Sleep 0, KL 1

KUALA LUMPUR, MALAYSIA - 30th November 2009

In a move away from the norm on this blog, I'm going to briefly adopt a writing style honed to perfection by a Miss Z. Anderson of (the original) Gotham City.

29th November 2009:

• 8.45am-9.30am: wake up, have shower, make breakfast, brush teeth, get changed, leave
• 9:45am-4.45pm: Sentosa Island (+transport) with Neha (another Pembrokian visiting Singapore)
• 4.45pm-5.45pm: Another shower, pack things for Kuala Lumpur
• 6pm-10.30pm: Night Zoo safari with Neha with transfer to/from her hostel
• 10.30pm-11pm: Walk 2km from Little India to Golden Mile Complex to catch KL bus
• 11.30pm-4.30am: Bus journey - too cold/short a journey to sleep.

30th November 2009

• 4.30am-5am: Walk around aimlessly in deserted KL city streets. Get some Malaysian cash from an ATM.
• 5am-5.30am: Overhear some British accents and befriend a motley crew of a couple from Cornwall, a guy from London and two Norweigian girls - all have been up all night. Have a sociable beer before they get a taxi home.
• 5.30am-7.15am: Sit in 24 hour internet cafe as nothing else is open. Pass time/bring blog up to date.
• 7.15am-8am: Walk to Petronas Towers to join queue for tickets to observation bridge
• 8am-8.45am: Towers closed to public on Mondays (who knew?!) - spend hours taking photos of Towers from various angles.
• 8.45am-10.30am: Walk to various tourist spots (galleries etc), have breakfast.
• 10.30am-3.30pm: Take Monorail to Chinatown - walk around, see sights, have lunch, walk around some more, see cool historic buildings
• 3.30-6pm: Discover massive rainforest by the side of a main road - go exploring up random dirt path. Turns out to be massive protected rainforest (see below) - get totally knackered but v.satisfied. Walk back into town.
• 6.30pm-present: Wander into Times Square Mall. Mind-bogglingly massive. Have dinner.
• 11.30pm-4.30am: Bus leaves back for Singapore.

Roughly speaking, I've not had a proper bit of shut-eye in about 36 hours, and in the interim period have walked all over Sentosa Island (a big theme-park style semi-man-made island to the south of the city), all around the Night Zoo, all the way from Little India to Golden Mile, and then spent all of today (16 hours since 4.30am) walking all over KL - all of which in typically equatorial humidity. I'm absolutely shattered, and have resorted to spending a lengthy period of time here in the internet cafe not so much for the internet as for the comfortable chair and the air conditioning. However, I don't think I have ever been more satisfied with any other 36 hour period of travelling - especially when I come to write it all down, and you realise just how much you've done and how much you've seen (and how far you've walked... although you can't really replicate that in words).

Today in KL has seemed like a dream. The fact that I arrived in the middle of the night has given my time here a strange time-warped dimension - it's as if I've somehow fabricated extra hours in the day. Such a feeling prevailed throughout the day - every time I looked at my watch I was continually surprised as to how early it was. Looking back from the evening, you realise just how easy it was to see so much when you just wander around (especially with a map!).

KL has been cool (though definitely not literally) - it didn't immediately stand out to me in the way Singapore did, but then no other city ever has. But wandering around - and wandering about I did - you gradually get a feel for the vibe of the place. The Petronas Twin Towers are the standout attraction, but there's far more to the city that them. All the same, they are the most beautifully constructed skyscrapers you'd ever want to see - their towering height is elegantly balanced by a gradual tapering of its chrome structure; the tapering itself grouped into 5 distinct blocks symbolising the 5 pillars of Islam. Photos will follow once I'm back in Singapore.

KL's finest feature in my eyes was, however, found by complete accident on my way to pick up another Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt to add to my collection. Bukit Nanas Forest Reserve, it turns out, is located in Kuala Lumpur City Centre and represents about 10 hectares of preserved land that remains in the same dense natural rainforest state that was existent pre-urbanisation. The only human influence has been the construction of the KL Tower - a communications/observation tower (v.similar to the CN Tower in Toronto) right in the middle of it. However, as you're trekking up the dirt paths rising steeply from the busy city roads underneath, you are soon totally surrounded by dense growth, and the sole sound is the whining of crickets or the rustle of monkeys jumping around overhead. The air is thick and dense with moisture, and as I worked myway through the overgrowth I soon found myself constantly wanting to scratch the incessast itching on my arms, legs, face - pretty much anything exposed - as all sorts of bugs, flying or otherwise, feasted on my (presumably) delicious O+ blood. It's damn hard work, and you sweat like a pig - and after about 45 minutes walking there's not much worse than looking up to see a never-ending set of stairs stoned into place ahead of you. I counted 152 - one after another - and sat and panted like a dog for 5 minutes afterward. What made the whole experience so good for me, though, was not just the satisfaction of being out with nature, but the fact that this place was not mentioned on my map, or on any of the tourist destination landmarks around the city. I didn't see a single other human all the while I was walking... it was just me, the bugs and the monkeys. And it was awesome.

