Saturday 1^st December

We went back to 2XS, which must be feeling very loved, on Sunday, to rev up our trusty bikes. Our plan was to ride to MONA, not far up the river. Hmmm…it took a good hour to get there and a good hour to get back. Distances are further, on a bike… Some of us found it very hard going; others amongst us were very happy – WEEHEE!! I’m back on my bike! (And yes there were only two of us; you have to guess which one was which…)

There were 300 bikes in the supervised bike parking area, and another good 200 scattered around the grounds, so you wouldn’t think our bikes would have excited much attention. But indeed they were much admired and I was able to give lots of free advertising for Ken Self’s, where another of my illustrious sons-in-law works – Stuart Cook, at Ken Self’s, in Elizabeth Street! Go there and buy a German folding bike, you will love it! This was the first time I had actually been able to give a useful bit of advertising for Ken Self’s…when people enquired about our bikes in Noumea, or even Port Macquarie, it was just a bit far for them to go to Elizabeth Street, Hobart, Tas…

Why so many bikes? Well for a start it was a most groups day, warm, sunny with nothing but the gentlest of zephyrs fanning our warm faces. And…a free fabulous concert starring the Southern Gospel Choir. We had a wonderful afternoon. By good fortune we found Pete’s sister Angela, who directed us to the little Wood encampment on the grass, where we unfurled our bottle of water (me) bottle of sunscreen (Pete) and cushion (me) from my backpack. It got very VERY hot so I took off my long-sleeved shirt and sat, happily, in the full rays of the sun wearing nothing but my jeans and two not very fetching grey and black singlet tops. Please note who was sensible and who had sunscreen…I did wear my Tilley hat, which, strangely, I thought was protecting all of my skin from the vicious sun…Big mistake! Later than night, as I lay glowing redly beneath my reading light, Pete said crossly, “Who is it who gets sunburnt in this family! Me, that’s who! And look at me, not a touch of sunburn! And here I am, lying next to a great big lobster!” Too sad, too bad…

Apart from this it was all great fun. A great crowd of people (4,000, it said in the paper, but who would know,) lovely music, a mellow, cheery atmosphere. (Oh and some very nice beer and a most delicious hamburger…) Thank you David Walsh!

India #33

Maybe one of the reasons that Hampi is a dry town is because the inhabitants are a bit belligerent. We were bemused to find ourselves in the middle of huge screeching arguments between coconut sellers. It all started with a territorial dispute between sellers whose barrows were a bit too close together for comfort. Within minutes the fight had escalated and everyone up and down the main street of Hampi was involved, shouting, observing, gesticulating. There was a bit of shoving and a hint of biff but no real violence. Just some excessive shrieking and one very bad little boy, with a raucous mother, who looked like the instigator of all of the problems. It was certainly all very public; no hiding behind closed doors. We were sitting in Geeta’s outdoor restaurant while it was happening all around us, and she hinted delicately that there might have been some alcohol fuelling the fight…

Friday 30^th November

A Tribute to Pete

Some things you need to know about Pete… He is a terrible tease.  Sometimes I get home from work after having been teased ALL day by our registrar Allan (also a St Virgils boy – did they teach them this skill at school???  Was it a major part of the curriculum??) and there is Pete, full of jolly japes… I say STOP!  Have you been conspiring with Allan to drive me MAD???  I can imagine he tormented his poor sisters to distraction, when they were all children, not to mention his kindly mother and father.

BUT – and this is very important – when the chips are down there is nobody kinder or more considerate.

I have proof of this!  When I was lying in bed on Sunday (glowing, yes, like a lobster,) reading my book and (obviously) not paying much attention to anything at all, Pete came upstairs.  He stopped just inside the door and I could hear his brain ticking over.  Umm…  Marguerite… I can’t quite believe this... Actually…I think maybe you should go downstairs, into the kitchen, and stay there for a few minutes.

I stared at him in sudden comprehension and horror for a few nanoseconds then leapt from my prone position and rushed downstairs to shudder in the kitchen – I knew exactly what this meant – there would be a large and hairy spider in my immediate vicinity…

And indeed there was!  Pete couldn’t believe that I hadn’t set eyes on it; it was immediately in front of me, above the arched window, and it was, he said graphically, as big as a PLATE.

So you see what I mean, about Pete’s kindness in my time of need… I am pathetically frightened of large and hairy spiders.  I freeze, and then cry, and tremble, when I see one.  I don’t actually hate spiders, not at all, and am not in the least bothered by “normal” spiders, who live in webs, or burrows, or even funnels.  But the large and hairy sort which saunters about, or crawls into your sneakers (yes, Claire, you have my every sympathy) – well they are just too much for me to contemplate.  What an opportunity for Pete to have teased and tormented me – a spider as big as a plate!  But…he didn’t.  I think, as he stood just inside the door, he must have thought, oh the fun I could have…

But he didn’t act on this impulse, and I am SO very grateful.

