Big Accomplishment

Today at lunch, I ate spaghetti with a spoon. The spoon was noteworthy for being particularly small, flimsy, and plastic. This is not something I recommend you ever try yourself.

Ganesh Immersion

Today marks the last day of the Ganesha festival, Ganesh Immersion. To recap, this comes ten days after Ganesha's birthday, when all of the murtis that have sprung up all over town are paraded through the streets and then tossed into any convenient body of water.

In Hyderabad, the big immersion spot is Hussain Sagar, the large lake in the middle of the city, so that's where we went this afternoon. We'd heard that traffic would be an absolute nightmare, and warned that we'd be sitting in one place for hours without moving, so we were actually more than a little bit surprised to find that so NOT the case. The streets were d-e-d dead. We crossed from one end of the city to another a about half the usual time, and I was getting worried that maybe this wasn't going to be as big a deal as everyone had promised.

We found the first two entry points blocked, then got very close to a third, still without seeing any traffic to speak of. Still, we were very close to our destination, so rather than push our luck we parked and set out on foot. Once we passed through the traffic blocks, I saw how wrong I was about the crowd. The streets were dead because everyone in the city was focused on Hussain Sagar, and we were moving along the roadway with a few thousand of our closest friends.

The Ganesha murtis for immersion come in all sizes, from the mind-bogglingly huge to the teeny tiny palm-sized version.


The only hard-and-fast rule is that they must be able to be broken down by water. Most of them are papier mache or clay and use natural dyes, but they still make the water ucky and soupy and cause no small amount of environmental damage before they are quietly removed by the city a few days later. The one this man is carrying on his head is made of seeds, and it's the only of its kind that I saw.


Most of the Ganeshas fall into the category of "medium-sized" and arrive in the back of trucks, accompanied by the neighborhood revelers who built them. These folks are still well outside the main drag, and I don't know how far they came to get to this point. I also don't know the significance of the bright pink powder that covers half the revelers. The trucks rumble along very slowly and that anyone who doesn't fit aboard goes on foot, beating drums and dancing the whole way.


Once they make it to the Necklace Road, traffic pretty much grinds to a halt while they wait their turn at the crane. Yes, the crane.


Here's an example. I love that the name of the company is Durga crane services. For some reason, this just cracks my shit up. This picture was taken while we were off to the side of the road being encircled by gawkers, so I didn't actually see any of it with my own eyes. I just held my camera high above my head and snapped.


I'm curious about how the logistics work out. There were signs up for "Crane 1" through "Crane 8", so maybe there is some sort of registration process where people are assigned to an immersion spot in advance. But maybe they get assigned to a crane whenever they arrive, because I can't see tight scheduling being an option.


The parade of trucks seemed endless.


I generally avoided taking pictures of the crowd - that tended to make people stop and stare and wave even more - but I set it for a really fast shutter speed and managed to grab a few decent lightening-quick snaps along the way. I wish I was one of those people up the tree - they had one of the only good vantage points on the street.


My favorite thing about this shot is the portrait of Jesus at the center of the frame. I'm not sure why everyone wears orange headbands and waves orange flags, but they do. At one point, a man stopped to drape an orange sash over my neck. It's covered with Hindu script and has a portrait of Ganesh on either side, and it clashed with my outfit something fierce but I still didn't take it off until we were home.


I love all the trucks in India. They're not just painted for this occasion - they are always brightly colored and draped with garlands and tinsel. I can't imagine why, but it sure makes the big rigs fun to look at.


This one is an exception, though, and one that's more than a little over the top. I've seen vehicles draped even more than this for weddings and such, but never a truck this size. Never mind visibility, folks!


