Perhaps it was naive of me to think I could go to Lebanon a third time in 5 months and not see something terribly shocking. I sort of figured I'd seen a lot of things in Lebanon. My family is a bunch of mountain folks. They go down into the city a lot, but know how to survive. Hunting is a big sport, but the scarred psychology that remains after a civil that rocked the nation for two decades is a fragile one. "Defense" is still in the front of the minds of many people. One of my cousins that I hadn't seen in nearly 7 years is back from working in the gulf and he likes guns. I'll just leave it at that. He likes guns. The first morning after I awoke, he showed me a pistol. He said "it's good quality, German." Upon further examination he revealed it to be a 1918 german pistol. I don't really know anything about guns (turning my back somewhat on both of my heritages...) but it looked and felt like a really nice piece of machinery. I can't condone it, but I try to appreciate something that is done with real quality. Besides, this pistol had some old cloth wrapped up and stuck in the barrel. Also, the bullets were not in the gun. So I let that one go as a nice machine. What I saw next really shocked me.
My cousin asked if I liked it. I honestly answered "yes, it's a high quality gun." So, essentially given the green light, he asked if I liked hunting. Again I answered honestly (gotta stop doing that around lebanese family...) "I don't like it myself, but I appreciate people who hunt and eat what they kill." So he pulls out a high powered gun. I don't mean a hunting rifle, I mean a military grade weapon. It was the most imposing gun I've ever been able to touch. BIG rifle. Not something I would think to use as a "deer hunting weapon" more like a Samual Jackson from Jackie Brown style "for when you absolutely got to kill ever motherf*cker in the room" style weapon. Any deer that comes up against that thing... Well...
Ok, two weapons, high caliber. Third gun! WHAT. THE. F*CK!? is that thing? I has a shoulder brace and is a much higher powered gun than either of the first two. I was almost afraid to hold it. This was an assassin's gun. Scary shit. I'm not kidding. It was scary shit. Of course, it wasn't loaded and the ammo wasn't even in the room. But holding that kind of potential destructive power is not something with which I can yet consider myself comfortable. Oh MY GOD. I think my tour of guns is finished for the day.
Ok, guns, enough. Later that morning after a beautiful breakfast in perfect weather on a perfect veranda overlooking some of the world's most gorgeous scenery, my (78 year old) aunt comes out and says something to her son and grandson. Her son begins explaining to me that they found some leftover explosives in the old wood shed. He said during the war they had to be ready to defend themselves at a moment's notice. He also explained to me that these explosives can simply be lit on fire and they do so sometimes just to light fires in the stove or whatever other common household chose is necessary. Explosives (plastic explosives) don't explode from fire alone. They require a chain reaction, and generally a powerful force to hit them first. Some my younger cousin (who'd been showing me the guns) goes to the wood shed and brings out some plastic explosives onto the deck... WHAT. THE. F*CK!?
He plays with them a little, and I tell him not to throw them or else invite disaster. He said, if these explode we'd find the stones of the house in beirut. He's right. There were some big explosives leftover. I don't know how much firepower was there, but certainly enough to knock down the house in which they currently reside (and it's a big house). My older cousin finally explains to me that during the war he had a whole stockpile of weapons including but not limited to grenades, mortars, 2000 lbs TNT, TWO bazookas (not just one bazooka, but two bazookas...), smaller explosives, and a small militia's worth of guns. After that war was end he took most of the illegal stuff (I guess it wasn't illegal in the war, because there were no laws) to the local army storage base and said he'd found it somewhere. Whatever kind of story is sufficient to get that stuff off your hands. What was leftover were some guns for "hunting" and a few forgotten plastic explosives.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Spice Plantation in Goa
Goa really does have some wonderfully touristy things. I don't know how you can go to one of the world's premiere spice growing regions and ignore the spice markets and spice plantations totally. So off we go to the spice plantation. Cab far, non Indian resident fare, pre-paid lunch, more nickel and diming, and we're there!
One of the many things I picked up in India is a real love for cardamom. I liked it before, but it's a potent spice. Bite into one of those little capsules and it's a strong flavor. Perhaps too strong. I love it. It shows up in a lot of Indian dishes and in north india in chai and I get a huge kick out of chomping right into one of those powerful spice pods! One thing I didn't know (learned on the tour, I'm such a crappy tourist sometimes) is that cardamom is one of the world's most expensive spices. I can't remember where it ranks, and I'm not sure who's ranking it, but the tour guide had said something about.
I should take some time here to mention the tour. Our tour guide was a little Indian girl (probably about 30, but she looked 15 or 16) and gave us an over rehearsed under enthused tour. Most of the tour was about herbal remedies for things rather than cook this delicious dish with this spice, but still kind of interesting. However, it was monotone, flat, too fast to retain any useful info, and jokes were thrown in there, but totally deadpan. It was a shame because I actually liked a couple of them...
For example:
Concerning Peri Peri chillies, which are amongst the hottest chillies in the world. (I think they rank just below habeneros on the scoville scale) She said "These chillies are a cure for people you don't like. Just put two in any sandwich."
No laughter. Come one people, that wasn't so terrible for a joke. It's just that our girl didn't deliver it as if she meant it.
Second example: Concerning Fenny...
"The fruit of the cashews is left to ferment, then distilled twice. And if you people drink it you will be ready for take-off."
Ok, that one is not so funny, but I like the idea that she's making a jet fuel joke about homemade rotgut!
Anyway, I got to pet an elephant, eat some love apples (about which a british woman said "I'm not feeling the love..."), eat some raw coffee beans which was a fairly bizarre experience, and see some spice I'm not accustomed to seeing grow. We were fed lunch which was quite tasty and at the end of the tour the "brave people" were allowed to try the homemade fenny. Of course both Yvonne and I wanted to try more rotgut! Actually, it wasn't bad at all. It wasn't jet fuel, it didn't smell bad, and we weren't ready for take-off. It was essentially cashew flavored vodka. I've had much worse. Also, I didn't go blind, or lose any sight (not even from blackout).
One of the many things I picked up in India is a real love for cardamom. I liked it before, but it's a potent spice. Bite into one of those little capsules and it's a strong flavor. Perhaps too strong. I love it. It shows up in a lot of Indian dishes and in north india in chai and I get a huge kick out of chomping right into one of those powerful spice pods! One thing I didn't know (learned on the tour, I'm such a crappy tourist sometimes) is that cardamom is one of the world's most expensive spices. I can't remember where it ranks, and I'm not sure who's ranking it, but the tour guide had said something about.
I should take some time here to mention the tour. Our tour guide was a little Indian girl (probably about 30, but she looked 15 or 16) and gave us an over rehearsed under enthused tour. Most of the tour was about herbal remedies for things rather than cook this delicious dish with this spice, but still kind of interesting. However, it was monotone, flat, too fast to retain any useful info, and jokes were thrown in there, but totally deadpan. It was a shame because I actually liked a couple of them...
For example:
Concerning Peri Peri chillies, which are amongst the hottest chillies in the world. (I think they rank just below habeneros on the scoville scale) She said "These chillies are a cure for people you don't like. Just put two in any sandwich."
No laughter. Come one people, that wasn't so terrible for a joke. It's just that our girl didn't deliver it as if she meant it.
Second example: Concerning Fenny...
"The fruit of the cashews is left to ferment, then distilled twice. And if you people drink it you will be ready for take-off."
Ok, that one is not so funny, but I like the idea that she's making a jet fuel joke about homemade rotgut!
Anyway, I got to pet an elephant, eat some love apples (about which a british woman said "I'm not feeling the love..."), eat some raw coffee beans which was a fairly bizarre experience, and see some spice I'm not accustomed to seeing grow. We were fed lunch which was quite tasty and at the end of the tour the "brave people" were allowed to try the homemade fenny. Of course both Yvonne and I wanted to try more rotgut! Actually, it wasn't bad at all. It wasn't jet fuel, it didn't smell bad, and we weren't ready for take-off. It was essentially cashew flavored vodka. I've had much worse. Also, I didn't go blind, or lose any sight (not even from blackout).
Monday, April 19, 2010
Making a Still (limoncello part 3)
I have no idea about the legal regulations in India, but as the saying goes...
"In India, the answer is always 'no'... unless it's 'yes.'"
I'm just assuming that perhaps I did something mildly illegal. Oh well, tons of bootleggers all around and a black market that can provide 50 bottles of whiskey at 3AM with hoards and hoards (and hordes) of drugs (and drug smugglers) I figure they won't even realize there is a moonshiner (the term is probably something else) producing liquor very quietly for personal consumption. So, how does one do this?
I have to ask for a still. "The fixer had promised the ability to get one." I couldn't get ahold of him in time (or rather he couldn't get ahold of his guy on my schedule) so I had to take matters into my own hands.
It turns out the things that are easier to get in India than a still include:
1) GUNS
2) DRUGS (any variety)
3) Sex (again, any variety).
My sister points out that this can be said to be true in the united states as well. I guess I'd contend that you can legally BUY a still in the united states too, but these items are easier to get on the black market than a still. Who knew?
So, off to MAKE a still. I have very little idea what I'm going to do or the challenges facing this particular endeavor, but this is definitely all for the sake of science! (I have no other intention than to produce high quality alcohol for scientific purposes. Definitely not for consumption, no definitely not that.)
Pressure cooker, high grade plastic tubing (copper is nearly impossible to find, plus I'd need welding equipment...) and something to affix the tubing to the pressure release valve. Pressure cooker... Expensive. Oh wait, how about the second hand store(s). We found a nice 10L cooker for Rs 700. The usual price is 750 for 5L.
Tubing... Rs 14/meter... And a nice perfectly sized affixing tool for Rs 9. Ok, we're in business. Now, how does this thing work?
Attempt one: Run the tubing up through the ceiling fixtures and across the room into a small bucket with a hole in the bottom. Put water in the bucket to cool the tube (condenser) and allow goodness to come out.
EVERYTHING IS WORKING! OH SWEET SASSY MOLASSY! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! IT'S WORKING. OH SHIT! IT'S NOT CONDENSING! F*&^ this is hot! all the alcohol is vaporizing... SHIT SHIT SHIT. Well I collected what I could. It worked.
Over the course of the week I played with ways of condensing alcohol and finally figured out what to do...
In the end I need to run the tubing actually a very short distance from the still, put as much ice as my poor freezer could make in a big bucket and put as much tubing as possible in the water. Collect the alcohol into a carboy. That ended up working. I distilled 30 L of alcohol into 3. If I'd gotten my still right the first time I might have pushed that number to 4.5 or even 5... Oh well, I distilled it.
The trick was the second distillation.
"In India, the answer is always 'no'... unless it's 'yes.'"
I'm just assuming that perhaps I did something mildly illegal. Oh well, tons of bootleggers all around and a black market that can provide 50 bottles of whiskey at 3AM with hoards and hoards (and hordes) of drugs (and drug smugglers) I figure they won't even realize there is a moonshiner (the term is probably something else) producing liquor very quietly for personal consumption. So, how does one do this?
I have to ask for a still. "The fixer had promised the ability to get one." I couldn't get ahold of him in time (or rather he couldn't get ahold of his guy on my schedule) so I had to take matters into my own hands.
It turns out the things that are easier to get in India than a still include:
1) GUNS
2) DRUGS (any variety)
3) Sex (again, any variety).
My sister points out that this can be said to be true in the united states as well. I guess I'd contend that you can legally BUY a still in the united states too, but these items are easier to get on the black market than a still. Who knew?
So, off to MAKE a still. I have very little idea what I'm going to do or the challenges facing this particular endeavor, but this is definitely all for the sake of science! (I have no other intention than to produce high quality alcohol for scientific purposes. Definitely not for consumption, no definitely not that.)
Pressure cooker, high grade plastic tubing (copper is nearly impossible to find, plus I'd need welding equipment...) and something to affix the tubing to the pressure release valve. Pressure cooker... Expensive. Oh wait, how about the second hand store(s). We found a nice 10L cooker for Rs 700. The usual price is 750 for 5L.
Tubing... Rs 14/meter... And a nice perfectly sized affixing tool for Rs 9. Ok, we're in business. Now, how does this thing work?
Attempt one: Run the tubing up through the ceiling fixtures and across the room into a small bucket with a hole in the bottom. Put water in the bucket to cool the tube (condenser) and allow goodness to come out.
EVERYTHING IS WORKING! OH SWEET SASSY MOLASSY! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! IT'S WORKING. OH SHIT! IT'S NOT CONDENSING! F*&^ this is hot! all the alcohol is vaporizing... SHIT SHIT SHIT. Well I collected what I could. It worked.
Over the course of the week I played with ways of condensing alcohol and finally figured out what to do...
