Silk

Leaving the market square behind, we drove on through the small town, past stalls selling all kinds of colourful wares.

I can imagine the scent from this one being particularly fragrant – possibly as well, since right next to it, someone was in marginally less fragrant surroundings.

However beautiful the sights, the “real” India is never far away.

As the old women pick their way through the detritus of life, people are riding bikes and mopeds whilst talking on the cellphones. 

We soon find ourselves heartily welcomed at the Silk Weaving Centre and having been ushered in via the cowsheds and the lavatories, we go upstairs to find work being done.

I think these chaps are here for the show really, but for a demonstration, it’s pretty good and the work they are doing is beautiful.

The Jacquard looms are hand powered and the designs are traditional.

But no-one lingers up here, because of course, downstairs is the shop!

I’m not a fan of European women wearing sarees and wouldn’t consider the style for myself, but that doesn’t stop me being completely enchanted by the colour, the pattern, the texture.

For sure, there are ready made garments here too, but these are cut for the slight, Asian build and those who try on are disappointed in the fit.

Silk is pulled from these luscious piles of loveliness, thrown out by the assistants to show us the beauty

there’s gold and embroidery galore, elaborate patterns and fine weaving.

and sooner or later, there’s one with my name on it.  You’d have guessed that one spoke to me, wouldn’t you?

Until I saw the price – 9720 rupees….that’s over £130 and a little more than I wanted to pay, however beautiful the silk.

By the time we’d finished, the shop was looking like a plague of locusts had passed through.  I imagine that some considerable folding practice was done to return the displays to normal, but business had been brisk and there were plenty of smiles.

We stepped outside, narrowly avoiding the fuel supply, drying in the sun and were offered a snack to keep us going till lunchtime, which wouldn’t be till 3pm or thereabouts.

We were each given a packet of biscuits (rather like Ritz crackers) and a can of Fanta, having been advised that even the bottled water doesn’t meet safety standards here.

Finally, I imagine you’d like to see what I brought out in that shopping bag?

It’s a saree, similar to the one I rejected on price grounds – this one was less than a quarter of the price, isn’t quite the same quality as the previous saree but the colours are softer and I rather preferred it.  When I get home, I’ll decide what I’m going to do with it!

Kanchipuram

I took a couple of hundred photographs yesterday and it’s going to take quite some time to go through them!  Visiting such photogenic places is when a digital camera really comes into its own.

We arrived in a small marketplace which was rather different from the dusty, ruins we expected.  Our arrival signalled the attention of every seller in town to come and offer all kinds of good things from sandals to jewellery but of course, our eyes were on the main feature

The Ekambaranathar Temple towered over the square and approaching the entrance, we were able to see the fine details in the 200ft high gopuram.

 

Time to remove shoes and put on thick socks as advised – the sand/stone was hot and walking barefoot uncomfortable.

Hema, our charming guide began to tell us about this magnificent place and led us through into the Temple, stopping first at a colourful panel illustrating the story of Shiva.

We followed, listening intently to the wealth of information she had to share whilst trying to absorb the atmosphere and visual feast which surrounded us.

The temple has a hundred richly carved pillars, featuring craftsmanship of the highest order.  Here in the natural light of the entrance it was fairly easy to take reasonable photos

 

though sadly, much of the interior spaces were lit with fluorescent tubes and these made the process a whole deal more tricky.

Every corner we turned, every nook and cranny revealed a different delight.

Here, in a quiet spot, a young couple were gazing into each others eyes, sharing a peaceful moment (until some pesky tourist briefly stumbled in on their privacy)Their presence added a human scale to this amazing place, however.

Some corners were small shrines with tallow candles burning in front of them.

In other corners, there were colourful platforms used to carry the holy statues in processions.

Elsewhere there were monks, sitting quietly by a holy object, inviting us to take their photographs, to come closer and talk to them.  Sadly, there was not enough time to linger, to take everything in and to really absorb this fascinating place.

Under our feet were paintings on the stone floor, painted using rice paint, Hema told us.  These served a dual purpose in beautifying the temple but also feeding the small creatures who share the place with everyone.

Here and there, there was a splash of colour, of human interaction with this place.