India #32

Mary and I had accumulated just a bit of extra baggage.  She had a bright idea – let’s send parcels home to ourselves; we won’t have to carry the extra weight!  This seemed like a great idea.  We found a small shy post office at the end of the street, around the corner from the big monkey temple, and left Vish and Pete sipping coffee at Geeta’s.  We were due to go off in two autorickshaws to see the sights of Hampi within half an hour and we thought this was PLENTY of time for a small postal transaction.  Mary had quite a big bundle, I had a small modest one – a sarong, a beaded bag, a few necklaces and a book. 

The young postal clerk sent us in different directions.  Mary, mysteriously, was to take her bundle to the icecream shop, where apparently someone would construct a parcel for her.  As for me, could I please follow my new postal clerk friend.  Outside, up the side street, and way way up behind the temple, amongst all sorts of slabs of stone and ruins.  I kept thinking, ummm…hmmm…oh dear…are these sacrificial altars, am I about to be very much regretting going with this seemingly pleasant young man?  He led me nearly a kilometre away, up high, and then asked me to sit near him on a big fallen lintel.  By then I had just decided to go with the flow; what else could I do?  I was very much aware that my friends would be wondering (a) where I was and (b) whether we were going to miss part of our tour of Hampi because of my tardiness – this did cause me no small amount of anxiety, I am excessively punctual… But…breathe in and out…go with the flow… My young bloke took my sarong-wrapped bundle, took out of his pocket a white muslin bag and a large curved needle, and started to assemble the parcel and to sew it up with string, with extremely neat symmetrical stitches.  This took ages, and was just fascinating.  He told me all about his life – his wife and young children, his schooling – under a tree in Hampi, before the school opposite Padma’s had been developed.  His wife is apparently a tailor and would love to whip me up an outfit, it would only take a few hours and I could have anything I wanted.  My mind went totally blank – clothes?  Did I want any?  Well I should have had a work-suit made up, of course, but I was too hot to think of such things.  When he had finished sewing up my parcel, he held out his hands and asked for 100 rupees.  Aha!  That was why we were way up the hill, out of hearing of other humans – I was paying an illegal bribe.  No probs!  Now could we please just go back to the PO and SEND the parcel? 

Well this is India, nothing is ever that easy.  The small shy postoffice was not only hidden, it was now also padlocked, not a sign of the post mistress.  “She has gone to the temple to pray, of course,” said my clerk.  More deep breathing…go with the FLOW…don’t think of your friends waiting and worrying… Finally she came back.  She weighed the parcel and started very complicated calculations with what looked like an abacus while my newly-bribed friend peeled off a vast page of stamps and put thick brown glue on them.  I was committed to the whole thing by then, but I was totally horrified when she said, “that will be 870 rupees.”  HOW MUCH???  This was nearly $30, far more than the contents were worth.  I was definitely going win our Mug of the Day competition… Never mind, pay up, I had no choice, although I was sure I would never see my things again.  The funny thing is, the weirdo parcel did turn up at my house not two weeks later, with the stamps still firmly glued in place. 

By this stage, Mary had come back to the post ffice again to look for me.  She was mightily relieved.  She had gone to the icecream shop with her things and had been told her parcel was impossible to construct, too big, so she came back to find me, only minutes after she had left me, only to see the padlocked PO and no sign of me.  She had had to go back and say to Vish and Pete “well…I have no idea where Marguerite is…maybe White Slavers have taken her….”

Thursday 29^th November

Another accolade…not a prize or an honour this time, but a real achievement for Michael, my No. #4 offspring, No. #1 son!

He has been wanting to get into a certain course in the army for a long time.  So far he has earned a few certificates.  He is now a qualified truck driver, driving instructor (trucks and cars) and driving tester.  But for some reason he has wanted to become a Communications Officer (he calls it postie; it is to do with mail, coming and going.)  I gather it is quite competitive to get into this course, and quite hard to pass – lots of complicated weights, measurements, calculations, which would not be Michael’s strong point.  The course lasted for four weeks, from 7.30 to 4 five days per week.  He rang me every weekend when he was taking a break from his homework.  He would sigh deeply over a reconciliation exercise.  “Ma, I have to get $15,000.  And I have $14,999.90.  WHERE is the missing ten cents???”  I had every sympathy; I am sure I would have had more than ten cents missing if I were doing these calculations… Michael is slow and thorough, with great attention to detail (he did NOT get this from his mother…) so he has persevered mightily with this very demanding course. 

Last night he rang, full of joy: he has passed!  All that remains is a day or two of tidying up, and celebration!  I am very relieved, and very proud.

India #31

There were several huge statues of Ganesh in Hampi, part of the ruins.  They weren’t, however, ruined, because they were carved from giant boulders.  The rocks in Hampi were fabulous.  Vish was thrilled with them, wanted to scamper over them, camera in hand, and stay there for days.  One of the Ganesh statues was called Peanut Ganesh, the other Mustard Seed Ganesh.  They were holding the appropriate food items in their huge hands.