In the end I need to run the tubing actually a very short distance from the still, put as much ice as my poor freezer could make in a big bucket and put as much tubing as possible in the water. Collect the alcohol into a carboy. That ended up working. I distilled 30 L of alcohol into 3. If I'd gotten my still right the first time I might have pushed that number to 4.5 or even 5... Oh well, I distilled it.
The trick was the second distillation.
Stranded in Dubai
My flight out of India to Amsterdam was to take the following route:
Chennai to Dubai
Dubai to Bucharest
Bucharest to Amsterdam
I went like this
Chennai to Dubai no problems whatsoever (except for excess baggage charges, what are you going to do?).
I landed in Dubai at 12:25 AM. Romania closed their air space at 12:00 AM. Oops.
When I left India, my flight to bucharest was still on and expecting to depart with no problems. So I land in Dubai. I collect my bags, transfer flights, and oh...
I end up talking to a lebanese lady in the airport at "information desk." I knew she was lebanese by the way she approached my problem.
"information": There is no flight. Why you are trying to check in?
exasperated traveler: I know, but where is the airline?
info: the flight is canceled.
me: I KNOW that. I can read. I want to talk to the airline.
info: but the flight is canceled, why will you talk to them?
me: Ok, let's just say hypothetically speaking... that the flight were NOT canceled.
info: (interrupting) but it is canceled, so why do you care?
me: You didn't let me finish. Where WOULD I check in, if the flight WEREN'T canceled?
info: But it is canceled, there is no flight.
me: Are you lebanese?
info: Yes, why?
me: You talk like you're lebanese.
info: (confused look).
So I go to 20 other people asking about what I can. I was told to "go to my hotel" by "information" I told her, I'm trying, but my hotel is in amsterdam. That relit the fire of "you can't get to amsterdam." THAT LADY, was an idiot... But she was also definitely lebanese in being so bound to immediate practicality that the longer term solution to the problem was of negligible importance. A bit annoying for me. I actually ratted her out later. A man going around the airport talking to stranded passengers was trying to save face for customer service. He asked me if people were helpful. I told him truthfully "yes, except for a lebanese lady at information. She was the only one who didn't give me any information." HA, take that "information." Truthfully, all the airline attendants were really friendly and helpful. I speak about dubai as sort of a crappy place because it's just one big shopping mall with a couple indian neighborhoods and a building that looks like a big phallus (the biggest phallus in the world), but one thing they know IS CUSTOMER SERVICE! Well done, dubai on the customer service!
So I slept in the airport. A couple of really lovely french ladies/girls and a tunisian guy were sitting with me and the tunisian guy had no problem getting home. The french ladies booked the last two tickets to tunisia. Their plan was to boat to marseille and then train to paris. I thought it would have been fun to travel with them, but I had a shitload of luggage (my life's possessions basically) and didn't want to drag it around too much. Everything to Europe was closed. Dead, caput, nada, zero, zilch, zippo, nothing, no dice, fat chance.
So I saw that Beirut had some open flights. SURPRISE! I'm going to Beirut! I slept in the airport in dubai, got up about 10 AM (after 3 hours sleep) and bought a ticket on the 12:45 to beirut. I took Middle East Airlines (lebanon's carrier) and only had to pay $25 for baggage overages! A good result after Emirates $202 from chennai to dubai... So I went to beirut. Once there, I bought a phone card, called the only numbers I know and said I'm catching a cab to Btekhnay. Of COURSE, no one had read my email and so were all completely taken by surprise that I showed up. So, in the end I'm stranded in Btekhnay rather than Dubai. Things could DEFINITELY be worse. My third trip to Lebanon in 6 months. Not bad if I do say so myself. But I'm still on a mission for good beer and brandy. I WILL make it to belgium and gascony. I'm all over it like white on rice. Stay tuned.
Chennai to Dubai
Dubai to Bucharest
Bucharest to Amsterdam
I went like this
Chennai to Dubai no problems whatsoever (except for excess baggage charges, what are you going to do?).
I landed in Dubai at 12:25 AM. Romania closed their air space at 12:00 AM. Oops.
When I left India, my flight to bucharest was still on and expecting to depart with no problems. So I land in Dubai. I collect my bags, transfer flights, and oh...
I end up talking to a lebanese lady in the airport at "information desk." I knew she was lebanese by the way she approached my problem.
"information": There is no flight. Why you are trying to check in?
exasperated traveler: I know, but where is the airline?
info: the flight is canceled.
me: I KNOW that. I can read. I want to talk to the airline.
info: but the flight is canceled, why will you talk to them?
me: Ok, let's just say hypothetically speaking... that the flight were NOT canceled.
info: (interrupting) but it is canceled, so why do you care?
me: You didn't let me finish. Where WOULD I check in, if the flight WEREN'T canceled?
info: But it is canceled, there is no flight.
me: Are you lebanese?
info: Yes, why?
me: You talk like you're lebanese.
info: (confused look).
So I go to 20 other people asking about what I can. I was told to "go to my hotel" by "information" I told her, I'm trying, but my hotel is in amsterdam. That relit the fire of "you can't get to amsterdam." THAT LADY, was an idiot... But she was also definitely lebanese in being so bound to immediate practicality that the longer term solution to the problem was of negligible importance. A bit annoying for me. I actually ratted her out later. A man going around the airport talking to stranded passengers was trying to save face for customer service. He asked me if people were helpful. I told him truthfully "yes, except for a lebanese lady at information. She was the only one who didn't give me any information." HA, take that "information." Truthfully, all the airline attendants were really friendly and helpful. I speak about dubai as sort of a crappy place because it's just one big shopping mall with a couple indian neighborhoods and a building that looks like a big phallus (the biggest phallus in the world), but one thing they know IS CUSTOMER SERVICE! Well done, dubai on the customer service!
So I slept in the airport. A couple of really lovely french ladies/girls and a tunisian guy were sitting with me and the tunisian guy had no problem getting home. The french ladies booked the last two tickets to tunisia. Their plan was to boat to marseille and then train to paris. I thought it would have been fun to travel with them, but I had a shitload of luggage (my life's possessions basically) and didn't want to drag it around too much. Everything to Europe was closed. Dead, caput, nada, zero, zilch, zippo, nothing, no dice, fat chance.
So I saw that Beirut had some open flights. SURPRISE! I'm going to Beirut! I slept in the airport in dubai, got up about 10 AM (after 3 hours sleep) and bought a ticket on the 12:45 to beirut. I took Middle East Airlines (lebanon's carrier) and only had to pay $25 for baggage overages! A good result after Emirates $202 from chennai to dubai... So I went to beirut. Once there, I bought a phone card, called the only numbers I know and said I'm catching a cab to Btekhnay. Of COURSE, no one had read my email and so were all completely taken by surprise that I showed up. So, in the end I'm stranded in Btekhnay rather than Dubai. Things could DEFINITELY be worse. My third trip to Lebanon in 6 months. Not bad if I do say so myself. But I'm still on a mission for good beer and brandy. I WILL make it to belgium and gascony. I'm all over it like white on rice. Stay tuned.
Anjuna Flea Market
If you happen to be in Goa on a Wednesday and are looking to buy an incredible amount of cheap goods, or looking for some hippies to smoke up with, well have I got the place for YOU! Anjuna flea market! It's famous and rightly so. Lots of sit down snack joints (lots of joints for snacks...) Basically it's full of Russian and eastern european tourists and other white folk buying goods from kashmiris (shock) and tibetans (shock) and everyone else who wants to make a buck (or a few rupees) selling essentially useless crap.
We rented a cab to take us up and back, but part of the negotiation included stopping into some "coupon shops." This is a term that at first I didn't mind, but it grew ever more irritating as the trip wore on because more of our time got eaten up seeing shops selling things we didn't want to buy. But hey, we get a discount for stopping in, and the driver makes his Rs. 20 or whatever. Eventually we learned how to say, "We'll just pay you 60 more if you DON'T take us to the coupon shops." That worked a little, but the cab drivers are sort of indentured servants. If the shop owners find out that they've been driving people around and don't stop in to THEIR stores the cab driver has a harder time saving face. This is my guess. I can think of no other reason why they would be reluctant to take more money and NOT stop... Shorter time, more money...
Anyway, we got to the market. I got the driver's cell number and we set off.
Hey! Look at those shirts! Cool bags. Is that a shop selling old jimmy hendrix vinyls? No, just T-shirts. Is it just me or is Che Guevara REALLY popular here? Do they actually realize he was part of the Cuban revolution? Maybe he's just some counter-cultural icon. Hey! Look over there! They're selling trumpets!
I go to look at the trumpets, and they guy selling them tells me to pick any one and play it. I do so. It's broken. He says "1000 Rupees." I say sadly "it's broken."
He says "no problem, you pay thousand." I don't think he understands what I'm saying. I set it down and walk away looking dejected. He wonders what the problem is and chases me. "Sir, how much you give me?" I tell him again, "it doesn't work." I try to tell him "right now, it's not a trumpet." No success. "No problem sir, you give me 800." I finally walk off. He realizes that I'm actually NOT interested. I still don't think he understands that it's because the trumpet was broken. one of the tubes was pinched and it needed about $100 repair to play it. Add to that, I have no REAL desire to relearn the trumpet if it means carrying one from goa through kerala through chennai through wherever the hell else I'll go just to get it repaired before I can play it.
Hey! Look at that? What are they selling? Rocks? Yes, I think they are selling rocks. Wait, no, those are unpolished gemstones. Ah, no, they are selling jewelery and that is part of their demo. Wow, an BIG jewelery tent. Lots of Tibetans (shock). Funny thing about the Tibetans, they don't give much of a discount. I think Russell Peters (Canadian-Indian comedian) Says it best. (Concerning Chinese-Indian business relations) "You know why Chinese and Indians can't get along? It's because Chinese want to take every penny from you, and Indians don't want to spend a dime."
While I am terribly reticent to call tibetans "chinese" I think their business mentality is still similar. I think at one point (I didn't witness this directly) Yvonne asked for a discount on some bracelet and the seller acted insulted that she suggest a discount. The dealer hurriedly took back his bracelet and said, "you go now." WOW! No counter offer, nothing. Anyway, that episode over. I wandered further into the market and saw all kinds of scantily clad old hippies. I didn't expect to see women in their 50's and 60's wearing midriffs and tube tops with low rise jeans and thongs sticking out. The sight was rather unsettling to be honest. There was a restaurant WAY in the back (about a mile from the entrance) with a LIVE BAND. I hadn't seen a live in house band in India. These guys are pretty good.
Ok, time for a cold beer. What do you have? "KF sir." Oh my GOD! I'm swearing off KF. It is officially no longer considered beer! I'll have a coke. You things are bad when...
Ok, cold coke. I feel a little better. Time to go. I went away with some nice shirts, and a few too many eyefulls of women wearing things that maybe they should have thought twice about. And WAY too many eyefulls of men not wearing enough...
If you're in Goa on a Wednesday, go give it a shot.
We rented a cab to take us up and back, but part of the negotiation included stopping into some "coupon shops." This is a term that at first I didn't mind, but it grew ever more irritating as the trip wore on because more of our time got eaten up seeing shops selling things we didn't want to buy. But hey, we get a discount for stopping in, and the driver makes his Rs. 20 or whatever. Eventually we learned how to say, "We'll just pay you 60 more if you DON'T take us to the coupon shops." That worked a little, but the cab drivers are sort of indentured servants. If the shop owners find out that they've been driving people around and don't stop in to THEIR stores the cab driver has a harder time saving face. This is my guess. I can think of no other reason why they would be reluctant to take more money and NOT stop... Shorter time, more money...
Anyway, we got to the market. I got the driver's cell number and we set off.
Hey! Look at those shirts! Cool bags. Is that a shop selling old jimmy hendrix vinyls? No, just T-shirts. Is it just me or is Che Guevara REALLY popular here? Do they actually realize he was part of the Cuban revolution? Maybe he's just some counter-cultural icon. Hey! Look over there! They're selling trumpets!
I go to look at the trumpets, and they guy selling them tells me to pick any one and play it. I do so. It's broken. He says "1000 Rupees." I say sadly "it's broken."
He says "no problem, you pay thousand." I don't think he understands what I'm saying. I set it down and walk away looking dejected. He wonders what the problem is and chases me. "Sir, how much you give me?" I tell him again, "it doesn't work." I try to tell him "right now, it's not a trumpet." No success. "No problem sir, you give me 800." I finally walk off. He realizes that I'm actually NOT interested. I still don't think he understands that it's because the trumpet was broken. one of the tubes was pinched and it needed about $100 repair to play it. Add to that, I have no REAL desire to relearn the trumpet if it means carrying one from goa through kerala through chennai through wherever the hell else I'll go just to get it repaired before I can play it.
