Amit Sinha's Travelog

One of the many cliches, oft repeated to the point of annoyance, is “absence makes a heart grow fonder”. Now that I am back, after a six month separation, while unfortunately there’s no heart waiting for me to grow fonder of, I have realized that New York is a city I love, and its attraction has only grown as I traversed the globe.

I’ve had no trouble re-adjusting to life in the big city. In fact, I think I would be in trouble if I were to live anywhere else. I would probably shoot myself in a fit of depression if I had returned from this long break to suburbia (no offense to any of my readers who hail from this construct of the modern urban planner).

There really is something about New York. I got in early morning on Monday, and feeling a little low, I decided to head out for a run. As I jogged outside, amidst the old buildings, basking in the mid-morning sun, watching people walking about, eating at cafes. seeing the various eclectic stores that would survive only in a city like New York, my spirits started rising. Its really one of those few places where you can see people, shops, and restaurants from across the world in the course of a 3 mile run.
Sorority sisters from connecticut and their ohmigods and totallys
yelled over fancy pink cellphones with flashing lights, tall burly
jamaicans and their dreadlocks, an old asian couple walking slowly hand-in-hand right past a muslim man with his traditional skullcap speaking arabic on his cell phone right beside a couple of eastern european movers having an argument over something. Gay couples walking comfortably, with neither them nor the rest of the pedestrians feeling that anything’s different. A sign for an upcoming “dog gym” that caters especially to “smaller breeds” jostles for attention with one announcing the latest Will Farrell offering. Both are pasted on the temporary wall of some shop undergoing renovation. And of course, I’ll have to admit, being summer, the sight of lovely women running and walking in the latest fashions will uplift the spirits of even the most depressed

Last month, around the time of the terror alert in Heathrow, when terrorism showed its head again, putting the world in a fit of paranoia laced with fear, I was in Chennai, India. My mother, sitting next to me and watching the story unravel in the media frenzy that followed the events, asked me, after one particularly zealous reporter tried to paint a picture of impending doom for anyone remotely associated with New York or the United States of America, why through all this travel I hadn’t found an alternate job in London, or Australia or even better, Mumbai or Chennai. Her fear was understandable, as was that of most of the world, whose source of information are ratings-hungry television channels. While one reason why I didn’t find anything was that I hadn’t really looked (my resume has not been updated since 2003), the second, and more important reason was that I hadn’t yet found a reason to leave New York. I am sure I could enjoy a life just as much in London, or Melbourne or Mumbai, and at the very least get something larger than the shoebox I call my apartment, as well as probably find something with a better quality of life, it would not be the same as New York.

I like New York because it has, in one small island, all the things that I look for when I travel around the world. I was heading to work the other morning, on the Number 4 train, and I realized what it was about the city that appealed to me. In that one subway car, there were a couple of monkeys in suits (including me), a girl in gothic chic, a couple of school children in uniform, a man with crooked teeth and torn clothes, a lady choosing to read out loud passages from the bible, amongst an assortment of people from various walks of life, and various races. The difference though, was that no one gave the other person a second glance- there was no feeling of being scrutinized because of what you wear, or where you come from or how you look- you can be anybody you want to be. Your personal life, in this city of 8 million people, is only yours. I am yet to see that anywhere else in the world.

I have a few minutes to kill at the Madurai airport, and looking
around me, its like a mini replica of San Jose Airport, as it seems
that this place caters only to the NRI community, with the occasional
business traveler. It does make sense, as with the excellent bus
connections, I find it hard to see why someone would take the flight
to Madurai.

I look around me and there are little brats running around with thick
american accents, followed by parents in jeans and salwars and bad
american accents… This could be San jose International Airport,
minus the Spanish!

Transport has been a fascinating experience in the past few weeks
that I have been here in Madurai. Buses are by far the most popular
forms of public transport, available in all shapes, sizes and forms.
From the old rickety ones that serve the suburban and city regions,
to the short-haul buses to places like nearby Karaikudi which have
TVs and show Tamil movie DVDs, with English subtitles!!! The long-
haul buses though, are by far the most interesting. They are full
sleepers, i.e., they have no seats, and instead have comfortable
sleeping berths, lower and upper, much like a train. While the single
ones are comfortable, the doubles can be a little intimidating, as a
single traveler, as you will be spending the night in the same bed
with a stranger! But such issues do not seem to affect the average
traveler, who is most accommodating of the situation.