Probably the most famous thing in Hampi is the stone chariot.  It is immense, and very fabulous.  The axles work, and it is possible to haul it along the streets.  I have no idea how many slaves must have worked to build Hampi.  There are miles of high stone walls, temples, gods, the chariot, deep step-wells, bridges, houses, a long covered market, elephant stables… Extraordinary!  We met a guide who spoke good English, also French, some Asian languages, and is now learning Russian.  Yes – the Russians are coming!!  Indians are so very resourceful and hard-working.

I got a bit muddled with my account of the stone chariot, so my kindly Editor in Chief informed me…. Of course the big stone chariot could never have moved; it is ENORMOUS and excessively heavy.  It does have axles, and at one stage the wheels were able to turn, but only for display not for transport.  

In the middle of the main street of Hampi there was another huge carriage, also heavy, and made of wood.  Every year there is a procession up the main street to the monkey temple, and it takes thousands of men to pull it along.  To keep it safe from elements in between festivals it is covered over with corrugated iron, so we were only able to get small glimpses of it through little rusty slits.  (And it is this chariot, obviously, which gets hauled around for festivals, NOT the immense and immovable stone one…)

Wednesday 28^th November

So...the space camp is actually in Kentucky, not Nevada.  And I am sorry if I gave the impression that Jeff was about to jet off to space camp… This is the main prize for the national winner; Our Jeff from Dominic and Tim van Winden from Youngtown are state winners.

I think I have written before about the definitions the children in primary school write.  Leo (Illustrious Jeff’s Illustrious 6 year old Son) always writes very factual, clear definitions.  Recently the prep class had to define collection.  Most of them did a fair job; Leo’s, I think, was perfect:

More than one of something you like

He also filled a worksheet about collections.  They had to define things which are safe to collect, and things which are unsafe.  Not a problem!  In glorious technicolour, Leo drew some black objects, and wrote, rocks are safe to collect.  And then, below, in even more graphic explosive RED and BLACK was…it is not safe to collect bombs.

Well no, said Jeff thoughtfully, when he found this worksheet.  They have obviously been teaching the children about safety, in prep.  It is not safe to play outside without a sunhat; it is not safe to walk down the street in bare feet; it is not safe to touch bitey spiders; and…it is not safe to collect bombs!

We are so glad the primary school curriculum is being adhered to…

India #30

On our first evening in Hampi we went for quite a long walk around the river.  It was all very beautiful, with ruins of temples and bridges.  On our way back we looped through the back streets of the village.  Children came running out to talk to us.  We were followed by a cheery, friendly 12 year old boy called Rom.  He told us that he goes to school right next door to Padma’s Guesthouse.  We found this hard to believe; there was nothing resembling a school anywhere around us.  Or so we thought… In fact one of the small, shuttered building diagonally opposite Padma’s did turn out to be the school.  Five hundred students squeeze in there, in the heat and the gloom.  And very quiet, studious and hard-working they are too!  From our balcony we could see the rooftop next door, and every evening and early morning there would be schoolchildren sitting up doing homework, with older girls coaching the younger students.

       

There is a sign in the middle of the main street in Hampi saying Please don’t give our children money, food and valuables, to protect their futures.  This did not stop the children from rushing at us, shouting something incomprehensible which turned out to be SCHOOLPEN.  We were in fact asked for schoolpens all over India; pens must be some subterranean sort of legal tender!

       

In the morning we watched the children going off to school.  Some went by bus, or jammed into autorickshaws, to Hospet.  They wore very smart, clean uniforms.  The boys wore blue shorts, crisp white shirts, ties – ties are so inappropriate in such a hot sticky climate… The girls wore blue tunics with white shirts and ties, and they all had ribbons in their pigtails.  Different colours to denote different age groups, we worked out.

Lots of young boys roam the streets of Hampi, selling postcards and stickers.  They are in their mid-teens and they live in the shelter of the temple, huddled up on thin blankets.  A very hard life.  When we were in Hampi there were hardly any tourists so they swarmed and pestered the very few.  But when the crowds come to Hampi it isn’t any easier because hundreds more touts come, all wanting to sell postcards and stickers.  Competition is fierce.  We all bought just a few things.  Well we thought we all bought just a few things… But early one evening Mary Sharma was seen creeping out onto the street with a thick packet of unwanted postcards and giving them away to one of the sellers…. She had, of course, bought them because she wanted to make one of the boys happy; they were so hideous, however, that she really didn’t want them, and then she thought she could recycle them into the system.  She was probably the very nicest and most lucrative customer the boys ever had!

