way out of ‘Fort’ Cochin until the early hours of this morning. Wandering around Ernakulam ( the main part of Cochin) in the searing midday heat and being unable to secure bus nor train passage back up the western coast, we gave up on Friday and stayed in the Grand hotel for another night.

In an effort to sort things out on Saturday we checked into a cheaper hotel uptown – Hotel Hakoba – after we’d sorted out a train ticket to Mangalore for 1.30am Monday morning. It looked like a reasonable place to me, a bit shabby but basically clean. James didn’t think so that evening, despite paying eatra for an air conditioned room. After a few hours the a/c (with no outlet vent) the humidity increased to such an extent in his sweat box, that some friendly visitors came out to fill the vacant side of his bed: Mr. Cockroach, the lice cartel and an army of ants. Only a lizard really did poor old Jim any favours by lapping up some of the insects buzzing around the (by know) soup like environment. By 2am after opening his internal window onto a brick wall and cloud of mosquitos, Jim abandoned all hope of sleep and decided to make his escape. Outside his room, sadly, the building was cloaked in darkness and James couldn’t find a saviour light switch and he was then incarcerated until dawn. He then immediately checked into the posh Sealord up the road for some respite. James later dubbed Cochin a 'festering pustule of shit', but perhaps he was slightly biased.

Other than this little episode we passed the time enjoying traditional traveller pursuits: interminable queuing at train reservation desks, holding fruitless five minute negotiations with rickshaw drivers and eating approximations of western grub to show mercy to ailing stomachs. Cochin is very humid being so far south and it is quite a busy city, so we've been a little stressed at times, but Jaz - bless her - has been calming influence. We did two things of note in Cochin. Firstly we finally got to the beach. Cherai beach is 30k north of Cochin. It was a fair old walk through a neighbourhood caught up in local election fever (the posters and PA systems of UDP and Communist candidates were everywhere), before we reached a very pleasant golden beach and beautifully warm water. We whiled away a refreshing couple of hours before heading back for food in Cherai itself. Here we made – or rather Jaz made – a friend, a local lad who slightly outstayed his welcome at our table in the restaurant, making rather stilted conversation. I’m sure he meant well and he did bring us sweets, but we were glad to get on the bus and leave him behind. We didn’t get very far, however, as part of the exhaust fell of the bus making a juddering sound underneath the chassis. We extracted a suspect refund and caught another bus part of the way and then got a rickshaw.

I went with Jaz to see ‘Banaras’ at the Shenoy cinema yesterday evening. It was some religious/mystical love story which was incredibly cheesy. The mad pouting and bosom heaving was so overt during the boy/girl scenes it was near pornographic by Bollywood standards. We left during the intermission.

Aside from that, I’ve learnt that I’m crap at ‘Shithead’, a card game.

United let me down on my birthday again :(

Day 15 - 3rd April 2006

Normally my birthday would involve either going to work, drinking with my mates in the evening or watching Torquay lose. None of these things happened today... quite. Although I wasn't watching them, Torquay kept up tradition and went down one-nil to Rushden which ruined the day. :(

In actual fact I woke up in Mamallapuram on the West coast of India, a seaside resort overlookign the Bay of Bengal. I'd only woken because of the sound of a local artisan chiseling away at a Hindu Idol in the plot next to our hotel. We went on a bike ride during the day around Hindu shrines carvered into boulders and sea front temples damaged by the tsunami. This was followed up by visiting a boy's orphanage on the edge of town, finally enjoying a mad journey (yes, another one) into Chennai and a birthday chorus on the overnight train to Mysore. Certainly a big difference from normal, but I was still utterly miserable when I called my parents and found out that Torquay lost. I think I should sort my priorities out.