My new favourite city

LITTLE INDIA, SINGAPORE - 27th November 2009

A little over 15 months ago while we were touring around India, Simon, Jamie N and I were in the lake city of Udaipur in Rajasthan. While Jamie was doing what Jamie does best (the shut-eye Olympics), Simon and I were having another one of our high stakes discussions up on the hotel's rooftop terrace restaurant. On this occasion, the topic had been "What are your favourite 10 cities in the world?". Given that we'd both been to a lot of places the other hadn't, there were plenty of inevitable differences. However, what stood out for me was that Simon hadn't put London first.

There are lots of things I like about lots of cities - indeed many are perfect in their own little way - but at the end of the day, London is King. And more annoyingly for other people, it's one of those topics where I generally refuse to accept an alternative view - instead entering into a long and largely pointless debate until either the other party gets bored (the most regular outcome), or we're forced to "agree to disagree". But as far as I'm concerned (and various academic studies have agreed), London exists on a scale that makes it incomparable to any other city except New York - the sheer comprehensiveness of what is offered is almost unique. With this in mind, London always topped any and all other cities I've visited including, and with New York-resident Yankees Paddy and Lex agreeing with me, NYC.

Until now.

In less than 48 hours, Singapore has blown me away. My Dad came here on business a month ago and told me I was gonna love it, but I'm fairly sure that was largely based on how good the food was going to be (it's always good to know I've inherited Dad's sense of priorities!). However, the food is just the beginning. Singapore somehow manages to combine everything - old or new, western or eastern, cheap or expensive, historic or modern - be it in terms of cuisine, culture or architecture. The fact that its four national languages include Chinese and Tamil - purely because of the amount of Chinese and Tamilian immigrants - gives an idea of how open a country Singapore is, but it yet maintains a national identity around this openness. Little India, where I'm staying, is exactly what it says on the tin - the shops play Hindi music, you can buy paka South Indian curries at any time of night, and the street-side markets might as well be in Chennai. Strolling around early morning, I even found a place frying panpalehs (the same ones as previously mentioned) - in India you're hard pushed to find them anywhere outside Southern Karnataka, but here they were in Singapore, fresh as a springtime morning.

If you walk 10-15 minutes south, however, you head into the Civic Area - the historic part of town that houses the Government buildings and landmarks such as Raffles Hotel (which boasts a history to match any hotel in the world). Down here, you get a real appreciation for the depth of Singapore's history since Sir Stamford Raffles founded the city in 1819 - things have been beautifully preserved (perhaps thanks to extended British rule?) and complemented with modern projects to revitalise the area with leafy boulevards and pathways. I was lucky to have another fellow Pembroke E&Mist and Singapore resident Rui Min to give me a thorough guided tour that began around Chinatown (Little India, but Chinese - surprisingly enough), worked its way down to the ultra-modern waterside performance stage at the Esplanade, then zig-zagged north-west along the Formula 1 night-race circuit to check out the Civic Area in depth.

I will always remember turning right onto St. Andrew's Road opposite Singapore Cricket Club, looking back north-east to the background of skyscrapers in the (old) financial district, before heading down to Raffles' Landing Point on the Singapore River, flanked by century-old buildings that housed pretty much every historic moment in city-state's 200-year history. Down on the river, the Landing Point looks across at a scene that typifies Singapore - a row of old, classically eastern buildings lining the riverside area known as Boat Quay; behind them the towering glass structures of the Marina Bay "new" financial district . Old and new, east and west, historic and modern. All rolled into one bite size city-state. Great stuff.

Tidying up the blog...

Now that I can upload things, I've taken time to beautify a few of my earlier blog entries with relevant photographs. As such, you can now check out new images at the following (n.b. you can enlarge any photo to its true size by clicking on it):

• Auntie Martha at 96 not out
• Bullet holes in Leopold's and a dubbawalla "Backing the Bid" in Mumbai
  
• My talk about England at my cousin's school
  
• My grandfather's godson with me; and Kyemala the 285-year-0ld "Backing the Bid"
• Lalbagh Gardens in Bangalore, and serious tigers in Bannergatta National Park

Also, those of you that saw my recent post entitled "Simple Things..." may be wondering what's happened to it. Basically, for chronology purposes, I backdated it so that it appears in the order in which is took place - i.e. 26th October 2009. So, anyone who hasn't already seen the video/photos in it should check it out!