Hey! Look at that? What are they selling? Rocks? Yes, I think they are selling rocks. Wait, no, those are unpolished gemstones. Ah, no, they are selling jewelery and that is part of their demo. Wow, an BIG jewelery tent. Lots of Tibetans (shock). Funny thing about the Tibetans, they don't give much of a discount. I think Russell Peters (Canadian-Indian comedian) Says it best. (Concerning Chinese-Indian business relations) "You know why Chinese and Indians can't get along? It's because Chinese want to take every penny from you, and Indians don't want to spend a dime."
While I am terribly reticent to call tibetans "chinese" I think their business mentality is still similar. I think at one point (I didn't witness this directly) Yvonne asked for a discount on some bracelet and the seller acted insulted that she suggest a discount. The dealer hurriedly took back his bracelet and said, "you go now." WOW! No counter offer, nothing. Anyway, that episode over. I wandered further into the market and saw all kinds of scantily clad old hippies. I didn't expect to see women in their 50's and 60's wearing midriffs and tube tops with low rise jeans and thongs sticking out. The sight was rather unsettling to be honest. There was a restaurant WAY in the back (about a mile from the entrance) with a LIVE BAND. I hadn't seen a live in house band in India. These guys are pretty good.
Ok, time for a cold beer. What do you have? "KF sir." Oh my GOD! I'm swearing off KF. It is officially no longer considered beer! I'll have a coke. You things are bad when...
Ok, cold coke. I feel a little better. Time to go. I went away with some nice shirts, and a few too many eyefulls of women wearing things that maybe they should have thought twice about. And WAY too many eyefulls of men not wearing enough...
If you're in Goa on a Wednesday, go give it a shot.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Iceland's Volcano
Iceland's Volcano... It's officially messed up my travel plans too. I'm en route to Amsterdam. My route: Chennai to Dubai to Bucharest to Amsterdam. Funny thing, I thought Romania would be free from volcanic ash. Wrong. The volcano sent a second plume of smoke up into the atmosphere. I'm not really upset. It's a bit annoying, because it's gonna cost me a lot of money to get the hell out of Dubai. Funny thing, Romania shut its air space at midnight and my flight was supposed to be at 4:00 AM. Oh well. Now I've gotta figure out where I'm going next. I guess Beirut's looking good again.
So to all you travelers out there who are stranded just like myself. Fret not, the volcano probably won't erupt for more than a year straight (cf 1821). But hey, it really, really could be worse. So far, I've met a tunisian, a couple of french ladies traveling my way (sort of) and I was just chatting with a lovely older lady from Alabama on her way back to Atlanta for medical treatment. I got to talk about wine, lebanese food, and pork barbeque and the intricacies of red beans and rice. All while here in lovely dubai airport. Oh yeah, also, I got another stamp in my passport! Woo! But getting on to amsterdam... Well, that looks relatively unlikely. But hey, I've also got a nice liter of homemade hooch traveling with me somewhere... (I received a handshake for this announcement from my new alabamastani friend). Dubai's not SO bad, and also, I'll probably make an impromptu trip to beirut. Could be worse.
So to all you travelers out there who are stranded just like myself. Fret not, the volcano probably won't erupt for more than a year straight (cf 1821). But hey, it really, really could be worse. So far, I've met a tunisian, a couple of french ladies traveling my way (sort of) and I was just chatting with a lovely older lady from Alabama on her way back to Atlanta for medical treatment. I got to talk about wine, lebanese food, and pork barbeque and the intricacies of red beans and rice. All while here in lovely dubai airport. Oh yeah, also, I got another stamp in my passport! Woo! But getting on to amsterdam... Well, that looks relatively unlikely. But hey, I've also got a nice liter of homemade hooch traveling with me somewhere... (I received a handshake for this announcement from my new alabamastani friend). Dubai's not SO bad, and also, I'll probably make an impromptu trip to beirut. Could be worse.
Friday, April 16, 2010
A Bomb on the Plane
Getting from Goa to Kerala... Not as easy as I'd envisioned. No direct flights, and trains take 100 hours. So we had to fly through Bangalore. Bangalore, once again impresses! Nice airport! Free wifi! Good Dosas at the airport! I thought airport food was supposed to be crappy! Not in Bangalore, totally good dosas.
Well, the second leg of our trip was from Bangalore to Trivandrum. In fact, Trivandrum got one of the stupidest renamings in India's massive identity crisis a few years back.
The official name of trivandrum is now
Thiruvananthupuram. WT and F!? Why would you change it from a name that barely fit on signs to a name that not only doesn't fit on signs, but can't even be used in a thesis title because it's so long!? Give me a freaking break. And to top if all off, the difference in the way it's spoken is only one extra syllable, that 'an' in the middle. Give me a freakin' break. Anyway, none of this is the point. The point is that we flew on a little hopper flight on Kingfisher Air. (Yes, that same piece of shit brewery got big enough to have an airline!) Well, as soon as we reached Trivandrum we had to catch a bus up to Kollam, which is only 50 km, but 90 minutes on a bus (express bus that is). We got to our hotel a bit late, but made it nonetheless. No sooner than we'd gotten there than did we see a news ticker notice (on Kingfisher News btw) about a bomb on a kingfisher airlines plane from bangalore to trivandrum (yes they use bangalore and trivandrum in the news instead of bengaluru and thiruvananthapuram). HOLY HELL! Was it on OUR plane? Surely not? Maybe so. They reported no passengers were hurt as the bomb wasn't detonated.
As soon as I let that shock sink in, I realize that this will mean hell in a few days when we have to fly OUT of trivandrum. They are going to be extra careful with their screening. Oh man, that's not good. They are going to go forward with the same reactionary screening for which airport security is so notorious. React to something that ALREADY happened, and give no credence to what other bad things might happen. Yeesh! But for as much "screening" as they do at every indian airport, one would expect that a bomb wouldn't make it on a plane from india's 4th biggest airport. Oh India, how I love all your rules that do nothing more than aggravate honest citizens.
Well, the second leg of our trip was from Bangalore to Trivandrum. In fact, Trivandrum got one of the stupidest renamings in India's massive identity crisis a few years back.
The official name of trivandrum is now
Thiruvananthupuram. WT and F!? Why would you change it from a name that barely fit on signs to a name that not only doesn't fit on signs, but can't even be used in a thesis title because it's so long!? Give me a freaking break. And to top if all off, the difference in the way it's spoken is only one extra syllable, that 'an' in the middle. Give me a freakin' break. Anyway, none of this is the point. The point is that we flew on a little hopper flight on Kingfisher Air. (Yes, that same piece of shit brewery got big enough to have an airline!) Well, as soon as we reached Trivandrum we had to catch a bus up to Kollam, which is only 50 km, but 90 minutes on a bus (express bus that is). We got to our hotel a bit late, but made it nonetheless. No sooner than we'd gotten there than did we see a news ticker notice (on Kingfisher News btw) about a bomb on a kingfisher airlines plane from bangalore to trivandrum (yes they use bangalore and trivandrum in the news instead of bengaluru and thiruvananthapuram). HOLY HELL! Was it on OUR plane? Surely not? Maybe so. They reported no passengers were hurt as the bomb wasn't detonated.
As soon as I let that shock sink in, I realize that this will mean hell in a few days when we have to fly OUT of trivandrum. They are going to be extra careful with their screening. Oh man, that's not good. They are going to go forward with the same reactionary screening for which airport security is so notorious. React to something that ALREADY happened, and give no credence to what other bad things might happen. Yeesh! But for as much "screening" as they do at every indian airport, one would expect that a bomb wouldn't make it on a plane from india's 4th biggest airport. Oh India, how I love all your rules that do nothing more than aggravate honest citizens.
The "Best" Rickshaw Driver in Chennai
I was heading up to Zara in Nungambakam. It was Tuesday night. Nungambakam is far from here. I had to catch a mosquito taxi. Damn! Here's one. "You want how much?"
"That's way too much!" "How about 100?" He's not going for it. Argument ensues. I win. He's still not dropping the price. "Ni Naiy ("you dog")!" He laughs "Ni naiy." Ok, fine, I'm done debating this stupid price and there is no other mosquito taxi coming by right now. Ugh. I can't believe I gave into that price. Piss. More inner expletives...
Ok, we're going. It's not that far. What's this? He likes my Tamil? That's cool. What's he doing now? Is he RACING the other rickshaws? Am I going to die? Is he making the sound of a car peeling out? This guy is hilarious. He's asking me something in tamil... "How long have I been here?" I respond? "Yes" he repeats in Tamil and then in English "how long you are staying here?" "Five months, aingee." "Oh your Tamil so good." He starts counting in Tamil. He starts singing in Tamil, asks me something else I have know idea. I ask him if he speaks English "Englisha Teriamaa?" "Little little, konjum sir." We pull up to a stop light. Apparently there are two young women in the back of the next rickshaw over. He looks over. No, scratch that, he very obviously leans over to stare at them. I catch him in the mirror. He smiles, and then pulls the rickshaw forward so I can see too! I take a quick glance, nothing special. But just to acknowledge the whole ordeal I look at him in the mirror and we are both nodding as if to say "Look! Single Women! NICE!" Of course I'm not thinking this at the time. I've now begun thinking, this dude is hilarious. I'm kind of ok overpaying him for this one ride, because he's a totally f'ing nut job. Also, I dig his sense of humor.
The ride finishes rather quickly, and I'm happy about it, because I still have an overwhelming feeling of disdain for mosquito taxis. However, this guy was at least fun to ride with. He kind of acted like a kid happy to have ripped off another westerner enough so that he can buy his petrol for the night. It was amongst the very few times I felt like I got my money's worth out of a mosquito taxi ride. So, for now, I'll dub this crazy dude, "Best Rickshaw driver in Chennai." Well done, sir, well done.
"That's way too much!"
Ok, we're going. It's not that far. What's this? He likes my Tamil? That's cool. What's he doing now? Is he RACING the other rickshaws? Am I going to die? Is he making the sound of a car peeling out? This guy is hilarious. He's asking me something in tamil... "How long have I been here?" I respond? "Yes" he repeats in Tamil and then in English "how long you are staying here?" "Five months, aingee." "Oh your Tamil so good." He starts counting in Tamil. He starts singing in Tamil, asks me something else I have know idea. I ask him if he speaks English "Englisha Teriamaa?" "Little little, konjum sir." We pull up to a stop light. Apparently there are two young women in the back of the next rickshaw over. He looks over. No, scratch that, he very obviously leans over to stare at them. I catch him in the mirror. He smiles, and then pulls the rickshaw forward so I can see too! I take a quick glance, nothing special. But just to acknowledge the whole ordeal I look at him in the mirror and we are both nodding as if to say "Look! Single Women! NICE!" Of course I'm not thinking this at the time. I've now begun thinking, this dude is hilarious. I'm kind of ok overpaying him for this one ride, because he's a totally f'ing nut job. Also, I dig his sense of humor.
The ride finishes rather quickly, and I'm happy about it, because I still have an overwhelming feeling of disdain for mosquito taxis. However, this guy was at least fun to ride with. He kind of acted like a kid happy to have ripped off another westerner enough so that he can buy his petrol for the night. It was amongst the very few times I felt like I got my money's worth out of a mosquito taxi ride. So, for now, I'll dub this crazy dude, "Best Rickshaw driver in Chennai." Well done, sir, well done.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
How many New Year's?
Just two days ago I was wished by some faculty and staff members a happy Tamil and Malayalam New Year. WHAT!? This is the new year!? What's going on here? Let me review the situation briefly.
January 14, Pongal = Tamil New Year. It's the only Hindu Holiday on the Solar Calendar. There were many big celebrations here and lots of very nice Kolam on the ground. Brilliant stuff. I'm told this holiday has a different name in North India, but still represents the new year. In fact, I think it sort of goes along with the Republic Day (January 26) which is the day of drafting India's constitution. I figure that in some way marks a new year. It wouldn't surprise me if the two are tied together somehow. But as it is, January 14 is the New Year holiday, and January 26 is NOT a new year holiday.
March 16-25 Some New Year's celebration which lasts ten days. I know that this is the new year because Yvonne and I were in Kerala during this time. The music started every morning at 5:00 AM and went all the way until 1:00 AM. It was the most annoying thing ever. It's not that they were playing music so much, but that it was so loud. We were on the 4th floor of a hotel which was near a temple. Through our closed windows the temple's music was louder than the television. I could even hear it in the bathroom. Give me a break! I was ready to go cut the wire to the speaker in the middle of the night! I may have also made it known how much I hate the way Indian women sing. It's god awful. High pitched squealing, basically. OH MY MANY MANY MANY GODS! If this is pleasing to you, will you please send me another god with good taste?
