CHENNAI, INDIA
2017-03-08, 13:46, JASON
BUDGET , STAY: ELEMENTS HOSTEL
Tamil Nadu is a southern state in India, and Chennai is its capital. In Singapore, you get a lot of influences of Tamil culture, such as in Little India. Many aspects such as Tamil celebrations (Thaipusam) and food (prata, idli, etc), you can get in Singapore. But, we didn't want just the overseas Tamil experience, we wanted to be with the Mainlanders, so we set our sights to Chennai, India. The last time we were in India was about 1.5 years ago to Mumbai, visiting our friend, Neha. That time, we had a driver and 'creature comforts' - a nice place to stay, food already prepared, etc. and so it was a relatively sheltered experience. This time in Chennai, Thorin and I were on our own. We weren't really sure what to expect.
We arrive in late to the airport and decide to take a pre-paid taxi to our hostel. The bill gets sorted within the airport, and as soon as we leave a man takes our slip and tells us to give him our bags. We hand over our large backpacks as he carries them over to the rank. It feels a bit weird to have someone carrying your bag, but we don't think much of it. The guy talks to one guy, then another, and eventually we link up with our driver, and the man carrying our bag places the bags in the front seat of the car. While the taxi driver is asking us where to go, the guy with the bags reaches his hand out, and says one word, "Tip." We're a bit blindsighted from this, but it's fine. We give him 10 rupees. He lingers and says more, and we say we don't have anymore. He lingers again, and the taxi driver shoos him away. They were never working together.
I'm going to bring up the first theme of our trip in India, which regards tourism dollars. We met many beggars along the road, varying from children to elders. We've also met a lot of rickshaw drivers that want us to take their carts, even though more often than not Thorin and I prefer to walk. One rickshaw driver mentioned, "If you walk, then how do we make business?" which was a very, valid point. We discussed the links of tourist dollars to the local economy - how we go from contribution to the local economy, to say, using money as a means to exploit the locals. I'm not sure where I stand. Anyway, we do not give any money to people asking for money unless they performed a service, following our standard protocol. Yes, there are a lot of people asking for it, and when they see foreigners, they may be inclined to ask us more, but we politely decline.
With the man who asked for a tip, we learned that if it feels weird to do for us (i.e. have someone else take your bags), then don't go for it. We would trust our hunch on that. We also made a note, though, not to get mad or exhausted if people try to find ways to earn money, whether that be in asking for it directly or providing a seemingly free service. Everyone has to make a living, it just manifests itself in different ways in different settings. And, really, at the end of the day, although the principle of the matter is what we're often concerned about (and so stubborn to hold onto this as some mantra for people ripping us off), 10 Rupees is not going to break the bank. We told the taxi driver our destination, and he took us there. It was about 01:00 and we filled out the forms for registration (Indian bureaucracy is notably finicky, asking for things like contact address, contact phone, present address), and then headed to bed. No payment was collected.
The second thing we noticed in Chennai is payment. After having come from the Northeast region of China, we had to recalibrate our payment methods in Chennai. Whereas in Northeastern China everyone expects you to pay after being served food (sometimes, even after ordering), in Chennai, no one hassles you for money until the end. It was weird, especially since after ordering, we hasted to find our wallet to pull out the required amount. It was almost like a reflex, since we're so used to paying that way for street / fast food, whether in our recent trip to China or in Singapore. In Chennai, no matter where you go, restaurant or streetside, you pay afterwards. Culturally, it's interesting to see why people pay at the end. The experience of eating doesn't revolve around payment, but rather enjoying the food. I don't make much of it, it's just an idiosyncracy. However, there is no anxiety generated in not paying first. There isn't even any fear on shop owners' end that they will forget what you ordered and be underpaid. In fact, once, we paid what the shop owner charged us, left, and then he hollered for us to go back because he didn't include two cookies in the charge. He laughed and gestured being forgetful, and we paid for the cookies. No wonder we didn't pay for the hostel when we arrived, only after we left. Chill
We start off on our hunt for breakfast, ready to try all that Indian food. Much like Mumbai, Chennai is already bustling by the time it's 7:30. People are awake and the city is already rampant with people: adults going to work, children going to school. The honking is nonstop here, with everyone and their mother who has a horn utilizing it. It's as if the horn serves the dual purpose of notifying you of the driver's presence, and telling the other driver to "get the fuck out of my way." It's hectic at first, especially the two of us usually walking abreast. There's always someone honking at us to get out of the way, or to just tell us that they're there. We learn to distinguish the horns quite well, determining whether it's from a scooter or from one of the large, really old school buses that are just a metal cart, open windows, and wheels. If it's a bus, they'll usually stay clear or give you enough walking room. If it's a motorcycle or a scooter, watch out, since they have no problem occasionally tapping the side of you and snaking through the cracks within the cars and buses. We were walking once, and ignoring the horns (trying to be local, but failed), one of the guys just pushed my right elbow (they drive on the left side of the road) just slightly -- not in any rude way, but I was clearly in the way -- to force me to move. I was honored, to be so in someones way that it required physical contact, but, in busy places like Chennai, the concept of physical space doesn't really exist. I just laughed it off. You'd rarely see that anywhere else.