Indian Farewell

MUMBAI, MAHARASHTRA - 24th November 2009

It's the end of days for Mumbai - tomorrow I depart on Qantas flight 52 to Singapore as my 7-month journey heads another step eastward. However, departure is not before a couple more action-packed days...

Our journey back from Matheran turned into a minor epic - after climbing up we decided to take the toy train back down, and hop onto the mainline suburban train from the bottom of the hill. The toy train journey was epic - certain stretches provided spectacular panoramic hilltop scenery akin to that of the Bangalore-Mangalore line through the Western Ghats (photos will follow in a few days); the difference being that our toy train ran on a 2ft narrow guage and simply worked its way progressively down an isolated hill, as opposed to carving a route through the middle of a range.  It was 2 hours down to Neral at the bottom, but it was there where the wheels somewhat fell off what would have been a relatively quick journey back to Mahim.  It turned out - much to our chagrin - that the Central Railway line into Victoria Terminus was undergoing Sunday maintenance for a stretch of our journey, so we'd have to switch to bus.  

Simple enough?  No chance.  

Unlike the UK, when weekend maintenance is pre-planned and forewarned with posters for months in advance (leave alone announcements to the same in pretty much every station within 100 miles), this is India.  Maintenance wasn't mentioned when we bought our tickets in Matheran, and it's a fair probability that most of the people at Neral station had no advance notice either.  The consequence, naturally enough, is another aspect of chaos - our train terminated at some station up the line and we exited the station to find a state of total bedlam.  Buses were nowhere to be seen, instead was a wall of traffic punctuated with auto-rickshaws jostling for the custom of the hundreds of displaced rail passengers, themselves pouring out of the station and out into the middle of the vehicles.  And a scene of general bedlam was finished off by the ongoing construction of the new Mumbai Monorail directly above our heads and on top of the middle of the road.  

Auto drivers are a crafty bunch, and they clearly they'd got wise about railway maintenance - rates across the 10-15km distance to the next station were off-meter and suitably hiked up.  However, with little alternative and my 7-year-old cousin generally unimpressed with the state of affairs, we hopped on board one - only for the driver's seat to be flanked by another two lads heading the same way.  One auto-rickshaw, 6 adults and a kid, at the height of the midday sun... combined with a massive increase in traffic due to the rail passengers... and you have yourself an hour and a half journey and a half.  Personally, I loved it - going on the old "When in Rome" dictum, there's little India does better than chaos, so make hay when the sun shines!  

Monday was supposed to herald a trip to the Elephanta Caves - a UNESCO World Heritage Site located on Elephanta Island, an hour's ferry from downtown Mumbai.  Thankfully, however, Anna called us up just in time with insider info that the ferries don't run on Mondays... so the trip got postponed 24 hours.  Instead, my uncle gave me a comprehensive tour of downtown Mumbai on his motorbike - with the 2 wheels of the bike we were able to cover a distance in 2 hours that would have probably taken at least double on 4 wheels.  It's always satisfying when you realise you roughly know your way around a city - particularly one as intricate as Mumbai - so I was pretty pleased with myself whenever I knew where we were and where we were going!

The trip to Elephanta did indeed proceed 24 hours later, and we got on board a launch from behind The Gateway to India - adjacent to the Taj Palace Hotel that was the centrepiece of the terrorist attacks here almost a year ago to the day.  It's about an hour's ride to Elephanta Island, from which you have a 120-step walk up to the Main Cave.  First, however, came entrance fees - and another opportunity for an argument over whether or not I could get away with paying the "Indian" rate of Rs.10, as opposed to the foreigner's rate of Rs.250.  Mssrs. Dowson, Marshall and Nimmo will remember similar situations occuring fairly regularly last year - most notably at the Taj Mahal in Agra, which boasts one of the most crooked pieces of price discrimination I've ever seen.  Indians: Rs.10.  Foreigners: Rs.750.  It's a safe policy - no foreigner is going to mind paying the equivalent of £10 to see one of the most beautiful structures on Earth, and furthermore no one who's come all the way to the dump of city that is Agra is going to leave without seeing it's only jewel.  But the audacity of charging 75 times the rate... unbelievable.  