Pardon that interuption... Anyway, there can be no doubt, that was a new year celebration. I asked many people why the music was so loud and the response was, it is a big holiday, new year. Which still didn't answer the question of "WHY THE HELL IS THIS SO ANNOYING FOR 20 HOURS A DAY!?" But it did reinforce the idea that it was indeed a new year celebration...
April 14, Happy Tamil and Malayalam new year? Wait a minute, um what? Excuse me, did you say "new year?" I'm not quite sure I'm hearing this correctly. I don't see any sign of celebration, no new year's signs, nothing of the sort. But yet, we get an institutional holiday because it's the NEW YEAR? Someone help me out here! New year was a month ago, or wait, was it three months ago? I'm now more confused than ever.
My only good guess is that Hinduism is actually the NEWEST religion on the block and their calendar is in the year 27000 because they celebrate the new year ever 6-8 weeks.
I guess when there are only two seasons, a)hot and b)hell then you gotta find some time to celebrate something...
As it is, I'm terribly, terribly confused as to how this calendar works now.
January 14, Pongal = Tamil New Year. It's the only Hindu Holiday on the Solar Calendar. There were many big celebrations here and lots of very nice Kolam on the ground. Brilliant stuff. I'm told this holiday has a different name in North India, but still represents the new year. In fact, I think it sort of goes along with the Republic Day (January 26) which is the day of drafting India's constitution. I figure that in some way marks a new year. It wouldn't surprise me if the two are tied together somehow. But as it is, January 14 is the New Year holiday, and January 26 is NOT a new year holiday.
March 16-25 Some New Year's celebration which lasts ten days. I know that this is the new year because Yvonne and I were in Kerala during this time. The music started every morning at 5:00 AM and went all the way until 1:00 AM. It was the most annoying thing ever. It's not that they were playing music so much, but that it was so loud. We were on the 4th floor of a hotel which was near a temple. Through our closed windows the temple's music was louder than the television. I could even hear it in the bathroom. Give me a break! I was ready to go cut the wire to the speaker in the middle of the night! I may have also made it known how much I hate the way Indian women sing. It's god awful. High pitched squealing, basically. OH MY MANY MANY MANY GODS! If this is pleasing to you, will you please send me another god with good taste?
Pardon that interuption... Anyway, there can be no doubt, that was a new year celebration. I asked many people why the music was so loud and the response was, it is a big holiday, new year. Which still didn't answer the question of "WHY THE HELL IS THIS SO ANNOYING FOR 20 HOURS A DAY!?" But it did reinforce the idea that it was indeed a new year celebration...
April 14, Happy Tamil and Malayalam new year? Wait a minute, um what? Excuse me, did you say "new year?" I'm not quite sure I'm hearing this correctly. I don't see any sign of celebration, no new year's signs, nothing of the sort. But yet, we get an institutional holiday because it's the NEW YEAR? Someone help me out here! New year was a month ago, or wait, was it three months ago? I'm now more confused than ever.
My only good guess is that Hinduism is actually the NEWEST religion on the block and their calendar is in the year 27000 because they celebrate the new year ever 6-8 weeks.
I guess when there are only two seasons, a)hot and b)hell then you gotta find some time to celebrate something...
As it is, I'm terribly, terribly confused as to how this calendar works now.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Beaches in Goa
Somehow, we failed to get up to Panjim for too much time. Panjim happens to be the capital of Goa. It's a quaint village of about 50,000 people. On a quick aside, I really do love that about Goa, there is no megacity in this tiny little portugese haven within india.
In Goa, however, the northern end of the state is the party place. Panjim is sort of central, but slightly north. It's where the nightclubs are and very close to the popular beaches. I got no problem with popular beaches, but one will find that they are quite a bit more polluted than the "unpopular" beaches. Like I said before, the beaches in Goa are not as utterly pristine as all the guidebooks claim them to be. They are just pristine in comparison with the rest of India's beaches. HOWEVER, they are clean enough that you can swim in them, and swim in them I did. Also, they are clean enough (being 700 km south of mumbai) that you can eat the seafood.
The beaches in the south are covered with party joints. Many, many seafood shacks serving "beer" and spirits and fresh (right out of the ocean fresh) seafood. In many cases you can find a decent breakfast at any hour of the day on the cheap too. At night, the beaches are quiet, except for the few party shacks that stay open until about 1 in the morning. The only problem on the southern end of the state is that the beaches are not well lit where there are no party shacks. Somehow, this is a bit more ominous than it should be. But the Goans assured me people in Goa are much more laid back and friendly than in other states. I think they're right. Luckily, no ill fortune befell us as we strolled up toward the rock'n'roll sounds and fried fish smells that naturally attracted our attention.
So there's my recommandation. Go to Goa, go the the south of Goa. Drink Fenny on the beach and enjoy ACTUALLY SWIMMING.
In Goa, however, the northern end of the state is the party place. Panjim is sort of central, but slightly north. It's where the nightclubs are and very close to the popular beaches. I got no problem with popular beaches, but one will find that they are quite a bit more polluted than the "unpopular" beaches. Like I said before, the beaches in Goa are not as utterly pristine as all the guidebooks claim them to be. They are just pristine in comparison with the rest of India's beaches. HOWEVER, they are clean enough that you can swim in them, and swim in them I did. Also, they are clean enough (being 700 km south of mumbai) that you can eat the seafood.
The beaches in the south are covered with party joints. Many, many seafood shacks serving "beer" and spirits and fresh (right out of the ocean fresh) seafood. In many cases you can find a decent breakfast at any hour of the day on the cheap too. At night, the beaches are quiet, except for the few party shacks that stay open until about 1 in the morning. The only problem on the southern end of the state is that the beaches are not well lit where there are no party shacks. Somehow, this is a bit more ominous than it should be. But the Goans assured me people in Goa are much more laid back and friendly than in other states. I think they're right. Luckily, no ill fortune befell us as we strolled up toward the rock'n'roll sounds and fried fish smells that naturally attracted our attention.
So there's my recommandation. Go to Goa, go the the south of Goa. Drink Fenny on the beach and enjoy ACTUALLY SWIMMING.
Limoncello step 2
What to do, what to do, what to do? It turns out that brewing, and distilling presents far more challenges in India (south india specifically) than it does in chicago or philadelphia. What's the difference? There are several. Among them, the heat, the lack of good equipment, the lack of good cleaning supplies, yeast, and oh yeah the HEAT.
So, first things first, cleaning...
Bleach and water, lots of water. Some scrubbing , ok, lots of scrubbing and rinsing.
You don't want bleach water, or indian tap water infiltrating your brew.
The equipment:
A big pot for boiling, and some fermenters. The fermenters are basically plastic carboys. Think Culligan water tanks. Just that, except the name, get this, is not Culligan, but "Shine." Could it be more perfect?
The ingredients: Jaggery (raw sugar), White Sugar, yeast, filtered water, pineapple juice, and lemons.
Some comment here. The yeast was hand carried from the United States. Getting good fermenting yeast here? Not sure where/how to do such a thing. It's Red Star Premiere de Cuvee (champagne yeast). Works wonders, I made a meade and a cyser from it.
lemons and pineapple juice are to give the yeast nutrient. Yeast can't just eat sugar. It needs some other food too.
The process:
Disolve all the sugar into water. Warm up yeast. Pitch yeast into room temperature water.
Here is the biggest problem!
In india...
Getting things cold...
Is really difficult!
My italian buddy was helping me out that day. We got everything set up, except the wort was nearly boiling temperature! I waited nearly 12 hours for it to cool down.
When I finally pitched the yeast, the wort was still slightly warmer than room temperature. That's not good. Room temperature, I should mention is 35 C = 95 F. After about 40 C yeast dies. Oh yeah, I should also mention, that fermentation is exothermic...
Ah F%@# the yeast died! Luckily I had a spare packet of yeast. I warmed it up, and pitched it. Now, my 38L of pre-hooch is getting eaten by enough yeast to devour 10 times that amount! But most of it is dead. HOW THE HELL DO YOU COOL THINGS DOWN IN INDIA!!?!?!?
So, I've got a boat load of liquid and I'm trying to make it into something that will distill easily. NOT SO EASY. But for now, step one has been achieved. There is a large quantity of beautiful brown sugary goodness becoming less sugary sitting in the middle of my apartment! Happy fermentation!
So, first things first, cleaning...
Bleach and water, lots of water. Some scrubbing , ok, lots of scrubbing and rinsing.
You don't want bleach water, or indian tap water infiltrating your brew.
The equipment:
A big pot for boiling, and some fermenters. The fermenters are basically plastic carboys. Think Culligan water tanks. Just that, except the name, get this, is not Culligan, but "Shine." Could it be more perfect?
The ingredients: Jaggery (raw sugar), White Sugar, yeast, filtered water, pineapple juice, and lemons.
Some comment here. The yeast was hand carried from the United States. Getting good fermenting yeast here? Not sure where/how to do such a thing. It's Red Star Premiere de Cuvee (champagne yeast). Works wonders, I made a meade and a cyser from it.
lemons and pineapple juice are to give the yeast nutrient. Yeast can't just eat sugar. It needs some other food too.
The process:
Disolve all the sugar into water. Warm up yeast. Pitch yeast into room temperature water.
Here is the biggest problem!
In india...
Getting things cold...
Is really difficult!
My italian buddy was helping me out that day. We got everything set up, except the wort was nearly boiling temperature! I waited nearly 12 hours for it to cool down.
When I finally pitched the yeast, the wort was still slightly warmer than room temperature. That's not good. Room temperature, I should mention is 35 C = 95 F. After about 40 C yeast dies. Oh yeah, I should also mention, that fermentation is exothermic...
Ah F%@# the yeast died! Luckily I had a spare packet of yeast. I warmed it up, and pitched it. Now, my 38L of pre-hooch is getting eaten by enough yeast to devour 10 times that amount! But most of it is dead. HOW THE HELL DO YOU COOL THINGS DOWN IN INDIA!!?!?!?
So, I've got a boat load of liquid and I'm trying to make it into something that will distill easily. NOT SO EASY. But for now, step one has been achieved. There is a large quantity of beautiful brown sugary goodness becoming less sugary sitting in the middle of my apartment! Happy fermentation!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Goan beverages
When I mentioned I was in Goa, I got plenty of beer related messages on the book of faces. A friend of mine from Tennessee, of all places, pointed out a beer to me of which I was fully unaware! Shock! Horror! It's called King's. Mind you, this is NOT Kingfisher (which is not beer), but simply King's. It's a "Pilsner" even though it's definitely not made in the Czech Republic. Well, I should have known, it kinda sucked. I had my one Indian beer triumph in Mumbai (and got sick along with it). I shouldn't have expected two beer triumphs in a week. That is simply asking FAR too much, unless of course one is at GABF or Philly Beer Week...
So King's... It's just more of the same. Somewhat tasteless yellow fizzy beer called a "pilsner." I don't have much more to say, other than it's rather unmemorable.
Luckily for me, I had done my homework in other ways. Yes, Goa has a winery (Madera, not Madeira) and makes all the usuals, port, brandy, whiskey. The real treat for me was Fenny (pronounced FAY-NEE, not feh-nee). There are two types of Fenny. The first is made from cashew fruits, the second from coconuts.
If case you are in the dark, as I was, about cashews. They are fruits. Wikipedia, help me out here. The nut type thing we eat is one end of the cashew and the other end is a fruit. By the way, I do NOT recommend eating the cashew fruit before it is ripe... Experience tells me otherwise. It has some sort of funny numbing chemical in it, and I "burned" my tongue. Ah well, that what you get for eating forbidden fruit.
So, Fenny. The fruit part of the cashew is allowed to over ripen, then it is fermented into funny, strongly pungent fruit wine. At that point it is distilled twice into rocket fuel known as Fenny. It is usually cut from 80% to 30% with water, but it's kinda of strange. I definitely enjoyed it on a daily basis in Goa. It has a funny smell, and unless you've smelled cashew fruit, I can't describe the smell. Because it smells like ethanol and cashew fruit.
I was told repeatedly, not to smell it. Rubbish I say! It smells good, and tastes good too. However, I can see the appeal of making it a drink for mixing. So after some experimentation, Yvonne and I came up with a fantastic Fenny Cocktail.
Brew some extra strong black tea, then:
Black Tea + Fenny + Brandy + fruit juice (I recommend, pomegranate or apple) to taste.