We find a place, a place called a "Guest Hotel" that was serving some local breakfast, popped down, and had some idli. Idli's a sort of lentil-mashed pancake that is savory and slightly sour. It tastes like a solid block of non-sweetened yogurt. That, plus a bit of sambar sauce and various chutneys put us right at home.
But, after eating just two small pieces of idli each, we were craving more, and so we walked to another shop. It was a small unassuming hole in the wall. When the guys saw us walk in they were a bit confused but, Tamil men, in their distinct lack of expression, just looked at us unassumingly and without any reaction. We saw one man making poori outside, and so we said, "two poori each." He nodded, we smiled, he didn't smile back, and got straight to work. We could feel the heat of the stove / pan radiating as we walked in. The man served the fresh-fried poori to us, and his friend walked over with a metallic, tin basic, and scooped some supplement food to pair with the poori.
Dining is an art form in itself in Chennai. I'll talk about two things: communal dining, and coffee / tea culture.
Communal dining takes two forms. First, it's through drinking water. As India's infrastructure cannot provide safe, potable tapwater, often shopw owners or roadside vendors will buy water by the large plastic gallon. The water will usually be transferred into a container with a larger spout - such that one can reach inside - with one metallic cup either placed within it or on top of it (if it's the dispensing type). So, you have two types: a 'well' type or a 'dispensing type (with a flow nozzle).' That's not the important part. The important part is that it serves as a functional water fountain. Our hostel had one metallic cup atop a water dispenser, and before we went to bed the night before we had no idea where the cups were, and only saw the metallic cup, so we just rinsed it and drank from the cup, unsure as to its cleanliness. Today, we were to discover that this method is wrong. Think about what you do when you go to a waterfountain: do your lips touch the nozzle? No. Effectively then, what you're doing at a fountain is a waterfall, except gravity is not in your favor. In Chennai, these water dispensers are a drinking fountain in that you use the metallic cup to hold the water, you lift it to your mouth, and then waterfall the liquid in. Lips never touch the cup. In that way, this water becomes like drinking from a watering hole in a bit. Regardless of whether you are buying the vendor's food or not, people will stop by, scoop out some water, hydrate, then leave. It's almost as commonplace as sinks in Indian / Malay stalls in Singapore since everyone eats with hands.
The other aspect of communal dining is metallic tins of sauces. In some restaurants, various sauces will already be laid out on a table for you to mix with whatever you order. If you've eaten at Indian restaurants (Southern Indian, to be a little more specific), it's usually a carrier of three metallic cans, each with a different sauce in it, and each with a ladle. Sometimes to portion control people will come around and provide it, but all you have to do is ask, and they provide it at no extra charge. The same with rice. They'll scoop rice for you until you're so stuffed with carbs you'll never want to eat or see rice again. No extra charge. You want more sauce with the rice? No extra charge. There is no perceived shortage of food for those who can pay for it, and the cost of dining is still very cheap. Take a look at the budgeting spreadsheet (link above) to see how much we could eat for. This is in stark contrast to the Chinese, where every extra bowl of rice will cost you X cents. Two big countries, two totally different ways of dining.
Those are two ways of Dining Art in Chennai. Communal eating, and sharing. The other now is their coffee and tea culture.