Anyway, my uncle told the guard that I'm from Mangalore, and I had to answer to a bit of cross-questioning, but after various backhand comments from all sides I got in for the "proper" rate (though there was no chance of this for Anna the Ukrainian!).  The Main Cave is spectacular - the walls are filled with intricate carvings of Hindu deities and scenes from mythology (such as the one of Ardhanari to the right - a half-male, half-female god) - but, much to my disappointment, the supposed army of theiving-monkeys on the island failed to materialise.  And having seen the litter pollution dumped near some of the island's other caves, it's apparent that despite its UNESCO status, Elephanta is typical of many places in India - a cultural monument that needs a great deal more care and attention in future years to ensure its proper preservation for future generations.  

That's pretty much my story from India tied up though... 7 weeks of travel have already flown by, and from here it's Singapore and onward.  I'd like to take this opportunity to say a massive thank you to everyone who has fed, housed, entertained or otherwise helped me over here.  India is home, so needless to say I'll be back.

Monkeyland

MATHERAN, MAHARASHTRA - 22nd November 2009

As I'm in Mumbai for the best part of a week - far longer than the usual 2 days stints we have en route to/from Mangalore we decided to take the opportunity to make an excursion out of the hustle and bustle of the city and out to the peace and tranquility of the countryside. In particular, we were heading up to Matheran, a hill station a couple of hours drive from Mumbai that, for reasons jovial and practical, has gained the nickname "Monkeyland".


View Larger Map

Matheran's location due east of Mumbai is shown above, but a better appreciation of its geography is possible with the zoomed in image below. Matheran sits alone at an elevation of about 800 metres, with the nearest road ceasing above half way up the hill (visible on the map to the north-east). Thus, access to Matheran is possible only by foot, horseback, or by a "toy train" railway built under the British in 1907.


View Larger Map

Keen for a good stroll, my uncle, aunt, cousin and I all began the 2-3km trek up the hills towards the town centre at the summit, and although the ground was awkward rubble the going was good thanks to the deep shade offered by the sprawling, thick canopy overhead. On occasions when the path up winds towards the edge of the hill, you get to see the spectacular views in all directions that, along with its cool, shaded climate, caused the British to develop Matheran into a summertime resort away from the stifling heat of Bombay. As it transpired, the hill was a bit much for a 6-year-old (my cousin), so half way up we got hold of a couple of horses (named Bunty and Bombay) and the ladies saddled up for the rest of the journey (see right).

Up at the top we checked into a hotel and relaxed till lunch, then commandeered a couple more stallions and went for a tour to a few of the "points" (viewing points) around the edge of the hill. The afternoon's horses - Asterix and Gentleman - were thoroughbreds - Gentleman in particular was a mighty animal. Apparently most of the horses up in Matheran are all retired racehorses, but it is safe to say they are treated very well - it shows in the physical stature of the beasts.

Our tour was a couple of hours and took in some even more spectacular views from Lord Point, Echo Point, and a couple of other points whose names I forget (although they weren't Suicide Point, whose name is certainly one to remember). My uncle and I happily digested our lunch while we walked alongside the horses, while the riders enjoyed the power and agility of their steed over the rough terrain. All in all, an excellent afternoon.

The evening brought with it a multitude of monkeys, all keen on getting a piece of any and all food they could muster. We'd already had a couple of our roti breads stolen right in front of our eyes while we were eating lunch, so were were somewhat more cautious while we had our tea. Others were less so, and we all had a good laugh as various gangs of primates ran riot all over the place. The bins were floored and foraged, leftover tea was downed, sugar pots were spread across the table and unceremoniously licked. The kids gathered around all thought it was hilarious; the hotel management less so.

Before dinner we all got ourselves a massage, though as was the theme of the weekend, monkeys would have to influence things in some way. As it turned out, I was downstairs in the forecourt accepting the challenge of the barman to a best of 7-frame game of pool, when my uncle suddenly shouted "oh shit!" and ran upstairs. A particularly industrious monkey had managed to prize open the balcony door, and was happily scouring our dining room for food while my aunt was obliviously having her massage in the bedroom. Soon enough, however, the masseuse noticed a furry friend, and things got pretty excitable till he was cleared off. He'd be back...

Incidentally, I did my bit for British sporting pride by winning 4-0 in the pool stakes (including a spectacular 8-ball running tight to the cushion at an angle, the length of the table...)

Anyway, the final episode of our time with the monkeys came as we were about to leave in the morning - we awoke to find an army of the creatures on our balcony, feasting on the contents of some poor sod's tupperware container full of various tasty morsels. When I say an army, I mean there were at least 14 of them there - including a few little baby monkeys (see right) who looked pretty much identical to your archetypal alien (also see right). The lot of them sat there watching us through the glass French doors, and naturally enough we sat there watching back (or, as the case was for me, clicking about 200 photos). Finally, we decided we didn't want any more of the sweets (jelabis) we'd been eating, so out onto the balcony they went. Unfortunately, the first mover was one of the big daddy monkeys, so the rest had to sit and watch as he first tried to eat it in one, failed, pulled it out his mouth, cracked it in two, tried to put both pieces in his mouth at once, failed, pulled one out again, ate the first one, broke the other half into two, ate both halves, then proceeded to lick the cardboard box of every last follicle of sugary syrup possibly left. All the while, little baby monkey stood with the pose of circus clown.