I've decided that I going to take better care of myself - I've become a bit battered over the last few days. Firstly, I won't take on people younger than me at sport any more. I was soundly trounced at volleyball by the lads at the boy's orphanage and ended up with a gashed knee in the process. Being sat down and fanned by 12-year-old boys was a tad humiliating. Secondly, I will make an effort to eat more protein. According to our group leader, Prya, you don't have to think about a balanced veggie diet in North India because everything comes with dhal, but in the south you shoud be more vigilant. Dhal is my friend and it will put an end to my lethargy. Last of all one starchy meal a day is quite enough in India! I realy miss salad and fresh veg. :(

We've been on this trip for 11 days now, and our group has gelled. Perhaps I should tell you a little about them. Karmaprya (Prya for short) is our group leader. She is a Swede who has adopted a Sanskrit name. James and I have been able to chat to her a lot about Stockholm. She's 36 and has spent the last five years in India studying yoga. There is Sue, from Suffolk, who was until recently working for a tour guide company, and she has visited India 11 times! Isaac from Annaheim, California and orginally from Hong Kong has a passion for South Indian food and travel the world over. Lastly Jaz is 19 year-old from Esher who is off to study English Literatue at Cambridge next Autumn. She's been to Thailand so we've been swapping information on travelling and studying.

I've just heard two of my friends in Reading were arrested for an action at Heathrow targetting BAA. I hope they are OK. I'm off to drop an email to them.

Auro-villains

Day 12 - 31 March 2006

The journey and the transport have now reached new chaotic heights, but there's a new age oasis of calm at the end of the road...

We're just about to leave Pondicherry, but we endured a nerve-fraying bus journey from Villapuram to get here, I can tell you! Yesterday we took a lazy (and sweaty) train ride from early morning Madurai, and arrived in an intense and bad tempered Villapuram. We found the bus to Pondicherry, a typical old knackered affair, with DIY electrics peaking out around the dashboard. I can say that there was plenty of space on board for us and our luggage, and the tinny speakers knocking out commercial bangra put us in a slightly better mood. It was only supposed to be a one hour journey, so all well and good. We should have known from the grumpy fizzog of the conductor and the possessed look of the dirver that something was wrong. We cracked off at a fair old pace and when we reached the first stop all seats and standing were taken up. After that point the the driver kept looking at his watch, me and Jaz (one of our mates from the group), who were sat adjacent to him, had a perfect view as a slightly pushy driving style emerged, together with a preference of horn over use (both even by Indian standards). A little further on it turned into a take-no-prisoners rally. We drove on the right hand side of the road, overtook buses whilst other buses were approching us in the opposite direction - pulling in front with inches to spare and forced cyclists and rickshaw drivers almost off the road. Night descended which did not help matters. Rickshaw lights are not particularly bright, and the constant over-taking, incessent horn and fog-horn (yes, like on an ocean-liner) usage was frightening indeed. Prya, our group leader, asked the driver to slow down; not only the group but the rest of the bus were terrified. He took heed until he was chastised by the angry bus conductor. Pedal to the metal again, I was soon tracking our progress between the spaces of my fingers. Pretty soon we came to another stop, but it wasnt long enough for both the woman and child, who wanted to get off, to disembark: the woman had to jump off the moving vehicle. With our knuckles whitening we again slowed down through a crowd of people blocking the road. Hammering on all sides and shouting at the driver, the yelling crowd stopped the bus completely. They continued this and began to paste posters onto the wind-shield of the bus. It turns out our driver is not unionised. After eventually getting past the picket, the driver was now checking his watch even more furiously. I noticed the signs for 'Pondicherry' were becoming more frequent, but the distance was decreasing incredibly slowly, whilst our will to get off the bus was sky high. I noticed a woman with a baby which would easily have flown out of her hands with even a slight break. Jaz's jokes about road crashes didn't make things any easier. When we finally arrived i was covered in sweat. Prya informed the driver that he was "the worst in India" (and therefore possibly the world), but he just grinned and got off the bus.

Pondicherry is a former French enclave, and the French colonian streets and architecture, together with the good food and wine in this evening's restaurant, went a long way to calming our nerves. I probably would have been pleased to leave pondicherry directly after this. It felt - on my limited experience - as though it had an unpleasant edge some of the other towns didn't: traders who were that bit too pushy and taxi drivers willing to mow you down. The "Sri Aurobindo Ashram College" was a rock of calm in the middle of these stormy waters.