I saw red Ganeshas and orange ones, Ganeshas of all shapes and sizes, some with five elephant heads and some with only one, but this one was by far the strangest. The Ganesha here is actually near the front left and only about waist-high. The rest of the platform is taken up with supporting characters, one of which is the form of a man with his legs hanging up in the air. He's got what looks like the barrel and stock of a rifle (but not the trigger and butt), and Ganesha's got him covered with a large black handgun (about neck-high to the man second-from-left). I'm fairly certain this is meant as a political statement of some kind, but I have no idea what.

I feel the need to point out that not a single one of these pictures has been manipulated from the original snap, except for some cropping here and there to remove all the distracting gawkers from the frame. I don't mind needing to bump up some color or contrast here and there to make a picture really pop, but every one of these popped on its own. The sky was a beautiful blue, the sun was shining, and all the colors came through just as they did in person.

Being a rock star is not all it's cracked up to be

I have had a taste of what fame would be like, and I have determined that it would suuuuuuuuuck.

We went out into the city this afternoon to watch the Ganesh immersions, and caused the biggest ruckus imaginable by doing so. We gathered a huge crowd of people immediately upon entering the closed-off streets, and didn't get a moment's peace until we were back in the car at the end. It wasn't the same people the whole time, but we had a constant crowd of at least a few dozen tailing us at every moment. As we moved down the street, every set of eyes touched us. If someone happened to be facing another direction, a friend would quickly say something, slap their arm, and point the way, so they'd be sure not to miss the show. And the show wasn't the beautifully painted murtis or the ecstatic crowd. The show was two white women taking a walk. Parents did this with their children too. My mind still boggles at it.

Please understand that there was absolutely no hostility in any of these stares. Every face that saw us broke out in an expression of absolute delight that could only be genuine. People were laughing at the sight of us, but never with derision. They were just too happy not to. On the whole, they seemed to be touched and honored that we were celebrating their holiday with them. I shook at least a couple hundred hands, sometimes shaking two or three hands at once just to keep the crowd moving. At one point we pulled over to the lake side of the street to see one of the Ganeshas go into the water, and more than fifty people broke off to come with us. They kept a distance of at least 2-3 feet so everyone could see us, but they were crushing and jostling one another to get a good look and no one was talking. Every set of eyes in the circle was watching us intently, even though we weren't doing a thing. And they didn't stop no matter how long we just stood there. Half the people had their backs to that particular Ganesha as he went into the water.

We only ended up staying about an hour, because there just wasn't any peace. Every time we stopped moving, the crowd around us got bigger, so we didn't stop moving much. We caused a ruckus when we walked, and we caused a ruckus when we stopped walking. We made our way from one of the Necklace Road to the other and back again, and I felt like we were the star attraction the whole time.

To be clear, I waving back and happily responding to any questions that came my way, and answering every cry of "Hello Auntie!" from every child. I laughed and joked with the other woman the whole time. I didn't try to attract attention, but I embraced it and went with the flow because there was no reasonable course of action but to be gracious. Still, it felt like we were being chased the whole time, and as a result we didn't linger. Near the end, one of the men took it upon himself to clear a path in front of us, whirling his arms and loudly forcing the crowd aside, and that was finally a bit much. He didn't speak any English so I couldn't tell him to stop, but I retreated back behind my sunglasses and was glad when we reached the car. I wonder how many people thought we were actually somebody famous.

Most of the time we catch a few eyes going through the city, but never anything like this. I have three theories:

1. The crowd celebrating today includes lots of people from outlying areas who don't see white people as much as their city-dwelling counterparts, or they are Hyderabadis whose lives don't bring them into contact with foreigners much, either of which makes us a shocking sight in their eyes. OR
   
2. The high spirits of the festival (and the drinking and partying that attend it) lowered everyone's inhibitions to the point where their usual restraint failed and emotions took over. OR
   
3. They were just shocked that any of the firangi would want to take part in their celebration - I didn't see any other white faces in the crowd of thousands - and felt honored by our attendance.