I've always said, largely in jest, that I want a pet monkey. Post-Matheran, it is no longer in jest... they are seriously cool creatures.

Departure and Dharavi

MUMBAI, MAHARASHTRA - 20th November 2009

Surprise surprise, leaving Mangalore yesterday wasn't exactly fun. Without wanting to sound like a broken record, leaving "home" is a pretty uniquely emotional experience for me (and, I guess, most of my family), though trying to articulate why is always hard - after all everyone always says and knows holidays have to come to an end - and 6 weeks is certainly enough. The only way I can think to describe it is like this: coming to Mangalore isn't so much a holiday, which is a break from your normal life, as a shift to another, equally integral part of your life. So when you leave, you're also leaving that part of your life too... which is pretty gutting. What made it harder than usual was that, unlike almost every other time I've left before, this time I had no idea when I'd be back again.

However, it's pretty pointless for anyone to sit dwelling on sorrows, especially when time in India is limited - and coming to Mumbai presented 6 days to achieve a whole swathe of new experiences, beginning immediately after i landed yesterday with a trip to a Hindu wedding. As is standard here, there were something in the region of 1000 attendees - all dressed in the most vibrant colours imaginable, and none moreso than the bride's family. The level of gold and general jewelry on display would have had a souk owner licking his lips - there were things glistening on pretty much every part of every girl/woman's body. It would have made an excellent fashion parade.

The bridal couple had, funnily enough, been inadvertantly set up by my aunt. As kids they'd played together in the same block of flats, but years later, when they were teenagers, my aunt gave them and a load of friends a bunch of free tickets to the movies. These two sat next to each other, and the rest is history...! (As an aside, kudos to my Dad for jumping at the opportunity to suggest Mamta give me some free movie tickets... )

I jumped from one end of the opulent spectrum to the other today though, when fellow Pembrokian Anna (lately of "Young Pavlova" fame) invited me to join her and her friend on a tour of Dharavi - Asia's biggest slum. The tour was pretty impressive - people see Dharavi stretching for miles in every direction when they come in to land in Mumbai, but only by being on the ground can you appreciate the sheer level and scale of industry happening under the corregated iron rooftops. Our tour took us inside plastic recycling houses (guess where you're white recycling bags in Sevenoaks ultimately end up...), leather manufacturing shops, pottery barns and bakeries. For sure, every one of your senses takes a battering - the sight of rotting garbage, the stench of sewage, noise of machinery and motors in every direction, and of course kids jumping to shake hands with you every step of the way - but it's great to see how people don't stife in adversity, but work as hard as the next man. The place may be a slum, but it's got the productivity of Canary Wharf - perhaps not in value, but certainly in effort.

En route, I jumped at the opportunity to bowl a few balls at the local slum kids playing make-shift versions of cricket. It really is true that whatever language you speak, or wherever you're from - sport unites everyone.

The All-Day Eatathon

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 18th November 2009

First things first - thank you for all the texts, phone calls and facebook messages for my birthday yesterday; a special mention must go to "Young Pavlova", who managed to achieve all of the above inside the space of 4 and a half minutes.

Those of you lucky enough to catch my facebook status yesterday would have seen something along the lines of "Dean is in the middle of an involuntary all-day eatathon". I feel it is something worth expanding upon, as the involuntary nature of it is fairly integral to any proper description of life in Mangalore.

As a general rule, life in Mangalore revolves around 3 things - breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If you're a local, various other things probably also feature, but the above are the Trinity of the God that is food. And, funnily enough, it is never more apparent than when a visitor arrives in town.

A visitor in the house means even more food than usual. If 4 people are eating, the food on the table should - as a conservative estimate - be enough to feed about 15, or else there's not enough prepared. And, in order to make the maths work, each of the 4 will be expected to eat the quantity of 4 normal people. I've already mentioned that the concept of a "light lunch" has yet to come arrive in Mangalore - if you're a guest in a house a third helping is nothing short of compulsory. You'd sooner be castrated than be allowed to finish without taking a second.

Over the years, I've been known to somewhat exaggerate in order to make a point; indeed the term "a Deanism" (defined roughly as "a statement that is so confidently uttered that it is assumed true, but is in fact either partially or wholly made up") had a brief foray into popular usage during my second year of university. However, it is safe to say that on this occasion the level of exaggeration is low-to-medium - as any "Mangy" will testify.