Throw that bad boy in the fridge until it gets really cold, and drink it poolside. Voila.
So King's... It's just more of the same. Somewhat tasteless yellow fizzy beer called a "pilsner." I don't have much more to say, other than it's rather unmemorable.
Luckily for me, I had done my homework in other ways. Yes, Goa has a winery (Madera, not Madeira) and makes all the usuals, port, brandy, whiskey. The real treat for me was Fenny (pronounced FAY-NEE, not feh-nee). There are two types of Fenny. The first is made from cashew fruits, the second from coconuts.
If case you are in the dark, as I was, about cashews. They are fruits. Wikipedia, help me out here. The nut type thing we eat is one end of the cashew and the other end is a fruit. By the way, I do NOT recommend eating the cashew fruit before it is ripe... Experience tells me otherwise. It has some sort of funny numbing chemical in it, and I "burned" my tongue. Ah well, that what you get for eating forbidden fruit.
So, Fenny. The fruit part of the cashew is allowed to over ripen, then it is fermented into funny, strongly pungent fruit wine. At that point it is distilled twice into rocket fuel known as Fenny. It is usually cut from 80% to 30% with water, but it's kinda of strange. I definitely enjoyed it on a daily basis in Goa. It has a funny smell, and unless you've smelled cashew fruit, I can't describe the smell. Because it smells like ethanol and cashew fruit.
I was told repeatedly, not to smell it. Rubbish I say! It smells good, and tastes good too. However, I can see the appeal of making it a drink for mixing. So after some experimentation, Yvonne and I came up with a fantastic Fenny Cocktail.
Brew some extra strong black tea, then:
Black Tea + Fenny + Brandy + fruit juice (I recommend, pomegranate or apple) to taste.
Throw that bad boy in the fridge until it gets really cold, and drink it poolside. Voila.
Goa
If you look at the Lonely Planet Series you'll find several things about India. In particular, There is an "India" book, a "Southern India" book, and a "Goa" book. Goa, it should be noted is India's second smallest state (second to Sikkim between Nepal and Bhutan). But, Goa still has it's own entire lonely planet travel guide. There must be something good here right? That's right. Goa, is basically renowned for being a tourist's haven within India. The tourist guides, however, say that the beaches are every bit as pristine as the people say they are. I'm not so sure about that. The beaches, were, in all fairness, the best I'd seen in India to that point. Nonetheless, the water was still slightly polluted. But I didn't scoff at eating seafood from Goa even though I'd just gotten sick eating seafood in mumbai. For our stay, yvonne booked a hella good hotel in a small town called Benaulim in the southern portion of Goa. We had a pool with a swim up bar. DID NOT THINK I'D SEE THAT IN INDIA! The beach was just about a mile away. In fact, the beach was much closer, it's just that the imposing "Taj Exotica Beach Resort" stood in our way, and even though we looked like wealthy tourists, they were still pissy about anyone entering to grounds at any time of day.
So, the first observations about goa...
One can't help but notice the portugese influence. Goa only (re)joined India in 1963. So one might imagine that with 400 years of portugese colonization there is a fair amount of catholicism hanging around. And if one imagines that, one is correct. I hadn't seen any concentration of catholic churches anywhere in India as in Goa. I doubt that any place has such a concentration. Certainly, Pondicherry might be another place, but the French quarter of Pondicherry is so small, that there are only a few churches there anyway (and half of them are british churches).
The second thing one will notice in Goa is the overabundance of white people. Goa must be have nearly 1/3 westerners at any given time. At Anjuna flea market there are plenty of old worn out hippies who just never left and opened up shop as t-shirt (and marijuana) sellers. The beaches are full of westerns and little beach snack shacks/restaurants/bars with tourists. There are only a few areas in India where I'd imagine the concentration of westerners is even remotely close to that.
The third thing one will notice (and first thing if you're ME) is the number of liquor stores and bars. They are simply everywhere. I really mean everywhere. Every third shop it seems! We were staying at an out of the way place in an out of the way town and between our hotel and the beach there were 4 pubs. Just 200 meters in the opposite direction a liquor store. You seriously can't go anywhere in Goa without seeing a plethora of bars and liquors stores. I attribute this to the portugese influence. I guess they think, similar to most europeans, that liquor isn't the devil's drink after all. In fact, the proper liquid to turn from wine into jesus' blood is port (If you're portugese of course). That said, Goa has wineries. It's way too damn hot in Goa to grow good grapes, but the Portugese made it happen anyway. Oh, I should also mention, that liquor in Goa is embarrassingly cheap. I bought a whole bottle of brandy (750 mL) for Rs 64. That is not much money in anyone's book.
The last thing that you might notice is again coming from the portugese influence, but it's the cuisine. Many Goans who have clearly never left Goa proclaimed that the reason I like Goan food is because it's western. WRONG! Goan food is not western! It is, however, delicious! Two specialties in Goa are Xacutti and Cafreal. These are both sauces (gravies) usually served with some fresh seafood right out of the arabian sea (which is clean enough for getting good seafood). These, to be fair, are Indian. There's no escaping that. But, they each have a distinctive European twist. I think the reason I liked them so much is that, well they taste good. The second reason must be that this truly is fusion food, but done extremely well. I must have eaten Xacutti 5 or 6 times in a week.
So, Goa, here we are, a week to explore, and attempt to relax/ escape India within India.
So, the first observations about goa...
One can't help but notice the portugese influence. Goa only (re)joined India in 1963. So one might imagine that with 400 years of portugese colonization there is a fair amount of catholicism hanging around. And if one imagines that, one is correct. I hadn't seen any concentration of catholic churches anywhere in India as in Goa. I doubt that any place has such a concentration. Certainly, Pondicherry might be another place, but the French quarter of Pondicherry is so small, that there are only a few churches there anyway (and half of them are british churches).
The second thing one will notice in Goa is the overabundance of white people. Goa must be have nearly 1/3 westerners at any given time. At Anjuna flea market there are plenty of old worn out hippies who just never left and opened up shop as t-shirt (and marijuana) sellers. The beaches are full of westerns and little beach snack shacks/restaurants/bars with tourists. There are only a few areas in India where I'd imagine the concentration of westerners is even remotely close to that.
The third thing one will notice (and first thing if you're ME) is the number of liquor stores and bars. They are simply everywhere. I really mean everywhere. Every third shop it seems! We were staying at an out of the way place in an out of the way town and between our hotel and the beach there were 4 pubs. Just 200 meters in the opposite direction a liquor store. You seriously can't go anywhere in Goa without seeing a plethora of bars and liquors stores. I attribute this to the portugese influence. I guess they think, similar to most europeans, that liquor isn't the devil's drink after all. In fact, the proper liquid to turn from wine into jesus' blood is port (If you're portugese of course). That said, Goa has wineries. It's way too damn hot in Goa to grow good grapes, but the Portugese made it happen anyway. Oh, I should also mention, that liquor in Goa is embarrassingly cheap. I bought a whole bottle of brandy (750 mL) for Rs 64. That is not much money in anyone's book.
The last thing that you might notice is again coming from the portugese influence, but it's the cuisine. Many Goans who have clearly never left Goa proclaimed that the reason I like Goan food is because it's western. WRONG! Goan food is not western! It is, however, delicious! Two specialties in Goa are Xacutti and Cafreal. These are both sauces (gravies) usually served with some fresh seafood right out of the arabian sea (which is clean enough for getting good seafood). These, to be fair, are Indian. There's no escaping that. But, they each have a distinctive European twist. I think the reason I liked them so much is that, well they taste good. The second reason must be that this truly is fusion food, but done extremely well. I must have eaten Xacutti 5 or 6 times in a week.
So, Goa, here we are, a week to explore, and attempt to relax/ escape India within India.
The ladyboys have come to extort money
I'm not sure how I could've missed this as an entire post. I think I alluded to it a while back in my description of the Delhi portion of the big India trip. HOWEVER, this morning on the train I was essentially melting and as the train is pulling away I hear, jingle jingle jingle jingle, and then hop, there's a woman in front of me on the train. Oh wait, that's a man, wait, no, that USED TO BE A MAN, now (s)he is a ladyboy. I haven't seen very many ladyboys in Chennai. I wonder why that is. But nonetheless this ladyboy walked up and down the train clapping his/her (pardon my ignorance, but I really don't know the proper gender pronoun for ladyboys) hands and touching most of the gentlemen on the shoulders or patting their heads. (S)he somehow, missed me. That was a first. I've never been the only OVERLOOKED person on the train. Perhaps it was that I was standing at the door and close to a foot taller then (s)he.
I'm always taken slightly aback when encountering the ladyboys. One never really knows how to deal with them. India has a few funny regulations that make dealing with ladyboys tricky:
1) Women cannot be arrested by male police officers
2) Arrested women must be accompanied by a man
3) Ladyboys are not considered men or women
4) Ladyboys are not considered citizens
How do you piece that together? I'm just not sure. It basically adds up to add the notion that ladyboys can get away with a lot. Of course, it also means that they have to put up with lot. I just really don't get it at all. But what I do know is that when it comes to begging, ladyboys can just really ask for whatever they like and harass you until they get it (unless of course you're a tall imposing foreigner).
I'm always taken slightly aback when encountering the ladyboys. One never really knows how to deal with them. India has a few funny regulations that make dealing with ladyboys tricky:
1) Women cannot be arrested by male police officers
2) Arrested women must be accompanied by a man
3) Ladyboys are not considered men or women
4) Ladyboys are not considered citizens
How do you piece that together? I'm just not sure. It basically adds up to add the notion that ladyboys can get away with a lot. Of course, it also means that they have to put up with lot. I just really don't get it at all. But what I do know is that when it comes to begging, ladyboys can just really ask for whatever they like and harass you until they get it (unless of course you're a tall imposing foreigner).
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Train to Goa
Um? A 12 hour train journey? No AC? "Sleeper" car, what the hell man? I actually thought it was kinda fun. Sadly though, this was yvonne's first sort of sick day. Ouch. Kinda picked a bad day for THAT to happen. I should mention that sleeper cars, don't exactly have what we might consider "toilets." For me, being a man, it's not so bad, just pee in a hole in the floor. It just flows out onto the tracks anyway. But luckily after one day of recovering from my night of "worship" I was feeling much better. I had no stomach issues, because there really wasn't anything IN my stomach.
I had originally suggested we take an overnight train as the trip was 12 hours so we'd get to see the scenery for the second half of the trip. As it was, we decided for the train starting at noon and arriving to madgao, goa at midnight. We got to see the first half of the scenery in maharashtra. It wasn't quite as scenic as I'd have hoped. It was also really hot. REALLY, REALLY HOT. The breeze didn't exactly help. I quote a German friend of mine from chennai...
"The breeze is nice, but in Germany it would be considered a searing wind."
So it was with the Maharashtra "breeze." We were sitting in a section of 8 seats. Somehow, 11 people were sitting all around. I guess that was kind of fun. There were 8 places for sleeping. Sadly for me, being 6'4" (i.e. 8" - 10" taller than everyone else) my feet stuck WAY out into the isle. I got tapped a couple times by passersby upset that I was kicking them in the head. Ah well, it was the authentic Indian Train Experience. I got ripped off for 5 rupes here and 5 rupes there. The two tall foreigners hanging out on the train... We were a sight to see for sure. But hey, I ate some decent biryani, drank some boiling hot coffee in 100 degree heat, talked to some new people, saw some scenery, and read most of a book. A successful train ride for me. Of course, I know someone who might have preferred an AC car...
I had originally suggested we take an overnight train as the trip was 12 hours so we'd get to see the scenery for the second half of the trip. As it was, we decided for the train starting at noon and arriving to madgao, goa at midnight. We got to see the first half of the scenery in maharashtra. It wasn't quite as scenic as I'd have hoped. It was also really hot. REALLY, REALLY HOT. The breeze didn't exactly help. I quote a German friend of mine from chennai...
"The breeze is nice, but in Germany it would be considered a searing wind."
So it was with the Maharashtra "breeze." We were sitting in a section of 8 seats. Somehow, 11 people were sitting all around. I guess that was kind of fun. There were 8 places for sleeping. Sadly for me, being 6'4" (i.e. 8" - 10" taller than everyone else) my feet stuck WAY out into the isle. I got tapped a couple times by passersby upset that I was kicking them in the head. Ah well, it was the authentic Indian Train Experience. I got ripped off for 5 rupes here and 5 rupes there. The two tall foreigners hanging out on the train... We were a sight to see for sure. But hey, I ate some decent biryani, drank some boiling hot coffee in 100 degree heat, talked to some new people, saw some scenery, and read most of a book. A successful train ride for me. Of course, I know someone who might have preferred an AC car...