I'm not sure about Northern India, but Chennai is different. We didn't see that much Masala Chai on the streets, maybe because it's more distinctly North Indian. If the Tamil are proud of anything, it's both their culture and their cuisine. They are starkly different from the Northerners, and quite staunchly proud of it. I like that. So, what's the deal with the coffee and tea then?
First of all, you can drink a very small cup (say, a little larger than a Dixie cup) for 5-10 Rupees, that's 10-20 Singapore cents. Second, all of it is filtered coffee and tea. They hate the instant stuff, and so it's brewed from beans and leaves, respectively. You'll notice some street vendors that have carts set up for serving coffee and tea that have a certain look: the pots with boiling water, always a pot of boiling milk with steam forming on top, and the man making the tea, straining it from the cloth and pouring it back and forth between two cups, frothing the beverage,"pulling" the tea, and mixing in the sugar. The preparation is all part of the process. For the Singaporeans out there, it's like Teh Tarik, but a little bit more involved. It's not particularly strong, since all bitterness is taken out by the two spoonful of sugars stuffed into the small cup. You can ask for it without sugar if you want, since it's so tempting to drink often but the occasional cup with sugar is delicious too. All throughout our trip, maybe twice a day, we would stop by for a coffee or tea, depending on the time of day.
But, as dining culture would have it in Chennai, it's not just about the coffee and the tea. There are also small snacks located in small cookie jars at the front desk. These range from a cake-like snacks, to cookies. The best part though, is that the baked goods are not, in fact, sweet at all. If anything, they're bland on their own. However, the key is in the pairing of the coffee and tea with the biscuits and cake. Together, it makes a cheap, affordable snack. And, in Tamil fashion, they don't care if you just take it yourself, nor do they fear if they forget what you got / undercharge you. They expect you to be honest in telling them what you ordered. Never once at these coffee stands were we hassled with paying, and the only time we paid upfront was when the concept of paying-after-consumption slipped our minds.
Lastly, these coffee stalls are gathering points for men at break. I have rarely seen women standing outside of these shops and having a chat with their friends. Sometimes, there will be a crowd of men just standing around and chatting, happily eating their biscuits, sipping their beverage. Usually when you see a gathering, you can guess that it may be a coffee stand. Some vendors also tag along on the side and sell more filling Indian food like bajji or vodi, and some men will be eating that alongside their drink. It becomes an exclusive, communal space for men and, for us, being token male tourists. There have been countless times where people have come up to us and asked us where we were from, and have made pleasant conversation in their best English to find out more about us, and what we're doing in Chennai. Despite never really smiling or showing too much emotion, we've found the Tamil folk to be incredibly friendly and eagerly bold to come up to us to start a conversation. More experiences like that to be detailed.
So, that's dining in Chennai. I'm going to post a bunch of food pictures up throughout this just so you get an idea of the richness of culinary culture. But first, the Tea Stand:
The plan today is to take the local train to Chennai Fort Station, and from there walk around to neighboring sites. The other experience we had taking a train in India was in Mumbai. There, the platform is packed full of people, and when the trains stop for boarding and disembarcation, there is no fluidity nor grace in the process, it's an all-out, free-for-all, push-your-way onto the train experience. I remember still, going with our friends Neha and Rahil, being almost magically lifted up onto the train just by the sea of people that were trying to get on. Your body has a sense of where the step-up to the platform is, but the rest of it was almost like some magical force of power lifting you up onto the cart. We thought the Chennai station would be similar, seeing as many Indian cities are very dense. However, when we got there, I was surprised to see very few people on the platform. We went to buy tickets to travel three stations and the fare came out to 10 Rupees. In fact, many of the trains are informal enough that you technically don't really have to pay. However, if you get caught (and there are signs alluding to this), then there's a hefty fine. It seems pretty common in Asia to see this kind of warning: DON'T DO X. OTHERWISE PAY Y. I have no idea if everyone else has paid their fare, but it makes a good souvenir. The station is quiet, with a few people sitting and a few vendors set up on the platform so you can get your tea fix. Seeing as we already had some to drink, we just wait for the train then hop on.