I only think of the latter only because five of us went out to see some more of the murtis around town last night, and were treated as visiting dignitaries everywhere we went. We were welcomed onto the stage, photographed with children, given candies to eat and coconuts to crack, draped with shawls and sashes, and thanked repeatedly for the honor of our visit. None of these people knew who we were. While we were inside one makeshift temple, they set up chairs for us outside and insisted we sit for a while. This was right next door to a sizable tent camp, and all the tent-dwelling kids and their parents gathered around to smile at us. One of my colleagues showed them itsy-bitsy spider and was about to launch into the hokey pokey when we had to move on. At the next place, which was adjacent to a medium-sized neighborhood temple, the people in charge insisted that we wait while they find the man with the keys to let us into the temple even though it was after hours, so we could offer our approval and tell them what a nice place it was.

I am so overwhelmed that I really don't know what to say about this. I am touched and charmed by the reception, even if it's more than a little uncomfortable. I didn't think it was possible to be more impressed by the culture and the people than I was before, but this degree of unabashed pride and whole-hearted welcome honestly moves me to tears.

Halfway there!

Today marks the halfway point of my trip: 87 days down, 87 to go. I can't believe I'm only halfway through. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love it. I just feel like I've been here for much longer than that.

I really didn't have any idea it would be this hard to be away from home for six months.

Clothes!

Today is a company holiday - my first since arriving. We worked through Independence Day & Labor Day, which was what I expected but it still sucked. But now we've got five company holidays in the next three months, so I will be in my happy place again.

We spent most of the holiday shopping for women's clothes, and it was awesome. I have been wanting salwar suits since arriving, but was always too intimidated to go shopping for them. I forget that being A Woman Of Size isn't as huge a deal here as it is at home. Boutiques are almost always selling you fabric, rather than a finished garment. Everyone gets everything custom-sewn by a tailor according to their exact measurements, which is reason number 9,534,923 why Indian women always look so perfectly put-together. The bodice, edges, sleeves, etc. are all clearly delineated by their embellishments, but the fabric is still flat and in one piece and you get to use your imagination about what the final product should look like.

There are always three different fabrics in one salwar suit set - one for the top (the salwar), one for the pants (the kameez, in a contrasting or complimentary color), and one for the scarf (the dupatta, which ties the two together visually). Shopping involves sitting on your ass in a comfy chair in front of a long counter while groups of men show you item after item after item, one at a time. We spent nearly 90 minutes at Meena Bazaar, the one store every single person recommended we visit (their website doesn't do them justice). We saw somewhere in the vicinity of a hundred different suits, and didn't even scratch the surface of their collection. I rejected every single one of them (they were gorgeous, but had too many embellishments for my taste and the colors were completely wrong for my pale complexion), but my colleague bought two so I didn't feel bad. I really, really love shopping in this way. This morning I wanted to go to Neeru's as well, but after rejecting every single item in the other high-end boutique, I realized what I really wanted was plain dailywear, and I was afraid of wasting another team's time showing us everything under the sun.

I went to a place (Dayal's) just across the street from Meena Bazaar, and found it a much better match for my tastes. I bought three suits - one black crepe, one lime green cotton, and one dark green & purple silk. All have embroidered detailing in various colors, but none are encrusted with beads or stones, and they're all very subtle. The only disappointment now is that I have to wait until Monday to get the name of a good tailor from a friend at work. Woe!

Ganesh Chaturthi

The most popular of all the (hundreds of) Hindu gods is Ganesha, the lord of wisdom and remover of obstacles. He's the son of Shiva and Parvati, and has the head of an elephant on the body of a little boy. Some gods are more popular than others - some are worshipped in many cities across the countries while others are more regional - but Ganesha is worshipped almost universally. He's invoked at the beginning of almost any prayer to any one of the other gods. I'd love him for his round belly, even temper, and his sweet tooth even if he wasn't also the patron god of travelling.