Occasionally though, a perfect storm of factors come together to create a near-apocalyptic level of compulsory food intake. Such an occasion took place on the 17th November 2009, as my birthday combined with a "Last Supper" in light of my impending departure from Mangalore. To put this in brutal terms, the usual "you've-got-to-eat-more-because-you're-on-holiday" orders were combined with a celebratory "it's-your-birthday-therefore-you-have-to-eat-more" special, itself conversely punctuated by the more sombre "you're-leaving-in-two-days-so-you're-got-to-savour-the-food" line of argument. Thus, the usual 3-Feasts-in-a-Day consumption model was thrown out the window, instead replaced with a Perpetual-Eating model that follows the rule "any second you're not eating is a second wasted".

So, I woke up to my favourite Indian breakfast - a veritable mountain of "panpalehs" (see left - a.k.a. "neer dosa") - sort of like pancakes but with a rice-batter, and with a texture of lace. After that came a round of fruit (sweet limes, plantains), soon followed by a round of sweets - jalebis, mithai ladoos, chocolates and more (click for images).

Then, one by one various relatives/friends invariably drop by the house to wish you for your birthday. As is customary, they are offered a tray full of the above sweets, and of course the birthday boy is obliged to match whatever anyone else is eating pound-for-pound. At some stage the eating blends into lunch - the usual table full, this time with two meat curries, one vegetable curry, some fried chicken, two types of rice, appams (something like giant rice chappattis), and probably more. Lunch is followed by more fruit and more sweets, and the latter then runs through to evening, when the real feast happens (as all the family comes together in celebration). So add to the mix chinese fried rice, manchurian-style chicken drumsticks, another chicken curry... and then of course birthday cake afterward.

It goes without saying that, although still a highly trained athlete, I am no longer quite in the shape I was after 4 weeks of daily runs (nothing like the boredom of revision to spur on exercise!). But don't fret - my grandma assures me that "it doesn't matter - you're on holiday!"

Beyond Belief

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 13th November 2009

Every so often something comes along that unites almost all people in communal disbelief. September 2008 saw one of those occasions, when a bunch of Hindu fundamentalists turned up at at a small chapel here in Mangalore armed with swords, iron bars and wooden clubs, and proceeded to smash the place - and anything and everything inside - to pieces. Those unfamiliar with the events should read the Enquiry Report, which gives a full account that I won't repeat here (and also explains the significance of certain things if you're a non-Catholic), but a brief summary is found on Wikipedia -

A group of youth from Hindu nationalist organization went inside the chapel of Adoration Monastery of the Sisters of St-Clare in Milagres and, in a quick succession, desecrated a crucifix, the tabernacle and the Eucharist, the monstrance, the oil lamps, the vases on the altar and a few statues of saints.

Up to 10 churches or prayer halls were attacked the same day across Mangalore, and the following days saw mass protests from Catholics in the area. At the Monastery, the battered and beaten crucifix, itself a heritage work of rare art, was left as it was for all to see - and subsequently has been placed in its own glass case outside the Chapel.

Yesterday we visited the monastery - a small, modest place hidden away from the busy Falnir Road; accessed from a tiny lane too small for vehicles to pass, noticeable only from a small sign off the main road. The monastery itself is private for cloistered nuns, but as a "Perpetual Adoration Monastery", the linked public chapel is always open, with the Blessed Sacrament always on display (see Enquiry Report for explanation of the significance of the Blessed Sacrament).

As you enter your eyes are drawn to a corner of the small lobby area, outside the entrance to the Chapel. Whether though instinct or conscious thought, you cannot help but shake your head as you approach; the shock of seeing the battered, broken pieces of the Crucifix slowly sinking in as you move closer. The Crucifix, alongside is smashed Monstrance, is encased in a glass display; the glass marked simply with "14/09/2008, 10.20am", and the words "Thus, I Loved You".

As I'm still unable to get my photos from the computer to the net, but this photo of the Crucifix is found on Manglorean.com.

I'd seen the photos like these over the internet from England last year when it all kicked off but, like so many things you experience through life, the chilling, spine-tingling effect of seeing it first hand invokes feelings that can never be felt through a photograph on a screen. Leaving religion, creed, and anything else aside, you are forced to sit back and wonder what sort of mindset could possibly possess someone (or several people) to do something so shocking.

But, at the same time, seeing it out on display as it is - a constant reminder for all to see - has the same symbolic resonance as seeing the US flag fluttering above the rubble at Ground Zero, or the bullet holes left littered on the glass of the still-bustling Leopold Cafe in Mumbai. You can safely say that some things will never die.