We've taken inner city trains one other time, and that was on the Yangon railway across the circle line, as the city began to open up and tourism became more popular. That train ride was one of my favorites, just being able to travel through the countryside, and see the life that has sprung up around (and sometimes even on) the tracks.
Chennai is a very hot city. It's not so humid like it is in Singapore, but it's hot. HOT. The termperature is about 29 / 30 centigrade, and it's all direct sunlight. Usually in Singapore - or, Southeast Asia - there is some cloud cover and the temperature will be good, but there'll be some considerable coverage from the sun. In Chennai, today it's a deep blue sky. The kind I haven't seen since my days in California, and the odd day in Singapore. It's absolutely beaming. Consequently, though, when we step into the shade, we notice it to be considerably cooler. On that train then, I really can't tell you how much I enjoyed the ride, even if it was only for three stops. It's an imperialist experience, the way I describe it, but there's a romanticism to train rides within the city, especially in Chennai. The passengers sitting on the carts, minding their business; the locals hanging off the sides of the train looking out into daily Chennai life, and the breeze - the breeze! - that comes into the cart because they are all open air. There are no automatic doors, just open space. I look at the buildings as they flash by on the train as the ticking and tacking across the railroad tracks fade into the background. People here are doing everything. Some are peeing in the bushes, some are cooking lunch, some are playing with their friends, and some have just stopped to have a conversation. There's life in this city, and it's barely 09:00. The sun rays peek into the train but for a moment I almost don't notice its heat because I'm enamored by the dynamism of this Indian City.
People will jump off the train before it's stopped if they know their exit is closer to one end over the other. Some other passengers will not board from the platform, but instead climb up from the other side, scaling the train cart, raised a meter-and-a-half from the ground. I'm pretty sure they haven't paid for the fare, but, no one looks at them in shame. At another station, the train pulls into a platform in which you can disembark on both sides, depending on which exit you want to take. While the train stops, not only do passengers disembark on both sides, but people also use the train as a convenient crossing bridge from one platform to the next. The train then becomes not only a shuttle for transportation in the 'vertical' direction but also a vessel for 'horizontal' transportation for people to shuffle across conveniently. It's a pragmatic use of space. We take the train for another stop and end at Chennai Fort, nearby Fort St. George.
Fort St. George was the first fortress of the English in Chennai (previously called Madras). I thought it would just be a singular, castle looking thing, but it turned out to be a lot more than that. Upon going from the station towards the fort, we see a sign that says "ST. GEORGE FORT -->", pass by some barriers unassumingly, and keep walking. No more than 10 seconds in, two security personnel kindly ask us where we're going. We say St. George's Fort. And they say, "For what?" and we say, "For tourism.." As the conversation goes on, we suspect we're in the wrong place. "Oh, you have to loop all the way around then, sorry." "Oh, Ok." we reply, even though we just saw a sign that said St. Georges' Fort. So we begin the long loop around.
What we thought would take a few minutes ends up probably taking another 40 minutes or so to actually reach the fort. We ended up circumventing the entire bleedin' fort. All throughout the walk, we noticed uniformed officers standing around in their characteristic khaki-brown outfits (probably about 60% of them were women, actually, just an interesting side note). We did not make much of until we got to the front of St. George's Fort, and then we realized why we had to circumnavigate. The damn thing was still in operation! Not only that, but most of the governmental operations that were established here were still being used in the original buildings. The part that we could enter from was just a small, secluded portion of the actual St. George's Fort, containing both the famous museum and St. Mary's Church (of course the English would bring God with them). But, the reason why we were directed around was because the entrance we walked into was actually the entrance for employees, or people that had to go through dealings with the government. Now, that's really what I call a slice of living history.
To get into the premises, we had to go through a special line on the side. The lady made us do some registration, putting our name down, contact info, where we were staying, etc. I guess it only makes sense since we were entering into government facilities. I just gave the phone # of the hotel, and then we were in. We had to do the same thing before going into the church as well. I took a few pictures of the church and museum that we went to see, but didn't dare try taking pictures around the grounds as I didn't want to put a target on myself. So, the following below are just pictures of the museum (Detailing the founding of the Fort as well as some historical aspects to the area) and the church (it's pretty similar to most white people churches. Except, there are people with saris praying in this one).