A note on the airport before I sign off though- It serves only about
eight to ten flights a day, but is extremely clean and neat, with
professional staff and facilities, and what’s more, free Wi-fi, which
scores mega points in my book!

More about my experiences in Madurai when I return to Chennai and get
some time to have my virtual life catch up with reality.

Around 7am, as I made my way out of the town of Siam Reap and towards the temples of Angkor Wat, I felt very much at peace. The air was cool, with a light drizzle. Around me were lush green forests, and thanks to the rain, very few people on the roads.

Running past ancient monuments, greeting the various security guards across the place, avoiding dogs, souvenier-sellers and other sundry-characters while cheerfully waving at them, gave a sense of freedom and security. And then as I was running back, my eyes fell on a notice board that brought back the grim reality of what price they paid to get this peace and security. It was a small sign that thanked some organization for funding the clearing of the area of landmines. The same area, that for the past hour I had been nonchalantly running along.

Diving in the Great Barrier Reef

It may seem ridiculously obvious to anybody, that keeping your lips open while going underwater is a very effective way of getting salt water into your mouth. This is probably not what you ought to be doing when planning to go SCUBA diving. However, diving for the first time, in choppy seas, such logical thought processes end up going out of un-mentionable orifices, while water gets taken in through the aforementioned orifice.

This is kind of what happened to me when I went for my introductory dive this morning at the Reef. Despite loads of instructions by the instructor, it took me about three attempts before I relaized that when clenching the mouthpeice, I had forgotten to close my lips around it. I then pretended that the mouthpeice (or regulator, in diving parlance) were the lips of an extremely attractive woman, and closed my lips tightly around her, er, I mean the regulator.

After that everything was fine and I was on my way to a completely unbelievable experience. A few weeks ago, I had seen specimens of the reef at the Sydney acquarium, but seeing them in person, and going down and touching them was quite something else. I saw quite a few clown fish (now forever renamed to ‘Nemo’ thanks to the magicians at Pixar and the marketing gurus at Disney), a sleeping reef shark here and there, had my hand stuck to some sort of coral’s tentacles, forced a clam to close its shell, and held a sea cucumber in my hand. The water was pretty choppy up at the top, but down below it was pretty calm. Of course I had an instructor literally hold my hand all through the dives as I had horrible sense of balance and coordination, and as a result found myself almost destroying endangered species and scraping my body against numerous thinsg I really shouldn;t be scraping.

But diving is fun, and introductory dives in this sort of envioronment is extremely safe. I would definitely do it again, maybe even get myself certified.

The official photographer took several pictures of all of us diving and snorkeling, including an extremely embarrasing one of me snorkeling where it appeared as if I was running away from her when she came up to me with a sea cucumber. Truth is, with the choppy water I had salt water enter my snorkel and was trying to get it out. The problem, however, is that with all the gear, everyone looks alike in the photos. I thought being the only non-white/pale person on-board, I would be easy to identify, but underwater photography has a unique ability to hide the face and show only the masks, fins and other paraphanalia. I could have picked a picture of some of the pros diving and pass it off as mine, but instead I decided to be honest and got one of me diving… or at least I think it was me diving.

I shall put it up on this post shortly for you to poke fun at.

Musings from Melbourne

Its a little after 9pm. Yet, if I look outside the window, I see
nothing, and can’t hear a thing either. I walk out, and I find rows
of pretty houses, manicured lawns, and assorted Camrys, Accords and
Fords arranged neatly along a winding path. Its absolutely quiet,
with hardly a soul stirring. You see lights in the occasional living
room, and if you are lucky and the blinds are open, catch a
flickering telly.