September 7 was Ganesh Chaturthi (Ganesha's birthday) this year, which kicks off a 10-day cenebration around the country that culminates in Ganesh Immersion this upcoming Saturday. Every major road in the city has its own Ganesha murti (statue) in place right now. They're all decorated and strung with flowers and lights, and music pours from pole-mounted speakers late into the night. Ganesha doesn't seem to be a morning person, however, as all the makeshift altars have drawn curtains and no music in the mornings. Ganesha worshipped enthusiastically and loudly for ten days, after which the murti is paraded through the streets, accompanied by dancing and more loud music, and then dumped into the most convenient body of water. I'm still a bit fuzzy on the details of the Immersion and how the symbolism of it arose, but I should be able to say more on Saturday.

Hundreds of Ganesha murtis will be sunk into the lake this weekend, but there's always One Big One that the whole city gets behind. Since there's a huge lake right in the heart of the city (Hussain Sagar, which separates Hyderabad and its sister city Secunderabad) it's always a good party. While most Hindu holidays are celebrated as private family affairs, this one plays out in public and welcomes everyone to the community. I'm told not to expect to be able to move or drive or really much of anything in the downtown area on Saturday, since most of the city's six million residents will be out celebrating. I certainly plan to be among them. But considering the likelihood that we won't get anywhere near the big statue on Saturday, we took a swing by his temporary home this morning before work to see him up close. And man, it was amazing.

In addition to the main Ganesha, there are other representations of Shiva's family members to the left and right, to flesh out the scene.


Every Hindu murti is a representation that reflects the individual artist's interpretation of the god. There are some elements that are always there, but others fluctuate. Sometimes Ganesha is shown to have three heads, sometimes just the one. Sometimes he has four arms, sometimes more. This is the first time I've seen him with ten arms, though. I guess they figure bigger is better, as I don't think any more heads, arms, or snakes would have fit.


I'm usually only a fan of the single-headed incarnations, but this one really turns my crank. That's Shiva (his father) in the blue on the left and Parvati (his mother) on the right. I admit that I am continually distracted by those gigantic nipples.


I like this one because it features his big ol' belly, and barely shows the gigantic nipples at all.



I like this one both because it gives a sense of scale, and because it shows well how many flowers went into the garlands that wrap all around Ganesha's body.

I'm sure I'll have more pictures on Saturday, but wanted to share what I had so far.

Karnataka - sublime

I have so much to say that I can't even figure out where to start. I hate when that happens. Saturday is easily among the top five best days of my entire life. I only say top five only because it's so fresh and new that it's blocking out all competing great days from memory, but I'm sure there have been others that may rival this one as the memories fade a bit. I can't think of one right now, but I will allow that there may be up to four days as good as this one in the past 33 years. Certainly no more.

No single event stands out as earning this place in the Best Days Ever ranking. It was just the steady accumulation of wonderfulness that started Saturday morning and didn't really end until midday Sunday. In just 36 hours, we traveled from Bangalore to Mysore to Dubare to Madikeri and back again, but it was more like visiting a handful of different planets than towns.

I've been back since last night, but it's going to take a while for me to organize my thoughts and pictures into the dozen or so posts outlining all the great things I saw and did in this short time. I have 231 pictures to go through and use to illustrate why this experience was sublime, but in the meantime, I give you seven of my favorite images in almost no order.

These kids are from a medium-sized village in the Mysore district. They were part of a throng that thought me and my camera were about the best thing in the world. They wouldn't stop posing for pictures, and jostled madly for good spots when I turned the camera around to show them the tiny images on the viewer.


This little girl was the a total spaz and I just loved her. She was the instigator of the above group, the rabble rouser, the mischief-maker. She was the one they pushed forward to meet me when I wandered down their street, the one who gathered all the other kids to her, and the one who couldn't seem to stand still for any picture but this one, though she loved striking poses and making faces.