On that note of people with saris praying, I want to distinguish a bit between race and religion. Traveling around, you get a good sense that large countries are reallllllllllly diverse both in terms of looks, culture, religion, and ethnicity. I think looks are the most distinguishing feature, and I'll touch on this a little bit later with our servers at an Indian restaurant.
Regarding religion, we often think of Indians to be Hindus. They've almost become synonymous, in a way, that is to say, Hindus all look brown / Hindus are all Indian. If one grows up in the U.S., he/she is likely conception of a Muslim is also someone who's brown, and maybe wears a headdress, and is typically from the Middle East. If one grows up in Singapore, his/her likely conception of a Muslim is also a brown person, but they're probably ethnic Malay or Indonesian. But, furthermore, we tend to extract culture onto practice of religion as well. There was something weird about seeing Indians praying in a Protestant (?) church, especially the women. I saw an Indian woman wrapped in a sari, perched over her head, knees on the ground in the center aisle, praying to the Cross. Seeing her pray in a sari was strange, since in my upbringing I've managed to conflate wearing saris with Hinduism, since I see that some Indians are Hindus, and happen to wear saris. I've also grown up mostly around Asians and white folks praying in church. So, although it's weird for me to see, it's not that their faith isn't legitimate, but it's the 'whoa' moment when I'm exposed to the cross-cutting of faith across borders and through cultures. Do they worship Jesus in the same way we would in the Western churches, or does it follow a more strict form of old religion (like some churches in the Philippines?). Someone's got to have studied religious exportation and ideology in developing countries...
I will say though, however, what was really cool were the bibles that we saw written in both Tamil and Singhalese!
We take a few pictures around the fort and then decide to head out. We had some 500 Rupee bills from our last time in India that were no longer legal tender due to the recall of it to prevent counterfeiting. Asking the security guards outside (all women) if there was an Indian Reserve nearby, they pointed us in the direction. We walked there, but what they failed to tell us was that only Indian nationals could utilize the reserve, and plus, the line outside was getting ridiculously long. So, that's the story of how about 2,500 Rupees of our money vanished into thin air... anyway - onto our next stop, the "Big Mosque" - Mosque Wallajah.
Being stubborn in paying for a rickshaw, we decide to walk. The sun is now in full force, and it beats down on our necks and faces relentlessly. We walked down along the coast of Chennai, along the beaches, and then turned into one of the roads. Since the mosque wasn't showing up on the Google Maps, we asked for directions along the way. But, given the heat, we also amde pit stops for deliciously things like more tea, and some fresh pressed lime juiced mixed with sugar, all made fresh on the roadside.
While walking, we pass by the World War I/II shared monument staked nearby a roundabout, and also pass by random stuff that I happened to take pictures of. We cross a bridge, and although we feel the light seabreeze coming in from the Bay of Bengal, further out from us, we also smell the stench of the pool of stagnant water closer to us, filled mostly with trash. It's a unique smell. Not one of rotting garbage, but rather it's a dull stench that smells like portable latrines mixed with urinal cake. I can't describe it, but it's a distinguishing 'stagnant developing country pool of water' smell. It probably hasn't rained here in a while to wash it out.
The Wallajah Mosque eludes us. We walk to nearby where the new metro station, and it turns out that it hasn't been built yet, and so that's not a good point of reference since it's just a huge construction site. There is an absolutely huge building nested within the construction site, and it's the "Government Super Specialty Hospital" that seems to be no longer in use. The art and time that went into that building is amazing, though. It's built in a futuristic, marble style construction (if you've seen the movie Gattaca you'll know what I'm talking about) and stretches for a very, very long portion of the land. Although it's a hospital, it appears as if it could pretty much be an airplane hangar or a NASA building. Here:
After walking alongside the construction site for a while, we see that we're moving further away from the central bit where they said the Wallajah Mosque was supposed to be, and so we backtrack. We do a quick search for 'mosques' in the area and come across another one. 30 minutes later, we end up at it, but it certainly doesn't look like the one we're looking for. The guy at the gate looks at us strangely and then proceeds to tell us that we can take a look if we want, but that there's not really much to see. He leads us in, and then another man says there's nothing going on at this mosque. When asking him where Wallajah was, then he said "Oh, it's closeby, just that way." He points in some general direction. In areas where streets are more gridded, that's helpful, but in Chennai, it's telling someone to go "west" and they'll get there. We smile, take his advice, and then head in that general direction, since it's still the only lead we had. You gotta love Chennai Chillness. "Just walk that way, and you'll come across it."