Check me out...

Thanks and Happy Birthday (again) to my cousin Anjali, who pointed out over the phone that I could have posted a link to the Bangalore Times e-Paper so that everyone can see my ground-breaking appearance on page 3.

So... click here! I'm the one called "Team"!

Sunday Drive XL

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 9th November 2009

Sunday afternoons represent another long-standing family tradition in Mangalore - the family drive. The number of family taking part fluctuate (other than my grandma, whose presence is a given), depending on who's actually in Mangalore, but with both my uncle down from Mumbai and myself present, at 4.20pm yesterday we were all systems go.

In my newfound capacity as family driver, I took the wheel as we embarked on a leisurely cruise up to Bajpe Airport - the colloquial name for Mangalore Airport (taken from the name of the area adjacent to the old terminal building). Much like all of Mangalore, the airport is currently in the midst of a massive redevelopment - the first stage of which involved the construction of a brand new runway.

In days gone by (specifically, up to 2006 or so), landing at Mangalore would have been one of those outside-the-box challenges that broke pilots' collective boredom from daily metronomic routine. The old runway was short - very short - with a 500ft sheer drop into valleys at either end. To put it in perspective just how short is short, a standard airport runway (e.g. Heathrow) is 12,000ft long (a bit over 3500 metres); the old Mangalore runway was 1615 metres. So with a less-than-half-length runway to deal with, pilots landing at Bajpe had to decide by half-way down the runway whether they had enough time to come to a halt, or else re-accelerate and try again second time. Not for the faint of heart at any time, but come between June and August and you're combining an already dubious landing with an ever-changing wind direction (the airport's on top of a hill), the liquefied battering of monsoon rain, and visibility on a par with the Sahara desert at midnight. Pretty grim.

But what with India's explosive growth and Mangalore's increasing importance in Karnataka and in general in southern India, a half-baked airport was never going to last long (however entertaining it was for kids travelling with mothers who already hate flying). A brand spanking new runway was built, alongside 24 hour approach lighting (allowing for night flights), and all of a sudden Mangalore was an international airport - flights from all sorts of Middle East destinations turn up every day. But the second part was the building of a new international calibre terminal, which is now almost complete.

This blog may seem to have swung wildly off topic, but the crux of the story is that while we were driving up en route to the old airport - a 30km ride all the way around the hill that Bajpe sits on top, we chanced our luck on the new concrete slip road towards the new terminal (built on the "front" on the hill, thus knocking half the distance off the journey). The road has literally been constructed straight up what was a sheer cliff - imagine a concrete dual carriageway, breaking every 25 metres into a huge hairpin bends). The engineering to get the road built is spectacular, but not half as spectacular as the view from the top. To the south west lies the city centre of Mangalore, its urban sprawl contained by the rivers that surround it, and out beyond the Arabian Sea spreads out into infinity. To the north-west lies MRPL - Mangalore Refinery and Petrochemical Ltd. - a massive refinery complex (surprise surprise) that is one of the major heavy industries located around the outskirts of the city... but it turned out we'd be seeing a lot more of it that I thought at the time.

Thoroughly pleased with ourselves for seeing the new terminal building and the view for the first time, we heading back down, but decided to head on up to the old airport anyway. Getting closer there, we decided to wing a left and head towards the Bajpe village... and then one thing led to another and we kept driving down the road. I say "one thing led to another" - one village led to another, and bar a good sense of direction none of us really knew where we were - other than that we were heading north so we should stick a left somewhere.

Eventually we saw a sign that suggested we'd arrived in Kateel... I'd be lying if I said I'd ever heard of the place but it seemed to register with the others, and so onwards we marched (*drove) through some of the best roads I've ever seen in South Canara district. It was just like driving down a typical English countryside road - smooth as silk, greenery sprawling in every direction either side of you, and not a car to be seen for 10, even 15 minutes at a time. At one stage, far over to our south-west, we saw the massive exhaust towers of the MRPL complex... a fair reflection on how far we'd come.

Eventually we ended up in Kinnigoly, and passing the opportunity to pick up some good looking watermelons, we head westward to National Highway 17, and bombed it back down the coast to Mangalore - now passing MRPL from the West. Final journey distance? According to a Google Map I just drew, a cool 65km...

And you can see all the details - including Howzat's location - below! Double-click to zoom in...

View Long drive in a larger map

Blessing of Graves

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 3rd November 2009

In 21 years, this is the first time I have left England in the months of October or November - months that co-incide with a whole host of festivities/celebrations in India. Things like Diwali and pretty well known, but here in Mangalore with its massive Catholic influence, there are certain Christian traditions that are pretty special over here.