This guy is one of many elephants that live at the Dubare training ground. All of the elephants line up in front of this freestanding wall at mealtime. It's not a cage, it's just there to create some order and prevent them from crowding the feeders. All of the elephants had bracelets on one foot and some had collars as well, but the chains weren't attached to anything and the elephants paid them absolutely no mind as they lumbered through the woods and across the fields. They may not be footloose and fancy-free as their counterparts in the wild, but they do have a pretty good life here and are well-tended.


I never thought I'd be so close to a beast this size. I fed them by hand, for fuck's sake. They were all leathery lips and velvety tongues and alarmingly strong dexterous trunks, but their eyes still grabbed me the most. The skin on their heads and shoulders is very thick and had more give to it than I expected.


The weather in Karnataka is very temperate, and the land is fertile enough to grow all manner of crops. These women are working in a rice paddy, while sugar cane grows in the background. We also saw fields of tobacco and corn, groves of coconuts and bananas, and shady forest estates growing coffee and black pepper. All of the farms were very small, as all the planting and harvesting are done by hand.


Those of you who've been reading for a while have probably noticed that I have a thing for photogenic produce. I'm a sucker for a pile of fruit. I just love the colors so much that I can't help myself. In this case, I love that your eye immediately lands on the heaping baskets, and it's only later that you notice the vendor relaxing with his newspaper in the shadows.


The Shiva temple in Bangalore is unusual in that it has a big statue on top in addition to the tower of carvings. For some reason I have always overlooked Shiva of all the gods in the Hindu pantheon, but I'm really getting to like him on this trip.

As always, click the small images to view a full-size version.

Out of Dodge

Tonight, I am finally getting out of Hyderabad. When I signed up for this gig, I promised myself that once each month (at a minimum), I would go Somewhere Else. Airfare is cheap and being cut off from online shopping means I'm saving money like crazy, so why not splurge a bit? Hyderabad is nicely centrally located, so I can get to all major cities with ease. The only problem is that so far I haven't gone anywhere at all. Haven't left the city limits. That changes tonight.

At 8pm my plane will land in Bangalore, which is about 500km away or about 90 minutes by air. Bangalore is one of two remaining major Indian cities that I've never seen (the other being Kolkata). I hear it's not particularly fascinating, unless you enjoy finding a near-perfect duplicate of California climate and culture in the middle of the developing world. Which I do. Various reports say it's just like Southern California (all sunshine, white people, and upscale boutiques) while others say it's just like Silicon Valley (so dominated by modern office campuses and familiar high-tech companies that everything else recedes into the background).

I won't have much of an opportunity to experience Bangalore, though. In fact, I'll be in the city for less than 12 hours, most of which will be spent sleeping. The real reason for my visit is a trip out into the countryside. At 7am tomorrow morning (in 24 hours!), we'll set out on a 6-hour road trip towards the district of Coorg and the small town of Madikeri. Why? Well, it's there, isn't it?

Coorg is tritely called "The Scotland of India" by Westerners (or the "Kashmir of the South" by people here), because it's all lush rolling countryside shrouded in mist. But that's not why we're going. In addition to growing aromatic spice crops that can be smelled before they are seen, Coorg is also the coffee-growing capital of the country. The acres of gorgeous old school coffee estates welcome visitors with samples and tours, and of course offer their products for sale. I've heard the coffee is divine, and this Seattleite can't wait to sample it. But that's not why we're going either.

My companion on this trip - and its instigator - is a fellow American woman whose "50 things to do before I'm 50" list includes the line item "ride an elephant". Thus, we are visiting the government-run Dubare Elephant Training Camp. At the camp, which is 10km outside of Madikeri and apparently only accessible by boat, visitors can help feed and bathe the herd in the river, as well as take a nice ride through the wilderness. A big part of me is uncomfortable with the idea that these incredible animals are being captured and trained at all, and is afraid that I'll find them being mistreated in some way. But I've talked it over with my travel buddy and we've both agreed to beat a hasty retreat if that's the case.