       

When we were walking along the river track, some of the boys were being particularly pesky.  They wouldn’t leave Mary alone and she was looking just a bit hunted.  I went and took her by the hand, and said firmly, “Come this way,” to Mary, and “NO!  She doesn’t want any!” to a peskyboy.  The next day when we were having our meal at Geeta’s. one of the boys we had made friends with came up, with Rom.  We were quite relaxed by then, because we had all bought this and that and they had a few rupees in their pockets, so they could talk to us about Australia, and cricket.  Another boy was with them, a very dark, good-looking one.  He looked into my eyes and said, “Why haven’t you bought anything from me?  You have bought from all of the others?”  I sighed and bought a horrid sticker or two from him.  Then he said, “You hurt my feelings last night.  You took your friend by the hand and said, Come away, don’t talk to him! and you wouldn’t even look at me.  Why did you do that?”  I felt just dreadful, but I explained to him that Mary was tired and did not have inexhaustible supplies of money to buy stickers and postcards, and that I had just a little bit more energy for fending off sellers.  But I did apologise and say that I did not mean to be rude or to hurt his feelings.  He accepted this and all was fine between us.

Tuesday 27^th November

More very good news – this time my son-in-law, the illustrious Jeff Thomas, is the star!

He has won a National Excellence in Teaching Award (NEITA), one of only two in the state.  We are so very proud of him!  He is indeed an inspirational teacher, as it says on his shiny new certificate.  He is also a wonderful husband, son, friend, son-in-law, brother-in-law, father of his four darling children and…a very good friend and son-in-law to me, his annoying suegra….

Congratulations Jeff!!!

I must also mention that there will be a finalist amongst the state winners.  And the prize is…a sojourn at Space Camp in Nevada!!  I asked Jeff if he would like to win this and he wrinkled his brow and said, Well why not; I’ve never done that before!

India #29

Streetsleeping Hampi Stye

       

As evening drew in, people went to bed.  Right there, on the sides of the street.  Some just curled up in the dirt, others had home-made camp stretchers.  Sometimes the children would be sleeping on the ground under the stretcher, nicely tucked up with mosquito netting.  It was all very matey, really.  We walked up and down the street, talking quietly so as not to bother people on their way to Sleepyboboland.  We needn’t have bothered; there was lots of noise.  People would be shouting from one side of the street to the other, from their beds. 

       

The costume of indigenous Karnatka women is very colourful.  They wear layers of bright red, green, blue, with mirrors and circles, and LOTS of big tinkly silver jewellery, mainly going from the nose across to the ear.  Most of the people in Hampi wore more modern Indian gear – saris and the like – but there were a few genuine old Karnatka chicks.  One such sat up all night, it seemed, in front of her little hut on the main street, with a whole string of goats to keep her company.  Does and kids, all quietly tucked along the footpath, watching and listening to the life of the street with her.

       

On our second night we met a man walking home, who told us that people in fact don’t have to sleep on the street at all.  There are lots of places for them to shelter – their own homes, mostly – but that they prefer the street.  More companionable, and more breezy.  The breeze also discourages the mosquitoes, always an issue.  There are so many mosquito-borne diseases in India – dengue fever, malaria, not good.

Monday 26^th November

A most beautiful weekend- warm, sunny, spectacular.  I am sure tourists in Hobart over the last few days will be itching to sell up and move here, it all looked so very wonderful.  Beware beware, it is not always like this…

We spent Saturday afternoon on 2XS with Harry (8) and Lizzie (5).  Their parents (well their father…) were VERY anxious about our ability to keep Harry and Lizzie safe in the marina.  They were issued with life jackets and strict instructions to wear them at all times when out on deck.  They, and we, took this to heart.  However they did NOT want to wear the jackets inside.  And…they spent most of the time scampering In and Out and In and Out.  Jackets on, jackets off, jackets on, jackets off.  They didn’t seem to find this annoying or boring at all, fortunately, although I got a teeny bit sick of zipping and unzipping, clicking and unclicking.  In fact, they had a lovely time exploring the cabins, peering through the hatches, and lying on the nets looking down into the water.

I often wonder how people manage so well, raising their families on small boats for years at a time.  This gave me an inkling that maybe children are perfectly happy in a confined space, if they are able to scamper about and if they have an adult or two willing to give them a lot of uncritical attention.

Pete has been making friends with people living on their boats in Prince of Wales Bay.  One boat has a resident dog, a small, cheery terrier, who has lived aboard since he was a very small puppy.  Apparently he is perfectly at home on the baot (scampering about, no doubt.)  Pete asked about the obvious issues with dogs and hygiene aboard, and Chrissie said that from the very first puppy moments, this little dog would go to the edge of the deck, back up, and poo into the sea.  Brilliant!

India #28

OK so I got this off Wikipedia.  You can read it or not, depending if you want KNOWLEDGE or not.