Elephanta Island
Last Day in Mumbai and we decided to go to Elephanta Island. It's a small island just a few kilometers into the Arabian Sea near Mumbai. The boats leave every few minutes and the boat ride is fairly cheap. Elephanta Island itself houses a few amazing temples high up into the hills carved out of stone. I was under the impression (just viewing the temples) that they were Buddhist temples, but after reading some of the promo literature, I found that it was a Shiva temple carved in the 1500s after Buddhism had been absorbed into Hinduism. I forget the process by which this absorption happened, but suffice it to say, Hinduism is a religion which is amorphous enough to absorb most other religions (not islam) and just fold them into their ever growing mythologies...
Anyway, the temples were absolutely fantastic. I had a hard time enjoying it so much, because the day was so absolutely murderously hot. On top of that I couldn't eat much because I had spent most of the night worshiping the porcelain god by making offerings of Leopold's Fish and Chips... I have an issue with Mumbai on its climate. It's hot, it's India afterall. Mumbai, however, is also muggy as hell because it's basically an island in the arabian sea. The air, however, is not breezy like one might expect for an island, it's still. I was shocked at the stillness of the air. I'd hoped that Elephanta might give some reprieve. No such luck. Even when we got high up into the hills (200m up) the air was still and hot, just the same. The only difference was that the trash had thinned out a bit, but we could look down onto the bay and see the filth floating close to the island.
After walking around the temples, being hungry, but not being able to eat I was worn out (sorry yvonne for having to drag my ass around all day). We finally sat down for a spot of lunch and a cold "beer." The only "beer" they had that wasn't the indian-imitation-beer-flavored-soda-water was Foster's. Oh well. I gotta say, that first sip is instant mood improvement. In fact, my mood improved in the breeze (from the ceiling fan) and with the beer until I was actually able to taste it, then I sank back into heat induced depression.
So, the verdict it this. elephanta island is actually worth seeing. The temples way up top are freakin' amazing. I, however, recommend going in the middle of december or january, mid march is too hot. The boat is kind nice, the toy train (from the dock to the entrance of elephanta island) is fun to ride. One thing of which to be fully aware is that if you go to elephanta, you WILL get nickel and dimed a lot. Pay for the boat, then pay for the train, then pay (a lot) to enter the island, then pay another entrance fee to see the temples. Then, the restaurants will give you large menus with very few of the items actually in stock. So, it's pretty cool, but you have to be prepared to spend a lot of your cash for that trip.
Anyway, the temples were absolutely fantastic. I had a hard time enjoying it so much, because the day was so absolutely murderously hot. On top of that I couldn't eat much because I had spent most of the night worshiping the porcelain god by making offerings of Leopold's Fish and Chips... I have an issue with Mumbai on its climate. It's hot, it's India afterall. Mumbai, however, is also muggy as hell because it's basically an island in the arabian sea. The air, however, is not breezy like one might expect for an island, it's still. I was shocked at the stillness of the air. I'd hoped that Elephanta might give some reprieve. No such luck. Even when we got high up into the hills (200m up) the air was still and hot, just the same. The only difference was that the trash had thinned out a bit, but we could look down onto the bay and see the filth floating close to the island.
After walking around the temples, being hungry, but not being able to eat I was worn out (sorry yvonne for having to drag my ass around all day). We finally sat down for a spot of lunch and a cold "beer." The only "beer" they had that wasn't the indian-imitation-beer-flavored-soda-water was Foster's. Oh well. I gotta say, that first sip is instant mood improvement. In fact, my mood improved in the breeze (from the ceiling fan) and with the beer until I was actually able to taste it, then I sank back into heat induced depression.
So, the verdict it this. elephanta island is actually worth seeing. The temples way up top are freakin' amazing. I, however, recommend going in the middle of december or january, mid march is too hot. The boat is kind nice, the toy train (from the dock to the entrance of elephanta island) is fun to ride. One thing of which to be fully aware is that if you go to elephanta, you WILL get nickel and dimed a lot. Pay for the boat, then pay for the train, then pay (a lot) to enter the island, then pay another entrance fee to see the temples. Then, the restaurants will give you large menus with very few of the items actually in stock. So, it's pretty cool, but you have to be prepared to spend a lot of your cash for that trip.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The Plan (for limoncello)
In my life, I haven't come across too many Italians (from Italy). I know of many, many Italian Americans, and they seem to like everything Italian. I guess I understand that. For the last few months however, we've had an Italian grad student visiting the institute. He like the several other actual Italians I've met, is completely crazy for his homestyle food and beverage. Perhaps he's a bit peculiar in that he also enjoys Indian food and doesn't decry it immediately as "something less" or "inferior" to Italian food. But a couple months of curry thrice a day tends to get to anyone. Recently he's been going nuts for good pasta and certain things Italian.
I have to commend the guy. He's more adventurous than I am when it comes to traveling and seems to be hitting up more parts of Indian than I thought would be possible is such a short time. But, despite all the traveling, he had expressed a desire to have some limoncello and pasta. He asked me one day (not knowing exactly how much I know about alcohol...) if he could get "pure alcohol." I told him, fat chance in this country. Best, option is I make it for him. He looked intrigued and asked how this was possible. So I told him the basic procedure, and he said, sounds great. He tells me he can make a killer good limoncello. I said, it's a deal. He, by the way, is making an American graduate student stipend (which is to say, way more than the professors here) and so he has some purchasing power.
So the plan:
1) Completely ignore any legal restrictions that india may place on home brewing or home distilling and just go for it.
2) Ferment lots of sugar (lucky for me, I brought champagne yeast with me, thanks homesweet homebrew!)
3) Build a still
4) Distill our concoction.
5) Give it to the Italian and let him work lemony magic with it.
How will it turn out? Stay tuned.
I have to commend the guy. He's more adventurous than I am when it comes to traveling and seems to be hitting up more parts of Indian than I thought would be possible is such a short time. But, despite all the traveling, he had expressed a desire to have some limoncello and pasta. He asked me one day (not knowing exactly how much I know about alcohol...) if he could get "pure alcohol." I told him, fat chance in this country. Best, option is I make it for him. He looked intrigued and asked how this was possible. So I told him the basic procedure, and he said, sounds great. He tells me he can make a killer good limoncello. I said, it's a deal. He, by the way, is making an American graduate student stipend (which is to say, way more than the professors here) and so he has some purchasing power.
So the plan:
1) Completely ignore any legal restrictions that india may place on home brewing or home distilling and just go for it.
2) Ferment lots of sugar (lucky for me, I brought champagne yeast with me, thanks homesweet homebrew!)
3) Build a still
4) Distill our concoction.
5) Give it to the Italian and let him work lemony magic with it.
How will it turn out? Stay tuned.
An excursion into the black market
After my little adventure at Sparks night club, I, with my german pal decided to go back to the fixer's place to continue our evening of eating and drinking (seeing as how the nightclub closes at some laughable hour). We hung around the premises for some time afterward and about 2:30 or so took off for this guy's place which he said was "close to the IIT." Somewhere along the way, we made a little side stop. We walk down a little alley that is completely dark... Who's this? Someone working? No, I don't think so. The Fixer turns to us and asks what we want. After a moment I understand and say just rum. We had the other fixings (supposedly) of water, orange juice, other fruit juices, etc. So the other indian guy disappears for about a minute and emerges with two small bottles of old monk rum. "Two hundred." Ok, I guess that's the price to pay at 3:00 AM. It's usually 60 or 70, but no matter, I got to see it.
After an excursion of no more than 5 minutes we hop back into the rickshaw and power away to the fixer's place. He turns on his band's music (it's ok, very western sounding, a bit of a rip off of DMB, but no matter) and promptly passes out, and falls off his own bed. My german buddy and I finish off one of the tiny bottles of rum and a full pint of orange juice and decide to let the guy sleep. We kill the music, so he doesn't have to deal with an angry land lord, or wake up with too much of a headache.
We finally catch a rickshaw back to IIT and to my neighborhood for way too much money, but we all made it home safely having spent too much money and I got to see my first glimpse of the black market. What I saw wasn't particularly impressive. For what it's worth I could probably score something similar to that in most big cities in the United States, but it was fun to see. I am certain a only saw the first drop in an ocean of illicit activity, but I got to spend some of my money doing something mildly illicit. Good times.
After an excursion of no more than 5 minutes we hop back into the rickshaw and power away to the fixer's place. He turns on his band's music (it's ok, very western sounding, a bit of a rip off of DMB, but no matter) and promptly passes out, and falls off his own bed. My german buddy and I finish off one of the tiny bottles of rum and a full pint of orange juice and decide to let the guy sleep. We kill the music, so he doesn't have to deal with an angry land lord, or wake up with too much of a headache.
We finally catch a rickshaw back to IIT and to my neighborhood for way too much money, but we all made it home safely having spent too much money and I got to see my first glimpse of the black market. What I saw wasn't particularly impressive. For what it's worth I could probably score something similar to that in most big cities in the United States, but it was fun to see. I am certain a only saw the first drop in an ocean of illicit activity, but I got to spend some of my money doing something mildly illicit. Good times.
The Fixer
So, I'm getting way out of sequence here, but there are alot of stories to tell from the west coast (of india) trip and a few interesting things have happened back in Chennai since.
I went with one of my German pals to a club in Chennai called Sparks. Hmm... Another "swank" nightclub at a fancy hotel with an exorbitant entrance cover: Rs. 1000. By the way, if you're keeping track at home Rs 1000 is basically $22. Of course, you get drink vouchers with your Rs 1000... It doesn't make up for the fact that the drinks are also overpriced. Anyway, I'm there hanging out, there is a lot of really loud, somewhat out of date dance club music (no shocker there) and a dearth of women, again no shock. Oh, I should mention that this is a "no stag entry club" which means that men must be accompanied by a women to enter. Nonetheless, a friend of a friend got us in and we were even allowed on the dance floor! If you're into dancing in Chennai, you might as well get accustomed to dancing with men, because that's who is at the club you're going to, stag entry or no, it's full of men...
Whatever. I start drinking with these two guys, one is a singer in a local band, the other is a muslim. I was very happy with this arrangement. I started then talking about my plans to produce homemade rum. They seemed genuinely interested in this idea and so I explained how the whole thing works. I'd been told that these guys have connections to the black market and the underworld. So I casually brought up the idea, that I need a still. I explained how this works and they said they could get it for me. Funny thing is, the responded with, "I thought you wanted guns or something. It's a lot easier to get them [than a still]." Apparently, alcohol is a really bad thing around these parts, but guns, drugs, sex, not so much. While I don't particularly have a problem with "sex" the idea that it's prostitution (and usually eunuchs) that bothers me slightly more. While it's not my place to say anything about the Tamil cultures or traditions when it comes to marriage, it sure makes things miserable for single foreign men living here (ask any single foreign man in chennai...)
After these exchanges, phone numbers and all, I leave with a promise that I have a fixer that can get me copper tubing, and a still welded for me cheaply. I also left with a lot of (probably empty) promises about what I can and can't get here. This guy said he can get American beer here as well. Basically, he has pilot friends who he calls and has them pick up things when they return from their duties. Seems easy enough. I haven't exactly seen any evidence of this yet, but it's a nice idea to have in my back pocket.
I went with one of my German pals to a club in Chennai called Sparks. Hmm... Another "swank" nightclub at a fancy hotel with an exorbitant entrance cover: Rs. 1000. By the way, if you're keeping track at home Rs 1000 is basically $22. Of course, you get drink vouchers with your Rs 1000... It doesn't make up for the fact that the drinks are also overpriced. Anyway, I'm there hanging out, there is a lot of really loud, somewhat out of date dance club music (no shocker there) and a dearth of women, again no shock. Oh, I should mention that this is a "no stag entry club" which means that men must be accompanied by a women to enter. Nonetheless, a friend of a friend got us in and we were even allowed on the dance floor! If you're into dancing in Chennai, you might as well get accustomed to dancing with men, because that's who is at the club you're going to, stag entry or no, it's full of men...
Whatever. I start drinking with these two guys, one is a singer in a local band, the other is a muslim. I was very happy with this arrangement. I started then talking about my plans to produce homemade rum. They seemed genuinely interested in this idea and so I explained how the whole thing works. I'd been told that these guys have connections to the black market and the underworld. So I casually brought up the idea, that I need a still. I explained how this works and they said they could get it for me. Funny thing is, the responded with, "I thought you wanted guns or something. It's a lot easier to get them [than a still]." Apparently, alcohol is a really bad thing around these parts, but guns, drugs, sex, not so much. While I don't particularly have a problem with "sex" the idea that it's prostitution (and usually eunuchs) that bothers me slightly more. While it's not my place to say anything about the Tamil cultures or traditions when it comes to marriage, it sure makes things miserable for single foreign men living here (ask any single foreign man in chennai...)