We'll not get more than a small taste of any of these things, as we need to high-tail it back to Bangalore on Sunday for a return flight home at 5pm. I wouldn't ordinarily choose to spend ten hours in two days in the back of a car for no reason, but at this point I'll just be thankful find myself somewhere new. This one's all about the journey. See you Sunday!

Clubs & remixes

I have gone to dance clubs twice this week, which I think is twice more than I've gone in the past 10 years. And despite this, I retain my reputation as a stick-in-the-mud because I've refused 80% of the invitations that have come my way, sometimes for no better reason than I'd rather sit in my room and read. I'm not even significantly older than everyone else; most of us are within 3-4 years of the same age. I'm just the resident tight-ass, which I was hoping to move away from on this trip but old habits are dying harder than you might think.

It's been a lot years since I've been inside a US club, but it was still surprising how much these were exactly like those at home. Except that in addition to the usual thumpa thumpa dance music, there's all the Bollywood hits, which I absolutely love and are the only reason why I would want to go out. But there's also the additional element of dissociation that arises from old pop hits coming out of nowhere seemingly just to make me feel old. For example, the following three songs are guaranteed to be played multiple times every night at every club:

1) "Summer of '69" by Bryan Adams. This was everywhere on my first trip to Delhi in 2002 as well. I don't know what it is about this song, but they just won't let it die and it always gets every person in the room out on the dance floor.
2) "Axel F Theme" from Beverly Hills Cop by Harold Faltermeyer. There's a popular remix from a few months ago that no one can get enough of. Last night, they went so far as to play it twice, back-to-back.
3) "California Dreamin'" by The Mamas and the Papas. This one is also a remix, which isn't totally offensive because at least it's got all the original tracks. Still - weird.

These things make me go hmmmm.

Floods

If it wasn't for my flist, I would have absolutely no idea that anything was going wrong in the US right now. K. mentioned last Sunday that a hurricane was bearing down on New Orleans, and I remembered from last year's threat that this was A Very Bad Thing, but until then I'd forgotten that it was even hurricane season. There has been almost no coverage of the subsequent disaster here. Nothing on TV (despite the presence of a half-dozen 24-hour news channels), and almost nothing in the papers. This morning's newspaper has a 3-paragraph article at the bottom of page 11 called "Shoot-at-sight at Orleans". The focus of the short piece is on National Guard troops, just back from Iraq and skilled at killing, having been given "shoot-to-kill" orders on Thursday. The dateline of the article is New York.

It's weird to be so disconnected from something that's so consuming to others, and I have been reminded that the news always focuses on local and national issues over global ones. I've been thinking about Mumbai in July, when the city suffered a total infrastructure failure due to flood from the monsoon. I'm sure many people in the US heard about it, but I doubt the coverage was particularly deep, despite the fact that Mumbai is the world's most populous city and is the business, financial, and entertainment capital of the world's largest democracy. Fifteen million people live in Mumbai, and the number grows to 20 million if you include the overall metropolitan area.

The last week of July, Mumbai received over 37 inches of rain in a single 24-hour period. That's more than had ever been recorded in India, toppling a record set in the town of Cherrapunji - one of the rainiest places on earth - in 1910. During the heaviest 12 hours of that day, Mumbai received half its normal annual rainfall. The subsequent flooding left the city with no power, no telephone service, no food, no water, no sanitation, and nowhere to go. The transportation systems failed utterly, including trains, planes, automobiles, and buses. Over a million people in the surrounding area were displaced by landslides and breached dams after rivers overflowed their banks. In the midst of the crisis, an oil platform off Mumbai was stuck by a ship, exploded into flames, and sank into the sea. No rescue operations could make it out of the city, but most of the 400 people aboard the platform managed to survive. The Bombay High oil field produces 40% of India's oil, and the platform that sank produced about 80k barrels per day, or about 1/7 of the country's supply.