Sunday, the 1st November, is one of them - the annual blessing of graves on All Saints Day - the eve of All Souls Day. You can't really say you "like graveyards", but in what is probably another facet of Mangalore feeling like home, the graveyard behind Milagres Church has always seemed like another sort of home - a place where all my family - both my Mum's and Dad's - are buried going back countless years; a place that, in the words of one of my aunts, "unites everyone". It is something I've rarely seen in the UK - probably because families move far and wide so there's no real concept of "home"... but Mangalore is in many ways a very insular town (/city) - particularly among the Catholic community.

Anyway, just before sunset on the 1st November, all the families of the Departed gather around the graves of their family members - the graves themselves are adorned with flowers, candles, and petals and whole families will gather together around their common stones. For us, we gathered around the grave of my maternal grandfather, although I was also able to be present at my paternal grandparents' grave a little way across the graveyard. The whole place is full of people - the vast majority of graves have at least someone around them - and after some introductory prayers, several priests process between graves, blessing them and scattering holy water.

Every year on the 1st November, my Mum has always told me about the Blessing of Graves back home, and what a beautiful ceremony it is; naturally my imagination formed some sort of vision of what to expect. Nevertheless, being part of it first-hand is something that cannot be described fully with words. The graveyard itself is lit up, shining like a beacon in the surrounding afterglow of sunset, and in among the immaculately maintained footpaths and flowerbeds hundreds of people move among glistening tombs, assembling together around a common family member. After some initial prayers from the Parish Priest, several priests disperse among the graveyard, each sprinkling Holy Water over the graves in their designated area, their movements followed by the background echo of a choir.

It is something that has to be experienced to be appreciated, but there are few things that make a family, regardless of circumstance, feel closer together than when united in love and memory, alongside a whole community of friends doing the same. It is something very special in Mangalore - there aren't many other places that have the same Catholic heritage but equally have families that have remained true to their roots - even those that have spread far and wide invariably return.

An Indian Perspecitive (on F1)...

Closer followers of my journalistic career may be aware that over the last year I've been moonlighting as a guest contributor for The Times'* (award-winning) F1 blog. Having watched the first race I've seen in a month yesterday, and in the spirit of being in India, I've just written something for the first time in a while. Those interested can read the transcript here. As a mouth-watering taster of the fascinating insights that follow, here are the first three paragraphs:

I've been in India for the last month as the first stage of a "gap year" tour around the world (which coincidentally explains my total disappearance from this blog since September), and as this season ends I feel obliged to provide some sort of voice for what could well be F1's largest worldwide following.

Due to various travels, I ended up missing the live telecasts of pretty much the entire climax to the season, with the exception of yesterday's Abu Dhabi bonanza. However, that is in no way reflective of the coverage of F1 over here - whether or not you watch the race, you'll be sure to find out the result whether you want to or not. I think this is the 15th time I've been India (my "other" home), and this has always been the case. Every qualifying and race is broadcast, but more pertinently the practice sessions are covered as well - something we lacked in the UK for years until BBC took over again this season. Coverage in the print media is also excellent, and for good reason too - after cricket (which you are better considering as a religion than a sport here), F1 probably garners the second greatest interest across the board.

As I say, this has been the case for years. My love of F1 almost certainly developed here in India as a 6-year old tyke, when my uncle would sit me down every Sunday to bear witness to the ministry of Michael Schumacher back in his Bennetton days. "Man over machine", as he would describe it - and too right he was. And certainly, I have met no one anywhere else in the world more passionate and knowledgeable about the sport than him. And while he is an individual, he's a representation of F1's following in India - it is everywhere. Drive around the roads here (at your peril), and you'll be passed by many a 2-wheeler, wriggling between cars like a rat on wheels. What you'll quickly spot is the remarkable number of moving adverts for Marlboro cigarettes... and indeed for various other brands that happened to adorn Michael Schumacher's helmet back in the day. Since helmets became compulsory a few years back, replica's of MS's design have sold like hot cakes - though the odd replica Alonso and Hamilton wouldn't be a total surprise on the streets of Mumbai. What strikes home is that the appreciation of the sport in the country - the passionate following of a team or a driver that has been present in India for years on end (certainly throughout my lifetime) - is totally independent of national interest. (continue reading)

For those really interested, some of my previous F1 articles for The Times' blog can be found here, here or here.


* I keep seeing and keep getting annoyed by the same repeated mistake - particularly in the US media. "The Times" is the original Times newspaper, and is called The Times. Not "The London Times" or "The Times of London". And yes, it also invented "Times New Roman".