After these exchanges, phone numbers and all, I leave with a promise that I have a fixer that can get me copper tubing, and a still welded for me cheaply. I also left with a lot of (probably empty) promises about what I can and can't get here. This guy said he can get American beer here as well. Basically, he has pilot friends who he calls and has them pick up things when they return from their duties. Seems easy enough. I haven't exactly seen any evidence of this yet, but it's a nice idea to have in my back pocket.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Leopold's
The search for good bee in India is officially ended! I found ONE good beer at ONE bar. Again, Leffe! Same as in Dubai. This time I was in Bombay. I'd been trying with all my might to avoid the famous and infamous Leopold's in Colaba. Everyone talks about it as the place to be. Basically it's an expat bar with crappy food and a beer selection of about 10. They also have beer on draft, and serve that fancy imported stuff. So there it is, Leffe Blonde for Rs 275. Damn, that's expensive for a beer! Alright, they even serve it in a Leffe glass! Oh, this glass is covered in dust and dirt... I guess not too many order Leffe around here. I take a quick look around, what do I see? Oh yes, the hoards of bottles of imitation beer. WT and F!? Even when good beer is available I guess we see that cheap wins. Perhaps, more bars should adopt the strategy of Exchange Bar and Grill in NYC where drink prices change as the night wears on. Supply and demand curves. In this way, the demand of crappy usually remains strong with low prices and diminishing supply. Well, KF my friend, you are about to see your stock plummet! Good bye, no more KF. On the other hand, Leffe would probably remain the same price.
Anyway, I got my good beer in the right glass, albeit a dirty one and enjoyed heartily. I then ordered some food. Being Friday and Lent means I can have me some fish. What to order at a british style pub near the arabian sea? Fish and chips of course. Hmmm, this fish smells a bit off. Ah well, it's deep fried, what can be the harm? Fast forward a few hours later: I'm on the toilet with mumbai levels of pollution coming out both ends. Fantastic friday evening. It was almost authentic America, oh except that vomiting is usually induced by drinking too much, not getting food poisoning...
So, Leopold's you proved yourself in one way and one way only. I, however, do think I'll be ordering fish and chips with you anytime soon. Yvonne maintained health by ordering the veg dish. Go figure!
Anyway, I got my good beer in the right glass, albeit a dirty one and enjoyed heartily. I then ordered some food. Being Friday and Lent means I can have me some fish. What to order at a british style pub near the arabian sea? Fish and chips of course. Hmmm, this fish smells a bit off. Ah well, it's deep fried, what can be the harm? Fast forward a few hours later: I'm on the toilet with mumbai levels of pollution coming out both ends. Fantastic friday evening. It was almost authentic America, oh except that vomiting is usually induced by drinking too much, not getting food poisoning...
So, Leopold's you proved yourself in one way and one way only. I, however, do think I'll be ordering fish and chips with you anytime soon. Yvonne maintained health by ordering the veg dish. Go figure!
Mumbai, roaming the streets
First morning: We set out in search of nothing in particular. I think, however, we stopped at a dozen or so jewelry stores... Woman's gotta have her sparkly things.
No sooner than we'd set out did a strange little "religious" man stop me and give me a "blessing" from lord krishna. Turned out to be rather a curse than a blessing. In any case, he asked me where I'm from, I told him Lebanon. That threw him off for a moment, but undeterred he proceeded to give me a little digestive candy and flowers and tie a piece of string around my wrist and dab some colored powder on my already sweaty forehead. OF COURSE, he wanted money. I didn't have any small bills with me. No tens or twenties. I would've just given him rs 20 and been done with it, but I had only a 500 with me. No way he was getting that! So I asked him if he takes credit cards? He said no. I told him, "This is the 21st century, you should get with the program." He told me he takes real money. This means, he takes, Euros, US dollars, and Indian Rupees. I promptly pulled out a Lebanese 5000 note and handed it to him. I told him it was worth much more than it actually is (actual value $3.33, I told him $5 = Rs 225). He looked at me confused. I told him that's more money than he'd get the rest of the day. It probably was. I immediately wiped the dot off my forehead, cut the string off, and tossed the flowers into a compost heap. Maybe that was where I went wrong. I think, however, where I went wrong was allowing myself to get swindled by some "religious" man. Later that day, at India Gate, another nearly identical man came to me, and attempted the same shit. I put a hand in his face and gave him a vociferous, "NOPE." He understood and sort of laughed knowing that I'd been taken once already. Bastards! I'm an idiot.
After my religious experiences in Mumbai, Yvonne decided to take me on a walking tour. Here's an unsolicited plug for lonely planet... They know who to write a damn good travel guide. I'm constantly impressed at the accuracy of information and the depth thereof. Just using their one page, walking tour guide of Mumbai, we made it around the center of the city up through several neighborhoods. We saw a "nice" park, a few "nice" churches, some administrative building, and surprise, surprise, hundreds upon hundreds of kids playing cricket. Most of whom I'm guessing should have been in school at that time.
Mumbai is completely weird. It's so polluted and muggy that you can barely breathe (especially after the arid Jaipur). It is distinctly Indian. It's crowded, the traffic is completely nuts, there are more slums than you can possibly fathom. There are lots of colonial buildings left by the british. It's east meets west, except that the only western things in mumbai are the old buildings and the new office buildings/hotels. After one night and one day I certainly did not have the hang of it. A couple more nights/days to catch on...
No sooner than we'd set out did a strange little "religious" man stop me and give me a "blessing" from lord krishna. Turned out to be rather a curse than a blessing. In any case, he asked me where I'm from, I told him Lebanon. That threw him off for a moment, but undeterred he proceeded to give me a little digestive candy and flowers and tie a piece of string around my wrist and dab some colored powder on my already sweaty forehead. OF COURSE, he wanted money. I didn't have any small bills with me. No tens or twenties. I would've just given him rs 20 and been done with it, but I had only a 500 with me. No way he was getting that! So I asked him if he takes credit cards? He said no. I told him, "This is the 21st century, you should get with the program." He told me he takes real money. This means, he takes, Euros, US dollars, and Indian Rupees. I promptly pulled out a Lebanese 5000 note and handed it to him. I told him it was worth much more than it actually is (actual value $3.33, I told him $5 = Rs 225). He looked at me confused. I told him that's more money than he'd get the rest of the day. It probably was. I immediately wiped the dot off my forehead, cut the string off, and tossed the flowers into a compost heap. Maybe that was where I went wrong. I think, however, where I went wrong was allowing myself to get swindled by some "religious" man. Later that day, at India Gate, another nearly identical man came to me, and attempted the same shit. I put a hand in his face and gave him a vociferous, "NOPE." He understood and sort of laughed knowing that I'd been taken once already. Bastards! I'm an idiot.
After my religious experiences in Mumbai, Yvonne decided to take me on a walking tour. Here's an unsolicited plug for lonely planet... They know who to write a damn good travel guide. I'm constantly impressed at the accuracy of information and the depth thereof. Just using their one page, walking tour guide of Mumbai, we made it around the center of the city up through several neighborhoods. We saw a "nice" park, a few "nice" churches, some administrative building, and surprise, surprise, hundreds upon hundreds of kids playing cricket. Most of whom I'm guessing should have been in school at that time.
Mumbai is completely weird. It's so polluted and muggy that you can barely breathe (especially after the arid Jaipur). It is distinctly Indian. It's crowded, the traffic is completely nuts, there are more slums than you can possibly fathom. There are lots of colonial buildings left by the british. It's east meets west, except that the only western things in mumbai are the old buildings and the new office buildings/hotels. After one night and one day I certainly did not have the hang of it. A couple more nights/days to catch on...
Mumbai, First Night
Off to Mumbai, "city of dreams" for a few nights...
Some quick random stats (and approximations of stats) about Mumbai
Metro area population: 22 million
Percentage of residents living in slums: 55%
Average income: Rs 190/day = 3x national average = $4.10/day
Largest slum: Dharavi, population 1 million +
Tallest buildings: 60 stories.
Humidity: Off the charts
Quality index: very low
Ok, so Mumbai got off to a good start. Their airport is amazing. We show up and see ads for carlsberg everywhere, which is a good and welcome change from the (approximation of a beer) we'd seen everywhere else. Getting a prepaid taxi to the hotel was easy.
We're headed toward the happening neighborhood, Colaba. It's a peninsula way down south at the bottom of the city. Apparently this is where the high concentration of bars, uppity hotels, night clubs etc are. We check into our hotel, the Hotel Diplomat. It was recommended to Yvonne by some guy on a plane on the way to New Delhi. We went for it, because it had open rooms. I understand why they had open rooms...
So, we set out in Colaba in search of a good bar. We found one, sort of. Some hole in the wall with a big back bar where all the foreigners hang out (NOT LEOPOLD'S!).
We ordered several rounds, had some indian food and chatted with a group of girls from europe. The beer was crap, but the rest of the spirits weren't so bad. The prices hurt a little after having been treated to a jaipur bar.
After we finish at the late hour of 11:30 (what the hell INDIA!?) we run into several rather unsavory characters who offer me all manner of drugs.
"Weed, grass, hash? Come on man, amsterdam, don't be shy."
Amsterdam!? Doesn't this guy know that all the world's best marijuana is grown in india,pakistan,afghanistan? Idiot. Oh well, he didn't get my money that night...
It turns out, that would be a constant theme in colaba.
Some quick random stats (and approximations of stats) about Mumbai
Metro area population: 22 million
Percentage of residents living in slums: 55%
Average income: Rs 190/day = 3x national average = $4.10/day
Largest slum: Dharavi, population 1 million +
Tallest buildings: 60 stories.
Humidity: Off the charts
Quality index: very low
Ok, so Mumbai got off to a good start. Their airport is amazing. We show up and see ads for carlsberg everywhere, which is a good and welcome change from the (approximation of a beer) we'd seen everywhere else. Getting a prepaid taxi to the hotel was easy.
We're headed toward the happening neighborhood, Colaba. It's a peninsula way down south at the bottom of the city. Apparently this is where the high concentration of bars, uppity hotels, night clubs etc are. We check into our hotel, the Hotel Diplomat. It was recommended to Yvonne by some guy on a plane on the way to New Delhi. We went for it, because it had open rooms. I understand why they had open rooms...
So, we set out in Colaba in search of a good bar. We found one, sort of. Some hole in the wall with a big back bar where all the foreigners hang out (NOT LEOPOLD'S!).
We ordered several rounds, had some indian food and chatted with a group of girls from europe. The beer was crap, but the rest of the spirits weren't so bad. The prices hurt a little after having been treated to a jaipur bar.
After we finish at the late hour of 11:30 (what the hell INDIA!?) we run into several rather unsavory characters who offer me all manner of drugs.
"Weed, grass, hash? Come on man, amsterdam, don't be shy."
Amsterdam!? Doesn't this guy know that all the world's best marijuana is grown in india,pakistan,afghanistan? Idiot. Oh well, he didn't get my money that night...
It turns out, that would be a constant theme in colaba.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
The Evening Bar Scene in Jaipur
I need a beer. I need a good beer, and soon. This is my mantra in India. Sadly, none has yet been had. Up until Jaipur, since my last night in America, I'd had only a few. I got one in Dubai, and three from Yvonne's suitcase...
So, Jaipur seemed like a cool enough, relaxed enough town that bars aren't so hard to come by, and aren't so dumpy as Chennai's. We find a place that's selling cold beers for Rs. 80. I'm afraid this means (the "beer" whose name I refuse to say) and nothing else. Well, we walk in, and being two westerners we are immediately led away from the good drinking into a dining room. Problem is... NO ONE ELSE IS IN THE DINING ROOM! It was also lit by fluorescent bulbs and smelled a little bit like cleaner and old carpet...
We insisted we'd rather go downstairs to the bar. Somehow, Indians want to hide away their sinister bars from well seeming westerners such as ourselves... Whatever!
Finally, we made it down into the lair. It was a normal bar. Nice comfy seats, TVs showing cricket, nice drink menu, food menu. Drinks are CHEAP! We ordered maybe a few more than we should have and enjoyed the hell out of them. Also, I ordered up an array of delicious Indian foods to go with Indian whiskey (no good beer unfortunately). But, if I were in Jaipur instead of Chennai, I think I'd have found my local bar...