“Although in ruins today, this capital city once boasted riches known far beyond the shores of India. The ruins of Hampi of the 14th Century lies scattered in about 26 sq. km area, amidst giant boulders and vegetation. Protected by the tempestuous river Tungabhadra in the north and rocky granite ridges on the other three sides, the ruins silently narrate the story of grandeur splendor and fabulous wealth. The splendid remains of palaces and gateways of the broken city tells a tale of men infinite talent and power of creativity together with his capacity for senseless destruction.”

Much better than me trying to explain.  It is a UNESCO site, and must be fabulous fun for teams of archaeologists, because there are literally dozens of temples, buildings, towers, walls, to be excavated and discovered and documented.  It all made me think of Ozymandius ‘

“My name is Ozymandius, king of kings.

Look upon my works ye mighty and despair!”

I stood gazing upon the ruined splendour quoting away in an annoying mMaryr; I am sure every person who has studied English Lit would be quoting the same lines, in Hampi…OK I can’t HELP it, I am going to put the whole poem in, because it is SO good:

Ozymandius, by: Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert... Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
My name is Ozymandius, King of Kings,
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

It was actually quite strange, wandering around the fabulous ruins of Hampi, because none of us knew anything at all about the civilisation which had once been there.  All a blank to us.  Hampi now is a tiny village, built around the temple, which is usually totally swarming with monkeys.  Pete saw a photo of it, monkey-less, in Lonely Planet, and said, “How did they manage to get a photo without monkeys??”  Well we found out how.  They went there on the same days that we were there.  There were about three monkeys, not scampering much at all, just dozing on the lower levels. 

Sunday 25^th November

I had lunch with my friend Kerrie on Thursday. I regaled her with Tales Of The Office – she is not in the least longing to be back there, I can tell you… Maybe I didn’t make it sound enticing enough?? She is very happy growing olives and berries in Penna, and spending a few days a week at various craft groups. Her Eastern Shore spinning and weaving group had their usual early Christmas function last week at the Shoreline. One of the members suggested putting together to buy a Keno ticket, with all 9 of them choosing a number. They did this happily enough and then set about eating and chatting. Kerrie noticed that her number had come up; so did Jutta…and then they all paid attention and were delighted to discover that they had won over $900! They each left the Shoreline with a nice $100 note in their pockets and went off to improve the economy of the Eastern shore shops.

India #27

We asked our driver to take us to some reasonable accommodation in Hampi. He immediately said, Padma’s, but other people had thrust cards in our hands in the melee at the railway station, so we felt we really should look and be careful about our choice. He parked right outside Padma’s, in one of the narrow little Hampi streets, and Pete said, “Well this is exactly where we stayed four years ago! This is fine!” And fine it was! Padma is a shrewd business woman, and is probably doing extremely well by Hampi standards – she had, for example, a colour television set in her living area downstairs, and seemed to be known to all of the villagers. We got rooms upstairs, with extensive views of the rocks, the temple, the hills. And all very cheap…


Pete’s and my room was excessively gaudy. The walls were painted a lurid but strangely pale shade of mauve, and we had a florid pink and purple bedspread to match a large cascading plastic floral arrangement. Vish and Mary’s room was red and white and slightly less garish. But…neither bed had sheets, just a bedspread, and the towels – oh dear… Mary looked at hers sadly, and said “I clean my floors at home with towels like this.” I said, “Well I use this sort of towel for oven mitts.” We were resourceful; we used sarongs as sheets, and also as towels.


Our bathroom had a fatal flaw. You had to step up to get to it, and then if you were more than 5’6” (I was fine, I am 5’5”,) you would smash your head into a smooth concrete lintel. Coming back the other way out of the bathroom, you were fine if you were under 5’6” but if you were taller you would smash your head into a jagged concrete lintel. Poor Pete…he spent his time in Hampi bleeding from various head wounds. As well as this the showers were COLD. I mean REALLY cold! It was very hot outside, and in our rooms, so the contrast with the freezing water was quite shocking.


But never mind these minor details; Padma’s was fine! We had a dear little balcony outside our rooms where we could dry our clothes, and sit and sip gin and tonic from our seemingly never-ending supply. Hampi is an alcohol-free village so we had to be circumspect about this. It isn’t illegal but – well actually I should stop, I have no idea why it is a dry village, never could understand what they were telling me about the reasons… And from our balcony we could see beautiful Hampi, and lovely grey arboreal apes swinging from the trees.

Saturday 24^th November

Last week I bought a new computer. It is a glorious thing, a Macbook Air, with an accompanying and cutely named MagicMouse. It weighs 1.2 kilos, which is a great selling point. It is a Mac and therefore not as prone to viruses. And so on…It will soon become my pride and joy. My old computer – that old thing – is going to a new home in Blackmans Bay with Claire, where it will become her pride and joy.

The only thing wrong with my new precious pride & joy is…they didn’t have one in the shop and I have to wait. Delayed gratification!