Mumbai is the main hub for goods and people coming in and out of the country, and as a result of the flood, business across India came pretty much to a standstill. It took over two weeks for the waters to recede, and in the weeks since then, buildings have begun to collapse due to structural damage of being underwater for so long. There have been a half dozen such collapses so far. Last Monday, the state government ordered that all dilapidated residential structures must be vacated within seven days. However, since 19,000 buildings have been declared "old and dilapidated" by the government, it's unclear how many people will be able to heed that order.

By talking about the scale of disaster in Mumbai, I don't want to dismiss or diminish the pain and empathy that everyone is feeling. I am as shocked as anyone at the breakdown in social order and the dismal performance of the US government in responding to this crisis. I didn't know it could get that bad either. Part of the problem is obviously contextual, and the presence or absence of coping skills and the expectation of using them. Some smart person yesterday pointed out that one factor in all this mess is the US's systems of "just in time" distribution of goods, which leaves people and cities completely without any stockpiles. There's brisk movement of goods in and out through every door, and it doesn't take long for inventory to evaporate if the next day's delivery doesn't come. All of this is meant to illustrate that while there are important differences between what faces these two cities, what I've been struck most by is the sense that the first world and third world aren't as far apart as you might think.

Chilkur Balaji

I got up at oh-god-thirty this morning (4:30am, which was 21 hours ago if you're keeping score) to visit a temple. No, the place didn't spontaneously combust at the sight of me, thanks for asking. We went at this hour because it was an auspicious time, and also because we wanted to beat the rush. My colleague's driver claims that his offerings at this temple cured his mother's terminal cancer, and I have a much-beloved aunt who is suffering under the same curse, so when they asked me to come along I figured it couldn't hurt even though I was up way too late the night before.

Chilkur Balaji is about 45 minutes away from my guest house. It's been a little nothing temple complex for hundreds of years - situated in the middle of nowhere, minding its own business, not on anyone's radar. Then about 5-10 years ago someone claimed a good result from a temple visit, word got around, more people made similiar claims, and now it's seeing about 100,000 visitors a week. A whole town seems to have sprung up around it, and everyone I talk to concurs that it's a very powerful place.

Hindu rituals are very difficult to understand from an outsider's perspective, and I kept wondering if some of the Christian (particularly Catholic) rituals seem equally crazy to someone who didn't grow up with the iconography and symbols. I'm trying to describe this accurately, but it's all such a mystery to me that I have no idea if I'm getting it right.

We were barred from driving any closer than a half-kilometer from the temple. The final approach is made on foot, in bare feet to be precise. It's a long walk down a gravel road, but I prefer to think of it as an opportunity to exfoliate. Outside the temple, one can buy an offering - two coconuts and two flowered garlands in a small plastic grocery bag- for 30 Rs. We'll get to them in a minute.

The temple is actually a series of small structures contained within thick stone walls. Everything is brightly painted in glossy primary colors. The main structure is about the size of a small bungalow, and holds only an altar. This structure is surrounded by a large cobblestone courtyard, with another structure the size of a small garden shed at one end. The main courtyard opens onto other courtyards on either side, each of which holds what looks like a cistern or well, but it's about waist high.

The first thing we did upon entering is to take a brisk walk. The whole point of a pilgrimage here is to make an offering and a wish, but before you do that you need to circle. Walking around the circumference of the temple eleven times in a clockwise direction is the first step in making an offering. If your wish comes true, you have to come back and do 108 rounds in gratitude, but that's a chance I'm willing to take. As I was walking, I was very aware of two things. One, I understand why we went in the early morning, as those stones would get awfully hot in the middle of the day. And two, the surface is very very smooth. There's no debris anywhere on the ground, and all the stones have been rubbed shiny and almost soft by the circling footsteps of thousands of pilgrims. The crowd moves pretty briskly, and many people chant as they go. There are several words or at least syllables involved in the chant, but the only thing I recognize is "om", which appears a lot. Everyone touches their hands along the outside wall of the shed-sized structure as they pass. I don't know why, but I do it anyway because I want to get it right.