So, Jaipur seemed like a cool enough, relaxed enough town that bars aren't so hard to come by, and aren't so dumpy as Chennai's. We find a place that's selling cold beers for Rs. 80. I'm afraid this means (the "beer" whose name I refuse to say) and nothing else. Well, we walk in, and being two westerners we are immediately led away from the good drinking into a dining room. Problem is... NO ONE ELSE IS IN THE DINING ROOM! It was also lit by fluorescent bulbs and smelled a little bit like cleaner and old carpet...
We insisted we'd rather go downstairs to the bar. Somehow, Indians want to hide away their sinister bars from well seeming westerners such as ourselves... Whatever!
Finally, we made it down into the lair. It was a normal bar. Nice comfy seats, TVs showing cricket, nice drink menu, food menu. Drinks are CHEAP! We ordered maybe a few more than we should have and enjoyed the hell out of them. Also, I ordered up an array of delicious Indian foods to go with Indian whiskey (no good beer unfortunately). But, if I were in Jaipur instead of Chennai, I think I'd have found my local bar...
Amber Fort and Tiger Fort
After a restful/ not so restful night's sleep we were ready to go again in Jaipur. We'd arranged a flight to Mumbai for later in the evening, but the airport was 25 km away. So what to do? Of course, hire a driver for a half day. Amber, well, of course. Everyone told us to go to Amber Fort. It's the beautiful and intricate one. More importantly, it's much easier for the drivers to get to. We insisted however, that we'd like to go see Tiger/Jaigar/other name I can't remember for it Fort on the basis that it's atop the city. It's WAY up a hill side and looks directly down on Jaipur. So, after much negotiating, haggling, fussing, bitching, complaining, and promises of payment we jumped in a car destined for Amber Fort, Tiger Fort, and Jaipur Airport.
Amber Fort: Well, to be fair, it is simply astonishing. It's a beautiful and intricate fort/palace that is set up essentially like a maze. There is lots of beautiful marble inlay similar to the Taj Mahal. In addition, there is a hefty amount of wall painting which (at least to me) is characteristic of Rajasthani art. In and out all day are people riding in on elephants. These elephants, by the way, are decorated with the same powder used at Holi and for making Kolam here in south India. Those elephants are well trained. I don't know how well treated they are, but they don't seem to mind. They walk down the hill, back up the hill, walk around the court yard in the fort, drop off passengers, pick up more, drop some elephant droppings, repeat. Anyway, the Amber is quite beautiful, but I got the biggest kick out of it because I got charged the Indian rate.
I knew that my Indian residency paper would come in handy somehow. I handed it to the guy at the window, handed him the correct Indian amount, and in I went. Saved myself Rs 200. The ticket collector once again inquired as to my status, but I assured him I live in India, and he let me pass. WOO!
Tiger Fort: The road up to Tiger Fort is harrowing. I now understand why not so many cab drivers want to go up there. It's bumpy, winding, narrow, with overgrown bushes and shrubs coming in the open windows all the way. Ouch. Little scratches on your arms by the time you get there. But, I will tell you this. Visiting Tiger Fort was amongst the best tourist decisions we made the whole trip! There were only a dozen tourists there and most of them were Indian. In addition there is a beautiful restaurant/bar on one side where you can look way down onto Jaipur. It's far enough above all the noise and traffic, that it's almost, dare I say it, peaceful. Of course, Jaipur (a tiny city of 2.35 million) is busy enough that it's still not very peaceful even where it is "peaceful." We had a couple of "beers" and some Rajasthani and Gujarati style Thalis for lunch with egg sandwiches. Delicious.
In one sense, Tiger Fort is less spectacular than Amber Fort because it's not as intricate. But I'm more impressed with how they got the material up the mountain that much further to construct the thing at all.
Amber Fort: Well, to be fair, it is simply astonishing. It's a beautiful and intricate fort/palace that is set up essentially like a maze. There is lots of beautiful marble inlay similar to the Taj Mahal. In addition, there is a hefty amount of wall painting which (at least to me) is characteristic of Rajasthani art. In and out all day are people riding in on elephants. These elephants, by the way, are decorated with the same powder used at Holi and for making Kolam here in south India. Those elephants are well trained. I don't know how well treated they are, but they don't seem to mind. They walk down the hill, back up the hill, walk around the court yard in the fort, drop off passengers, pick up more, drop some elephant droppings, repeat. Anyway, the Amber is quite beautiful, but I got the biggest kick out of it because I got charged the Indian rate.
I knew that my Indian residency paper would come in handy somehow. I handed it to the guy at the window, handed him the correct Indian amount, and in I went. Saved myself Rs 200. The ticket collector once again inquired as to my status, but I assured him I live in India, and he let me pass. WOO!
Tiger Fort: The road up to Tiger Fort is harrowing. I now understand why not so many cab drivers want to go up there. It's bumpy, winding, narrow, with overgrown bushes and shrubs coming in the open windows all the way. Ouch. Little scratches on your arms by the time you get there. But, I will tell you this. Visiting Tiger Fort was amongst the best tourist decisions we made the whole trip! There were only a dozen tourists there and most of them were Indian. In addition there is a beautiful restaurant/bar on one side where you can look way down onto Jaipur. It's far enough above all the noise and traffic, that it's almost, dare I say it, peaceful. Of course, Jaipur (a tiny city of 2.35 million) is busy enough that it's still not very peaceful even where it is "peaceful." We had a couple of "beers" and some Rajasthani and Gujarati style Thalis for lunch with egg sandwiches. Delicious.
In one sense, Tiger Fort is less spectacular than Amber Fort because it's not as intricate. But I'm more impressed with how they got the material up the mountain that much further to construct the thing at all.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Charming a Cobra
First things first. Yes, it is a real snake. No, I don't think it's actually a cobra. Something was totally weird about this snake. It's like it didn't really move at all. It also had beady eyes and a normally shaped head (not triangular) which generally means it's not poisonous, but still a little weird. In any case, We had tried to go to City Palace in Jaipur, but at 5PM it closes. We did however find a "snake charmer" and he charmed a little money out of our wallets. I'm a stupid tourist whore... But there are some great pics.
The Sindhi Sikh Temple
The Neighborhood where we stayed in Jaipur was near the Sindhi section of town. In fact the section of town is named "Sindhi Colony." Well, having a taste for all things peculiarly exotic and ethnic I REALLY wanted to go see the Sindhi neighborhood. We were after all, right next to it. So I asked around for info about the neighborhood. It turns out, very few Sinhdis still live there. I was very sad. In case it is of interest to you, Sindhi is one of Pakistan's 3 official languages (the others being Urdu and Punjabi, Kashmiri does not hold official status as far as I know). The Sindhis are an ethnic minority in both Pakistan and India. Their land was in fact split up during the partition of Hindustan. In addition, the Sindhi are in large part Sikh, rather than Hindu or Muslim. Their alphabet is similar to that of Arabic, Persian, and Urdu, except that it contains 52 letters whereas Arabic has 28, Farsi and Urdu have 32... I can read Arabic script (poorly) and make my way through certain things in Urdu and Farsi, but Sindhi... It's a lost cause. (Omniglot link: Sindhi alphabet)
So, feeling a little dejected that the Sindhi aren't IN Sindhi Colony we set out to see the rest of Jaipur. After we went to Hawa Mahal, we went through the shopping huts in the pink city. Yvonne was looking for bangles and shoes, while I was interested in eating. While she shopped and haggled, I just sat and shot the breeze with all the shop owners who complimented (sometimes falsely, just to get my attention) my facial hair styling. Eventually it was about 5PM and we set out to see the City Palace, but oh... The city palace closes at 5 PM, so I charmed a cobra (tourist whore that I was) and we hired a rickshaw (bicyclist) to take us around to places that are not "coupon shops." We struck the deal, that for every shop he's stop in (3) where he'd get Rs. 20 we'd just pay him to take us elsewhere... So we struck a deal for this little small Indian guy to cart around two tall Americans for the rest of the afternoon for Rs 100. He took us to the Sikh temple (A Gurudwara). I hadn't been to a gurudwara yet, and so it was interesting for. It was a nice small temple, completely made out of marble, and luckily, marble keeps cool in the shade. We all had to cover our heads and walk around. I didn't notice until we were leaving that the inscriptions on either side of the entrance gate were in Devnagri Script and Sindhi script. Where we had just gone was one of the last remaining Sindhi temples in Jaipur. Turns out, the Sindhi neighborhood had moved from where our hotel was to the neighborhood behind City Palace... Go figure.
So, feeling a little dejected that the Sindhi aren't IN Sindhi Colony we set out to see the rest of Jaipur. After we went to Hawa Mahal, we went through the shopping huts in the pink city. Yvonne was looking for bangles and shoes, while I was interested in eating. While she shopped and haggled, I just sat and shot the breeze with all the shop owners who complimented (sometimes falsely, just to get my attention) my facial hair styling. Eventually it was about 5PM and we set out to see the City Palace, but oh... The city palace closes at 5 PM, so I charmed a cobra (tourist whore that I was) and we hired a rickshaw (bicyclist) to take us around to places that are not "coupon shops." We struck the deal, that for every shop he's stop in (3) where he'd get Rs. 20 we'd just pay him to take us elsewhere... So we struck a deal for this little small Indian guy to cart around two tall Americans for the rest of the afternoon for Rs 100. He took us to the Sikh temple (A Gurudwara). I hadn't been to a gurudwara yet, and so it was interesting for. It was a nice small temple, completely made out of marble, and luckily, marble keeps cool in the shade. We all had to cover our heads and walk around. I didn't notice until we were leaving that the inscriptions on either side of the entrance gate were in Devnagri Script and Sindhi script. Where we had just gone was one of the last remaining Sindhi temples in Jaipur. Turns out, the Sindhi neighborhood had moved from where our hotel was to the neighborhood behind City Palace... Go figure.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Hawa Mahal
Hawa Mahal is the wind palace. In all the brochures and promotional literature it looks like a huge imposing massive structure, but really, it's only about 40 feet tall. It was built for Lord Krishna (I think). I was shocked at how small it really is, inside and out. I had trouble walking up the ramps on the inside just to get to the top. Yvonne had less trouble, but I caught her ducking a couple times...
Another funny thing about the Hawa Mahal is the fact that its edifice stares straight into the heart of the shopping in the pink city. If you're on the street, you can almost walk by it and not notice it. The entrance to the Hawa Mahal is on the back side. That meant that walking into it, we had no idea it was the same place until we got inside and asked people about this beautiful face. We were told it's on the OTHER side. It's a little bit shady methinks...
Here are some pics.
Another funny thing about the Hawa Mahal is the fact that its edifice stares straight into the heart of the shopping in the pink city. If you're on the street, you can almost walk by it and not notice it. The entrance to the Hawa Mahal is on the back side. That meant that walking into it, we had no idea it was the same place until we got inside and asked people about this beautiful face. We were told it's on the OTHER side. It's a little bit shady methinks...
Here are some pics.
Jaipur
Street FoodAgra was a long day. Two trains, two cabs, two different places to sleep, paying way too much to see the Taj, getting carted around by a rickshaw driver who was only interested in stopping in shops that paid HIM, ugh.
So off to Jaipur we went the next morning at a casual 5AM. Ouch! 5AM!? What the hell were we thinking? Who knows. What I do know is that Yvonne definitely had the foresight to book first class AC tickets. I gotta say, I haven't been the biggest fan of chair cars, because it's difficult for me to sleep in a chair, but this was definitely a nice ride. First class means you don't deal with food sellers. They brought me newspaper of my choice to start the ride. All passengers got a rose (of course I know one passenger who was more pleased about that than I), cereal, tea, THEN BREAKFAST, then more tea. I fell asleep after that, but apparently the service continued like this for nearly the whole 6 hour journey. By the time we arrived in Jaipur, I wasn't really feeling refreshed, but I wasn't feeling like I should kill anyone either.
So, here we are, Rajasthan, the so called, land of the kings. It's semidesert. A lot of dirt and dust infiltrating my lungs. It's really hot too. Of course, the only piece of it we saw is Jaipur. Jaipur is known as "the pink city." Apparently, back at somepoint during the British Raj's tenure prince (andrew?) came for a visit and wanted the city to be pretty. It was then decided to paint the city pink. Rather, now it's more of a terra cotta color. But still alright.
Jaipur is also known as the city of palaces. There is a lake palace (that you can't go in), Amber Fort, Tiger Fort, Hawa Mahal (the wind palace), and a large variety of other palaces and forts whose names I can neither remember nor pronounce correctly in the first place. Well, we got some cabbie to take us to the hotel. It was an OK hotel. For the price it was decent enough. We were only there one night en route to Mumbai.
The other thing about Jaipur that one will notice, is the immense shopping area with a dearth of restaurants! I got hungry man! Ah, street food saves the day...
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