Of course they do sell Mac computers in other shops, but I have been looking around for weeks, testing the waters in this shop and that. I finally settled upon JB HiFi, the original home of that old thing. The only reason – and a good one – is that the young blokes in the computer area are so very helpful, kind, and enthusiastic. In some of the other shops the salespeople were knowledgeable but less than helpful. I find anything to do with new computer systems very stressful (not uncommon, I am sure,) and I need to be reassured all along the way. JB Rick was very kind and patient. He offered to write me out an official quote, which he said would have to be honoured by any other shop in Hobart. I said I would prefer to buy it from him and that I am quite good at delayed gratification.

Rick has a Mac, in fact has had many Macs over the years, and he is wildly enthusiastic. We somehow got onto the topic of Star Wars and Lego, and I asked if his 6 year old son was interested – it sounded as if his house was full of Star Wars and Lego paraphernalia. Rick looked a bit embarrassed and said, “Well yes but mainly it is me…”

India #26

The 26 kilometre drive from Hospet to Hampi was quite extraordinary. It is a very rural area, so there were bullock carts everywhere, and donkeys, and wagons piled high with green bananas, with about twenty cheery farm workers perched on top of the bananas. I think autorickshaw was my very favourite mode of transport. Best with only two people, mind you… We sometimes jammed three or four of us in and this was not quite so comfy and cushy. With two it was just great, sitting back behind the driver with the sides open to the air and the smells and the sounds. So much nicer than a limousine with tinted windows!


I kept my eyes open all over India so that I could make a list of Worst Jobs. It was on this trip that I found the very worst job EVER. They were making bitumen on the sides of the road, by burning old tyres around piles of blue metal. Small groups of women would gather around the burning, melting gravel, and when it was just the right consistency, they would crawl out – into the traffic – and pat it into deep potholes WITH THEIR BARE HANDS! Oh dear…oh no…

Friday 23^rd November

This week I had lunch with my friend Angela, who had just been on a brief holiday in China and Tibet.  Shanghai, she said, was overwhelming, and so very polluted.  Everyone says this!  The area of Tibet she spent time in was just beautiful but VERY cold, dry and dusty.  As well as this the food was quite horrid.  Lots of fat.  Fatty meal, fatty yak’s fattyfat… She was routinely given strong tea with lashings of yak’s milk and butter melted into it, and dinner would be a lamb chop of which more than half was glistening yellow fat.  Oh how I would hate this diet!!  It is of course appropriate to the climate – all that fat insulates them against the bitter cold. 

When I was on 2XS a few years ago with Pete’s son James, I was being all princess-y about my lamb chop or steak or whatever, carefully removing all vestiges of unpalatable fat.  James looked at me with narrowed eyes (he knows me well…) and said, “Why won’t you eat it, Marguerite?”  I shuddered and said, in prissy tones, “Because I don’t like it and it’s not good for me.”  “Oh,” said James, “and what about all the cheese and butter and mayonnaise you love to eat?”

Ummm…no valid response to that question, James…

India #25

The train station nearest to Hampi is in Hospet, a very small rural town.  When we got out of the train - hollow-eyed ghouls -we were absolutely overwhelmed by autorickshaw drivers.  There were dozens of them, all shouting at us and grabbing for our luggage.  It was just impossible.  Pete and Vish stood their ground, trying to make sense of the din.  I felt a slight tap on my arm, and there was a quiet, handsome young man.  “I know you hate all of this, it is just awful, isn’t it?  Could you please promote me to your husband?  I live in Hampi and it is easy for me to take you in my rickshaw.”  So… I did just that!  I forged my way through the melee and found my “husband” and promoted my bloke, and we were up and away!  Vish and Mary chose their bloke too, to howls of dismay from the rejected drivers.  One of them came up to me, green eyes ablaze with fury.  “I spoke to you FIRST!” he shouted, “Remember?  I got on the train and said I would be your driver?  Why have you chosen THAT one?”  (What could I say??  I chose one who was quiet and polite, you are too noisy and aggressive?  Live and learn!  Better to smile placating and vanish in a small puff of autorickshaw smoke.)  It was in fact a very good choice.  Our driver was just lovely, and he arrived punctually to drive us hither and yon around Hampi.

Thursday 22^nd November

Congratulations to our illustrious friend Pauline Shelley, nominated and elected to:

The Tasmanian Honour Roll for Women

I had lunch with her yesterday and she was quite stunned; she had just received a letter informing her of this nomination and election.  She was more than surprised that I was not more than surprised… I had, of course, been in on the whole process.  Her daughter Becky, a very efficient organiser, had co-ordinated a team to get documents together in support of the application and we were all – naturally – sworn to secrecy. 

We are all so pleased and proud!!

India #24

We broke our ten days in Goa with a few days on trains and in Hampi, some 500 miles inland from Goa.  Pete had been there before and knew we would be mightily impressed.  The train trip was wonderful.  Half of it was through thick, lush green jungle, the other half through flat farmland.  In the middle of the jungle we saw a most amazing waterfall cascading down through a cleft in the jungle, just spectacular!  The train somehow wound round so we could see it on both sides.