We continue walking. Since there is streetfood everywhere, we stop and grab a few bites. They serve us on a small plate, and we join a small throng of other men who had the same idea as us. When we finish, they give recite us the bill, and we're off. We also make a cow friend
After about one hour in the heat, our skin beginning to feel like it's melting off, I finally find Wallajah Mosque on Google Maps. See, on the travel guides some called it Wallajah Mosque, and some called it Big Mosque. So, I tried the search for the two, nothing came up. I then Wallajah Big Mosque to no luck. How did I eventually get the pin dropped? It was called "Walajah Big Mosque" with one L, not two. Sigh, Google Maps. Or, poor anglicization, something like that.
Wallajah Mosque, also called Triplicane Mosque given that it's located in the Triplicane area, is tucked within the buildings and the bustle of the city. It was built around the 1800s, and is built entirely of granite, and so the intricacies in architecture are carved into the stone and not painted on. The two minarets have an old, 'desert' quality and the two, including the top frame, is made out of a white stone, whereas the base is made more of dark colored rock. We were only allowed in the outside premise and not into the space of worship. There were signs written in Tamil and Arabic. To the left, while facing the mosque, there was a water tank, which I have not seen before at mosques (not sure as to its purpose). I'm surprised at how quiet the mosque is given its location next to many busy streets, but religious places all have that feeling. So, we prepare to leave.
As we do, two men come up to us and ask where we're from. Well, not ask where we're from, but they ask Thorin where he is from. After that, they smile and ask to take a picture with him. I get out of the frame, and they get a shot. However, before we leave, he asks me why I tried to get out of the picture, and for me to join them. He looks to Thorin and asks him where I'm from (assuming that maybe my English is not that good) and I say Taiwan. They say, "Oh, Taiwan!" And then ask to take a picture of me as well. He greets us in some Arabic terms and we smile and say, "Sorry, we do not speak the Arabic language." He says "Ah, my friend, you do not speak but we welcome you anyway." and he's off with his friend into the mosque. I think it's weird for people in Chennai to see a pairing like us walk through the place, and so we get this quite often in Chennai. Often, it's also because we're speaking English to each other. In Southeast Asia, most people will think I'm the tour guide since I can look like the people, but in Chennai, well, I don't look South Indian. There's actually a larger collection of "Indian" looks, of which I will expand on later (this alludes to the earlier point of 'how people look' vs. 'what country they live in.')
After all the walking, we get hungry, and stop for some Rice curd, lemon rice, and parotta (which is called prata in Singapore)
We backtrack across the way we came so we can check out the beaches in Chennai. When we get there, there are many streetside vendors set up on the sand close to the road, and we stop by to pick up a water. The walk out to the beach is a strenuous, 10 minute walk to the waterfront, which is actually quite bearable were it not for the sun and absence of shade. Most Tamilians will wear sandals as well, which suits the sand, but we were there in our tennis shoes, walking along the sand. All along the way, there were some boarded up vendor shops and small bits of trash littered on the floor. Any spot of shade provided by the occasional tree was occupied by a small family, and some people were chilling not even near the water, but rather just on the sand. By the time we make it to the beach, we're already in a light layer of sweat and already feeling like we were sunburnt.
An Indian beach is an experience. First, it's a lot less naked than Western beaches. Most people will be in long shirts and pants (as will most people on the street), and the guys who wear swimsuits in will usually wear the Western boardshorts style. Some guys will just wear their jeans and go into the water, unconcerned about the soaking. Women usually wear fully covered outfits, saris and the like, and will go in with pants. No bikinis. What we did see were a few guys that were pretty fit wearing boxer-brief style swimtrunks, playing in the water. However, they looked almost Nepalese or Burmese, with a nice, rich brownish/red skin but more East Asiatic features of the face. We were both curious as to where they were from, but too shy to ask.