In particular, by the ancient mango tree by this small temple where childless couples hang small cradles in the branches in the hope of an offspring.  Unmarried women walk around the temple an odd number of times in the hope of finding a husband, too, making this little courtyard the focus of much attention.

Moving right along, then, taking a last look at this beautiful structure, we were back out into the heat, running the gauntlet of the gift stalls and the marketplace sellers.

 

Hema led the way at a cracking pace, for there was more to see, to do and time was tight.

The clue to the next stop lay in the fabrics hanging outside one of the stores.  Kanchipuram is renowned for silk weaving and Kanjeevaram Silk Sarees and we were heading for one of the workshops.

Beyond the city

We’d booked ourselves on a long day tour involving an early start, so that long train delay coupled with the usual, multiple checks on passports and travel documents was a little frustrating.  We were eager to make progress before the heat of the day built but as always, a modicum of patience was needed.

We drove out through the busy Chennai streets, enjoying the spectacle of everyday life as we did.  Grand buildings with lengthy “official” titles revealing a little of the British heritage, signs and gateways like the one above, to “St Georges Anglo-Indian Higher Secondary School and Orphanage”.

This is India going to work, to school, opening up for the day and here we were, part of it.

We passed people waiting for buses, for lifts in cars and on motorbikes.  The ability of a saree-clad woman able to hop elegantly and sit sideways on the pillion of a motorbike is remarkable – and the sheer numbers of people moving through the city overwhelming.

The drive out was noisy and erratic.  Each vehicle which passes another toots their horn and the rules of the road are, let’s say, relaxed.  But each driver shows respect for the others, and we enjoy watching the colourful passing lorries with mixed cargoes on board, some with people sleeping amongst it.  Eventually we reach the toll booth which is a fine example of more Indian bureaucracy – no tossing coins into a bucket here.  Though it’s fairly modern, it’s a bit dusty and grubby, the road surface broken and there were a couple of families with children just standing watching the cars go by.

The rice harvest was being brought in and we passed through several villages where carts laden with heavy sacks were being hauled by tractor or by oxen.

Later in the day, we saw the process of drying the rice taking place – it was laid out in the sun and men raked it over every so often.  I see why rice needs washing before cooking!

Eventually, we reached the first stop of the day: Kanchipuram, city of a thousand temples.  I’ll continue the story in the next post.

Chennai and beyond

Let’s see.  We were about to go out to dinner, weren’t we?

We enjoyed a delicious “Southern Spice” meal at the Dakshin Restaurant at the Sheraton Hotel here in Chennai.  Of course, we eat far too well here on the ship and have way too many choices of venue to enjoy dinner. But, we thought that the opportunity to eat delicious and authentic Southern Indian food in a top class restaurant was not to be missed, so along we went.

We were not disappointed!

Our meal was served on an elegant silver platter, lined with a banana leaf.  A selection of pickles were served to one side, leaving plenty of room for the succession of small, tasty dishes which were brought to us by our efficient waiter KK and his assistant Pravin.  During service, we were entertained by a couple of beautiful young women, performing traditional Indian dances. These were truly remarkable for highlighting every part of the body, most especially the eyes and facial expressions, which could have been taken from any classical Indian painting.  Atmospheric?  you bet.

The food was delicious and later, enquiring of our guide about the authenticity of the dishes served, we were assured that they were absolutely authentic in every way, except for perhaps being about 80% of normal spice level.  Considering we all left feeling pretty hot around the taste buds, I think that this was a wise move on the part of the chef!

Surprisingly, considering the quantity of food consumed and the level of spiciness, we slept wonderfully and woke to the most beautiful sunrise this morning over the marginally less poetic scenery of a Chennai dock.

Through the soft focus lens (really, the steamed up lens of my camera in shock from being taken from the cool air-con atmosphere of our suite to the sticky Chennai early morning air), 6am on a Wednesday morning overlooking the dockside really didn’t look too bad!

For further tales of how the day progressed, then the same patience is required as was needed when this train was passing the level crossing at walking speed.  We are in India, it’s hot and sticky and things happen – well, when they happen.