This was a very friendly train.  Pete and I went for a walk down the end of the carriages – these trains are very long – and on the way he was accosted by a party of young men, travelling in a pack.  We met similar packs of men of all ages all over the place.  They would go off for a long weekend, maybe Fri-Mon, to Goa or some other holiday place, and they would kick up their heels most mightily.  Mary and I observed this with a jaundiced eye.  At one stage, we asked some of them where their wives were.  “At home, ofcourse!” they would say, indignantly, “Looking after the baby!”  When Mary suggested that maybe the wives would like a holiday too, the answer was, “No!  No trips!”  For all we know the wives were kicking up their heels at home too, free of husbands, but somehow we doubt it….

Anyway, these young blokes started mucking around with Pete.  I am not sure why -  must have been staring out the window looking for ratfamilies - but he got out his leatherman and offered to pull out any aching teeth with the pliers, because he said he was a dentist.  He could also cut their hair with the tiny scissors, if they wanted.  They thought this was HILARIOUS and fell about.  They followed us back to our seats and spent most of the trip with us.  Much laughter!  They thought Pete and Vish were just THE BEST.  They decided that Pete was some sort of Australian superman.  At one of the stations, where some of us had got off for a bit of a stroll, they all came rushing up to our window to shout, “Hey hero!”  Pete was amused but also just slightly bemused by this.  Later when they were all crowded into our carriage, they said something about Pete’s wife.  “Oh no!” he shouted, putting his arm around me, “This isn’t my wife!”  From then on his status as a LEGEND was sealed.  One of them – these blokes were only in their late twenties – spent the rest of the trip beaming adoringly at Pete and gazing admiringly at me – all a bit disconcerting, really. 

After many hours the fanclub dispersed.  They probably went off to dream of being Australian Superheroes… An older man who had been lurking on the edge of the crowd finally got his chance to step forward and talk to Vish and Pete.  This was Mr Rao, a retired engineer (I think) who had his finger in many pies, and who could talk very knowledgeably about all of the things Pete and Vish wanted to know about – the geology, economy, agriculture etc of the landscape we were travelling through.  This was nice for Mary and me; he wasn’t as rowdy as the fanclub, and felt no need to stare at me (concubine!)  Neither did he particularly want to talk to either of us women, so we could just sit back, read our books, chat idly, and gaze out the windows.

Another man who wanted to talk to Pete was an old codger, 88, who was up the other end of the carriage.  I somehow think he followed me back from the toilets, not quite sure how we acquired him.  He was quite deaf and so it didn’t matter too much what we said to him, he just wanted to shout at us and tell us his story, which was indeed very interesting.  Although he could hardly hear a word we said, he somehow managed to work out that Pete was a Catholic, divorced, and that he had “relations” with me.  He thought this was just shocking.  “But,” shouted Pete, “We don’t have ‘relations.’  We just sip tea and read books and laugh together!”  The people in the next compartment to ours could hear every word of this; they were highly amused and I caught a couple of young Indian women sniggering away and looking at me with great sympathy.

Wednesday 21^st November

Yesterday I got a joyous email from Pete – Holy Smokes boat toilet fixed at last!

Calloo callay o frabjous day!!  This will make him (and me!) very happy.  I don’t know how many horrid hours he has spent wrestling with the pump, the pipes, the innards of the pesky toilet system.  I hope it now works for many MANY years to come, pumping, macerating, NOT leaking, not jamming up, not suddenly (inexplicably) stopping to function as a toilet should.

Well done Pete!  Not only can he make pompoms; he can fix complicated and tricky toilets!

India #23

On the way from Margao, in Goa, to Hampi we had a big carriage very much to ourselves.  This was just lovely.  We could lie along the window seats and doze and stare out of the windows, reading and being very calm and happy.  I assumed, wrongly, that we were all looking at much the same things, so when we passed a large field with a beautiful herd of darling little bambi-like deer, I just admired them peacefully, then went back to say to my friends, “Weren’t those deer just gorgeous?”  Well, what deer?  No-one else had seen them, and they were all very sceptical.  In fact we never did see a single other one, not until we were – um I forget where, but it had a deer-park, which was closed to the public that day – well in the vicinity of this deer park SOMEWHERE in India we saw a delicate little deer being fed in the back of a van.  Fortunately for me, Pete and Vish were befriended for many hours on this leg of the trip by a retired engineer, Mr Rao, who was very knowledgeable about all sorts of things.  I asked him if it was possible I could have seen a herd of deer, frolicking on farmland, and he said yes, they are very common, and are completely protected, so they can go and eat everyone’s crops and make the farmers all very angry.