After our eleven rounds, we made our way to the first coconut-breaking place. This is a place in a side courtyard where, as the name implies, you break your coconut. Or, more precisely bash your coconut against the hard edge of the cistern, repeatedly, until it breaks open. Water from inside the coconut sprays out everywhere as soon as you get the first crack going, and once it's fully split in two you throw both pieces inside and walk away. I don't even want to talk about the volume of flies buzzing around the broken coconuts at 6am, so I'll leave them out of this. I was afraid I was going to bash my fingers, but I didn't. I did, however, use my left hand to wield the mighty fruit, which probably invalidated the whole exercise. But I didn't trust my hand-eye coordination with the right hand. Being a lefty in India sucks, by the way.

Anyway, the next step was to get in line for the main temple. Thank god we were there early, and there weren't more than 40-50 people in line with us. I can't imagine it in the heat of a busy day. There are a lot of rules in the main temple. The first and most important one is that you don't close your eyes to pray. In fact, you don't turn away from or otherwise break eye contact with the god. Everyone walks out of the temple backwards when they're done, to hold eye contact with the statue for as long as possible. The offering stack for flowers is behind you as you're facing the altar, though, and I couldn't manage to get my garlands out of the plastic bag and onto the offering stack without looking, so I totally blew it on the eye contact thing. There's a priest of Shiva standing alongside the altar, half-naked but for the white cotton fabric loosely wrapped around his thighs, face painted with the Shiva trident. When you've made your offering and prayed your wish to the god, he ladles out a small spoonful of what looks like oil into the palm of your (right) hand. You are apparently supposed to drink it down and then touch the remnants to your forehead. I was skittish about ingesting this unknown substance, so I tried to fake it and, failing miserably, dribbled most of it across my clean white t-shirt. They give you breath freshener at the exit of the temple, which I took as validation that I made the right choice in deciding not to drink whatever it was.

As you make your way through the temple, you must also step over the raised thresholds of the doorways - never on them - and bend down to touch the base of the threshold as you pass. Again, I don't know why this is done, but I'm happy to mimic those around me. Does the ritual still work if you don't have any idea why you're doing it? Who knows. I think I may have forgotten to do this in my haste to get out of the temple room at the end, what with trying to carry off the whole "oil dribbled on shirt" look. The priest also hands you something - flowers? I was so flummoxed by the oil that I didn't process it and have already lost the memory - when you're done with the wishing. The next stop is the small garden shed, where you stack this item alongside all the others like it, and apply a kumkum (a red mark, made from vividly colored powder) to your forehead.

Next is a second smaller altar inside a shelter in the opposite courtyard. After passing by some lovely Shiva portraits, you contort yourself to squeeze through a narrow passage between a tree and a wall to stop in front of another altar. This priest was a little more chatty, wanting to know where we're from, etc. He gave us another set of garlands (to replace those we'd just unloaded in the main temple) and another spoonful of liquid. This one looked like plain old water, but I still only faked drinking it and stuff. I carried it off a bit better this time, by which I mean that at least I didn't end up wearing it.

The next stop is the second coconut-breaking place. Want to guess what happens here? Lather, rinse, repeat. Flush with success from my first coconut, I bashed this one with my right (and proper) hand, and again concluded my business without slamming any fingers between the fruit and the rock. This primitive exercise was actually strangely calming. I don't get to spend nearly enough time bashing things against rocks until they break.

From there, it was just a quick jog back to the car (after running the gauntlet of beggars and shopkeepers), and we were on our way home. This whole experience felt strangely like a video game. Hit up/up/right/down/punch, then talk to the green gnome by the secret doorway on your right. Ask him for a tire repair kit, and he'll send you on to see the god of destruction, who will pass you the key to the secret room on level 4, providing that you've already left the blue potion at the entrance to the Crystal Cavern. But I'll still do 108 laps happily if things go my way, and break every coconut in the place if I need to.