To be continued …

India-aaah

We woke to a bright morning and went out on deck to watch the Captain carefully manoeuvre his ship into a rather tight parking space.  Seeing him later and congratulating him on a job well done, he winked and said that in such situations, closing his eyes and hoping for the best usually works.

Good man!

Anyway, having gone through the lengthy visa process at home, completed the immigration papers and customs dockets, it might have been reasonable to assume that we’d have a swift transit when we arrived around 11am this morning. 

Not a bit of it.  After all, this is India.

We presented ourselves for our face-to-face immigration process.  We presented ourselves with customs form complete for rubber stamping and signing.  We sat back and waited for the ship to receive clearance and for all the shuttle buses to be sorted, because we planned to go it alone today.

We watched the trains come and go at the station opposite, teeming with passengers.  We watched the various port officials come on board, buses arrive and, because this is India, people just standing and staring, watching the goings on, as they do.

At long last, we were free to go, but not to walk through the port harbour area.  We had to be on the shuttle bus to the gate, where once again, passports were checked, names ticked off the ships muster and further checks made.  Oh my.

All the time we were lingering for a variety of reasons, the drivers of the yellow tuktuks came alongside, waving and asking if we wanted to ride with them.  Quite why they thought that it would be sensible to get off our (free, air conditioned) bus and jump into their tuktuk for an extra charge, I have no idea.  They persisted with good humour however and when we finally reached the Spencer Mall on Mount Road, they greeted us like old friends and offered to take us on, to some destination unknown.

Our first time here in Chennai and without really having an overview of the city, we decided we’d keep it simple and stick to the immediate area around the Mall.  The traffic was noisy, the pace of everything overwhelming after a calm couple of days at sea and we felt we needed to just get a little acclimatised before tackling anything too adventurous.

The inside of the Mall was clean and cool, the atmosphere somewhere between a covered market and an old-style shopping centre.  We pottered in and around the shops, responding to the invitations to come inside and see what beautiful things were on offer with a smile and a gentle “perhaps later…”, being caught out once or twice when we found ourselves on the same alley; “Oh hello, you came back!” 

Of course, there were lovely things on display and sometimes it was hard to resist.

I mean, which pair should I choose?

(go on, you know the answer to that one, don’t you?)

We love the signs here and there, having already scribbled down one which stated “Be careful – your family is looking forward to seeing you safely at home”, we spotted this little gem on the shopping centre wall.

Stepping outside to walk down the street, we wondered how we were going to get across the road.

Simple.  We stood by this young woman and followed her lead!

The sugar cane crushing machines were on every street corner, as usual.  This one had no customers though and the operator was asleep around the corner, in the shade.

We’d got crossing the road to a fine art by now – yes, we made it across here and into a bookstore

Higginbothams bookstore appeared to have been there forever and stepping inside we loved the small tribute to the founders, who looked very stern indeed.  I bought a children’s cartoon book of the story of Draupadi (“The Dusky Firebrand”), whose saree was undone by the evil Duhshasana  but replaced by Krishna to save her modesty.

Buying the book was another Indian experience – one man scanned and quoted the price, referring me to the next one who took my money, passing the book to the man who was wrapping the purchases as he held my tatty rupee note to the light, consulted his colleague as regards the authenticity of said note before giving me my change.  Another printed out the receipt – about A4 size (the book cost 40 rupees, about 60p)  and handed it back to the first man, who stamped it “paid” and passed it to the wrapping man to enclose in the parcel.  Finally I received my parcel and off we went.

Amazing.

A very poor photo indeed but standing by the roadside was a traffic policeman with a speed gun…and a whole host of onlookers looking over his shoulder.  No-one is alone in this country of bystanders!

As we waited for our shuttle bus to take us back to the port, one of the tuktuk drivers reappeared, hedging his bets in the hope of a customer even though we explained that he would not be allowed to take us into the port area.

Matthew insisted I take his phone number and give it to all my friends!

One last sign for today – in case you need a “bike puncher” repair…

We’re now showered and changed and about to go out once again to our “Southern Spice Dinner” evening.  It should be fun!

India doesn’t change and is always full of surprises.  We are happy about that.