Tuesday 20^th November

I imagine that everyone is wondering what Pete’s brief NO GLASSES message meant last Friday.  Well, obviously, it meant that his diving mission had been unsuccessful.  It wasn’t that he couldn’t find them; his problem was that he couldn’t get down much below the surface.  He had hired a heavy duty wetsuit and the necessary divan paraphernalia, but the wetsuit was so very thick it provided a great deal of unwanted buoyancy.  So Pete would kick and dive and swim and drag himself downwards holding onto a ladder at the edge of the jetty, but as soon as he let go up he would pop, like a cork.  Very discouraging.  He tried for over an hour and was totally exhausted.  And VERY annoyed.  He is determined to find those glasses…Possibly by the time he has hired equipment and driven up and down to Port Arthur a few times the cost will equal the value of the glasses, but never mind, he is DETERMINED to find them.

I do understand his inability to get down.  I have had a few experiences when diving when I just couldn’t stay below.  When we were diving with Andrew Miedecke’s little floating dive pump thingy I managed to get down very nicely, hauling myself down the anchor chain.  Lovely!  Fishies, here I come!  But as soon as I let go, whoosh, there I was, expelled from the bottom of the sea with no dignity intact. 

India #22

Our little resort in Colmar (Goa)had two restaurants.  One seated about thirty people, and served beer.  The food was all very nice, and not expensive at all, and the waiters were delightful.  The other restaurant was in the shadows of the bigger, glitzier one.  It was a Hare Krishna place, and served only vegetarian food and no beer.   We did eat there, very happily, and even more cheaply, but oh dear, we were always drawn back to the bright lights and the Kingfisher Premium!  Our main restaurant was fine but…they played music VERY loudly.  One day, when we were the only people there, I asked if they always play it this loudly.  “Oh yes!” they said, proudly, as if this was a good thing.  One evening, I said, “Do you have any CDs that old people like us might like?”  We were heartily sick of techno… No problems!  Out came a CD with Total Eclipse of the Heart (circa 1984…); we were very happy!

One of the waiters was particularly nice – and people in Goa generally are bright, charming and pleasant.  The waiters are generally from somewhere else; they come to Goa to earn money to send back to their families in poorer parts of the country.  I’m not sure how they do this; a waiter in Goa earns about 1500 rupees per month, and the cost of living is not all that cheap.  (1500 rupees = about $45…)  I asked him where he lived, and he shuddered faintly.  Apparently there is some sort of hostel for restaurant staff, where they all bunk in together.  He said it is awful, infested with bedbugs, and with swarms of mosquitoes.  “So,” he said happily, “I sleep in the restaurant.”  I didn’t understand what he meant.  The restaurant is open to the elements, just a roof and poles to hold the roof up, with lots of tables and chairs for customers.  But on the day we left Colva, early in the morning, we walked through the restaurant, and there were about a dozen young men curled up on the tables, fast asleep, covered with tablecloths…

Monday 19^th November

Pete and I had a family weekend in Launceston.  We were In Charge of three girls aged (approximately) 9, 5 and 18 months.  I had organised all manner of creative activities, which went down well – the beautiful, elegant house is now festooned with paintings, collages, a reasonably edible banana cake (this is not festooned, you will be pleased to hear…) and a few strings of paper dolls, tastefully watercoloured. 

I thought the most popular and rewarding activity would be making pompoms.  Not so!  The girls wound the yarn around the cardboard circles a few times then discarded them for activities which promised more instant gratification.  So yesterday afternoon you would have seen, in the sunny back garden,:

• One small girl dancing happily, clutching two bunnies and sucking on a dummy

• One tall girl doing cartwheels on the trampoline

• One middle-sized girl making cups of tea for her imaginary guest in her cubbyhouse

• And…one 66 year old man dedicatedly making a most beautiful pompom….

(Yes ofcourse I made a pompom as well, but mine was a rush job, nowhere near as beautifully constructed as Pete’s.)

We also managed to include visits from most of my Launceston family.  The girls were very intrigued with their new friends and now Grace has an imaginary kitten called Gina… (My mother impressed her very much, especially by telling her that her name is really Regina, which means QUEEN.)

India #21

On the beach right outside our Colmar Beach Besort there was an upturned derelict boat.  I was fascinated to find that it housed two happy families - a pig family and a dog family.  Not sure if there were daddypigs and daddydogs – probably, nothing at all seems to be spayed or desexed or segregated in India – but there certainly were piglets and puppies and mummies.  They all lived together perfectly happily, with piglets and puppies romping around on the sand, and sleeping in one big wet heap when the monsoon poured down.  I gooed and gaa-ed about them and took cute photos.  Pete was less impressed.  Hmmm, he would say, eyeing them nervously.  He had already told all of us NEVER to order any sort of pork in India.  This was hard for him, he loves bacon and eggs and it was always on the menu.  He was a bit reticent about telling us why, but finally we realised that the role of pigs is to clean up all human sewage… That was why the pigs and dogs were flourishing right outside our resort… Not an edifying thought, but how very efficient, ecologically!