Sri Aurobindo was a poet and political leader, as well as a contemporary of Gandhi's. As independence drew near his thoughts turned to the long-term future of India in the world. A master Yogi, he focused on divine spirituality and inner consciousness rejecting all divisions of religion, race, borders or political systems. Only the supreme truth rather than any doctrine could be followed (if you consider that not to be a doctrine). He set up the Ashram (or spiritual community) and founded a community to follow the route of peace and harmony. This was when he met Mira Alfassa, or "the mother", who continued his work, forming industries to support and develop the community and further the cause of divine spirituality. They also formed a new settlement called "Auroville" (picture slow, lilting flute and recorder music, floating candles and yoga positions). The college had a very calm garden and "samadi" - a water trough filled with flowers where people were meditating. After some time thinking, we moved onto the Aurobindo paper mill, where they produce paper sustainably from all sorts of fibrous material. The idea aspired to is one where each human is valued equally, regardless of the function they perform or title they hold. These are opportunities to serve mankind.

We were shown around the mill by an Aurovillian who explained the purpose of spirituality in the world as he saw it, and the limitations of the materialistic life of the west. OK, this comes on like some of dubious cult or unattainable dream. Well, alarm bells did start ringing when he talked about how the world was already working towards an end to poverty and solving the requirement for food and shelter in humanity. Too long in Aurovile perhaps? I am always interested by anything which purports to provide an alternative form of existence. It was the horizontal decision making, small community groups and non-hierarchical status of people (the Aurovillians) which interested me because it sounded like a working example or anarchism. Of course, it wasn't, because it still abides by one authority - that of divine spirituality, which means little to an agnostic man from the Home Counties. Regardless, I'd already decided that I liked our first Aurovillian because he had a look of intrigue about him. He had an assured and calm nature, but then so do charismatic con-men. Around the paper mill (somewhat looked down upon in the Aurovillian community for being open to the public) Aurovillians went about their business in much the same way you would expect. The only difference is that you can dictate your own working patterns to some extent.

I wanted to see further into this community, so we went to Auroville. To what extent they'd made this new town (planned to hold 50,000 people and inaugurated by 'the mother' in 1968) work and progress, could only be measured by a visit.

That afternoon we set off from Pondicherry, and when the terrain changed to lush and verdant vegitation, we were driving through the residential zone of Auroville. Other than a few westerners, the settlements looked like most other indian villages,bar a few more dwellings being constructed. This was oringally arid waste-land that had been changed via innovative irrigation into a productive fertile area. Apprently 5,000 jobs had been created for the non-Aurovillian community around the locality, but of course this is perpetuating the market economy and non-spritual path outside. A short hop further on, past lazing dogs in green lanes, we arrived in "Peace" - the centre of Auroville, and one of five zones (the others being creative, residential, industrial and one which escapes my memory)..

My first impression was that the place was quiet, reflecting its small population. In amongst the well-tended gardens and pleasant buildings sits an information centre, where we were shown a video about Auroville and then the central worship place, "Matri Mandir". I quite liked the place, but the Aurovillians themselves are stand-offish so you couldn't find out a great deal. We walked over to the Matri Mandir, but looking at the huge globe in which meditation took place, you didn't gain much 'Auro-insight'. I'm afraid the whole place had undertones of restriction of free will, simply because of the restrictions placed upon those who visited Auroville. An Aurovillian explaining the Matri Mandir and ampitheatre to the crowd of trendy and bored Bengali shool kids seemed very authoritarian to me. We couldn't move inside certain roped off zones and found out that residents have to adhere to a fairly defined set of codes.
A big problem for me is the use of the word 'spirituality', of which I have very little understanding myself. Without a strong sense of sprituality as a instinct and destination, rather than a duplicitous religion or a loaded agenda it is hard to judge Auroville. I wouldn't describe myself as spiritual; perhaps soulful from time to time!
I should remember that this is a work in progress and that Auroville was never expected to function without complications to begin with - rather that it would develop in stages, towards the ultimate goal of the human race guided solely by spirituality. Common practical problems you could ask of Auroville would be personal disputes and judicial issues, as well as the extent to which they rely on the outside community; I'll need to do some more research on this. As I expected, a number of committes formed via representatives of small groups decided on the day to day matters in Auroville, similar to Anarchist based systems. I was impressed on leaving Auroville that at least they'd made the community work since 1968, aspiring to ideals which I found at least partly commendable myself. They have made an alternative (if far from perfect), society function largely outside the bounds of the state, the UN, the IMF, the WTO and the World Bank for almost four decades. I think that itself is an encouraging signal to humankind.