I am in Hoppers Crossing, a suburb of Melbourne, but I might as well
be in a town along the Northeast corridor in New Jersey. The train
line is a ten minute bus ride or twenty minute walk, and the local
train dutifully follows the schedule and takes you into the heart of
the city, every fifteen minutes to half an hour. Its Melbourne’s
modernized version of the NJ Transit.

I am spending a couple of weeks here, taking a break from my travels
and attempting to relax and try and live a civilized life. While I’m
having success with the latter, the former is a little tougher. After
four months of scaring border officials, I finally got myself a
haircut, and my jeans saw the insides of a washing machine the first
time this year. I have three meals a day in a table on a kitchen,
wear clean socks, underwear, and actually use face wash and not soap
to clean my face. I still forget sometimes to change into PJs at
night, as I’ve gotten used to sleeping in the same clothes that I’ve
been wearing during the day.

When I got here I thought I would get some time to myself, not
rushing around taking in sights and experiencing the city life, and
provide me with the opportunity to catch up on my blog, post
pictures, etc. However, its been quite the opposite, as I’ve been
dragged into the suburban family lifestyle. My cousins here have
three kids, aged one, three and eight, and have discovered a
benevolent, inexperienced and extremely gullible babysitter in me. I
enjoy being with children, and for some reason they seem to relate to
me as well, must be something to do with my mental maturity! However,
what starts as a two minute ‘oh lets play piggy back’ ends up
becoming an hour-long yelling, screaming, hair-pulling playfest which
invariably ends up in one of the kids crying and everyone accusing
each other and a hapless wannabe world traveller in their midst,
desperately seeking help, and completely adoring them at the same
time. Kids really are terribly wonderful. I can see why people go to
such pains in order to raise a family, including moving to this
mysterious and crazy place called Suburbia.

A family and suburbia does crazy things to your life, as I’ve noticed
out here. First, the basic things in life take a lot more planning
and time. You don’t just decide to go somewhere and head out of the
house, You need to make sure you have baby food and water packed. Is
the baby seat in the car? Oh, and yes, you do need a car for
everything. Two is preferable. It takes about two hours to get a kid
ready, before they decide they need to use the bathroom, and then
repeat the process all over again. Shopping, is never a trip, its an
expedition. You never buy a small pack of anything. Its got to be
bulk. You can’t just stop and buy a coffee. You need to get ice cream
and hot chocolate for the kids, and next thing you know, that one
tiny cup of vice turns into a six item order. The regard I have for
my cousins keep going up several notches as I see them undertake this
battle every day. They do seem to enjoy it. Despite the hour long
commute each morning, the cacophony of childrens’ voices and demands
and games that greet them when they return, they would not trade this
for anything else in the world.

I’ve never lived in Suburbia. I grew up in Madras, a city of four
million people (at that time) in India, and now live in Greenwich
Village, New York. I am used to having several stores, open at all
hours, right outside my home. I am used to noise, blaring horns,
ambulances and drunk revelers making valiant attempts at disturbing
my sleep. I am used to walking outside on a sunny afternoon and
finding a cafe with Wi-Fi and cappucino. After my matchbox studio, I
feel lost in a large three bedroom house with a garage and a lawn and
a backyard. I’ve started running every day, and am hard pressed to
see more than ten people each time.

After a few days in the comfortable confines of my cousin’s suburban
home, and a couple of trips to the mall, I grew antsy and needed my
city fix. I took the train into Melbourne and felt rejuvenated. Here
was a city that seemed to have found the perfect blend between a city
and natural beauty. Lovely parks alongside skyscrapers. Wide
boulevards, people, shops, cafes, and runners. A lot of them. At all
hours. What’s more, they even have a golf course and driving range in
the heart of the city.

All-in-all, its probably been the most well balanced couple of weeks.
I’m enjoying the comfort of suburbia, while getting to enjoy the
city, spending time with family, being entertained by the kids, and
exploring a new city at the same time. My cousins, who love driving,
have been showing us around, and thanks to them I saw my first
Koalas, Kangaroos, Pelicans and Penguins on Phillip Island,
experienced some breath-taking scenery along the Great Ocean Road,
and roamed a weekend flea market.