Another thing is all the food that is available on the beach. I don't know what it's like in other places with strong beach culture (I'm looking at you, Aussies), but the beaches I've been to usually try to keep the food way further inland, and the actual sand-and-water portion of the beach less occupied. In Chennai, this wasn't the case. There were food stalls lined up until about 20 meters from the ocean, their density thinning out as you headed back towards the main road from the street. Street vendors were also selling trinkets and tattoos all throughout. Occasionally, people would ride by on horses trying to solicit rides from people. The overall image was like a carnival that had just opened up at the beachside. It was a place to gather and cool down, and the rowdiness from the streets and the smell of the food managed to make its way shoreside as well.
There are fisher boats containing two men out in the ocean, but are powered by the paddle of only one man. One rows in and the other drags the boat ashore, and a crowd begins to gather. Then, more people, to the point where I can't help but go look at what everyone's looking at. I thought it'd be a massive fish or something, but it's only a net full of smaller, silver looking fish that would probably be sold off later. However, after I see it and confirm there's 'nothing to see', the local guys stay lingering and watch this man unpack the fish from the net. The crowd continues to gather. More instances of crowd-gathering in developing countries, the other being in China when a fight broke out at a market. When I leave, the ethnic-looking East Asian, who has also joined in on the crowd, briefly does a double take to me, as if he hadn't seen me around the beach before. He lingers a bit in his stare, and then goes back to looking at the fisherman unpack his catch of the day.
We choose to head back to the hostel, tired from the day. On the way back we pass by some other open areas that we think are beach, but are in fact memorials. Many Indians are gathered around and paying their respects. We don't know who it is, but there are signs written in Tamil and English of to the person. We decide to sit down in the shade at one point, to which a man begins a conversation with us. He asks us where we're from, and we answer, and he's delighted that we're in Chennai. He asks us how we like it (we love it) and what we have done so far (we recounted it to him). He then says he's not from Chennai but another city nearby in Tamil Nadu, and that he has come in for the day for work only. He gives us his business card for work (mostly in Tamil, but with bits of English, something about enterprise business) and explains to us in his broken English what he does. This openness to come talk to us is what I appreciate most about this city. Friendly people everywhere, all with their interesting stories. When we head back the way we came, walking back to the train station, there are also many kids along the way that are getting off from school. They try to pose for pictures since I have a camera strung around my neck. When I pretend to take a picture of one of them, he asks me for some money, and I said I never took the picture. Then I just keep walking.
When we get off the train at Chetpet, we stop by for a lime juice. The man tending the stall takes our order then again proceeds to make conversation with us. He says he's been at the stall for a very long time, making lime juice as his specialty for a while. The usual proceedings occur, asking us where we're from, how we're doing, where we've been, and we entertain them all.
That night we decide to do a bit of a food hop. We first go to a Muslim Indian stall and have the famous Chicken 65, Chettinad Chicken, as well as Kothu Parotta (chopped roti prata) dishes. Delicious. Then, we jump over to the next stall to grab some bajji, some kind of a fritter. It's essentially fried dough that works really well with mixing into the Indian sauces. Yum. At the same stall, we get some Chennai pulled tea and try their square cakes that have a distinct flavor to them. Although we could never quite pinpoint what it was, it tasted similarly to a lemony sponge
Our last stop is a lady that works at the end of the street we stay on. Many men are crowded around her stall, and she has samosas, onion vodi, and some other fried stuff (we think it's chili bajji?) there. She also has a steaming pot of charna there, in which she smashes the samosa into it and sprinkles it with some onion. It looks all like heaven. We decide to pass on the charna for now and just go for the other dried snacks, and would return the next day for the charna.
Needless to say, we slept well after such a hearty meal.
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The following part comes *after* we went to Mahabalipuram the following day. We arrived at about 17:00 back in Chennai.
Unsure as to which bus was going to head back to our area, we decided to do some walking. However, after doing the walking thing for about 15 minutes, we decided a bus wouldn't be too bad of an idea either. At the bus stop, a group of 5 Indian students, approached me and asked me where I was from. They were genuinely interested in why I was hanging out with a white man, and then asked about what I do, and then asked if I could take a picture of them with my phone. And here I was, thinking they wanted one of me! So I took one of them, then added the main guy's WhatsApp, and sent it off to him. Another one then wanted a selfie so I took one on my phone and sent it to his friend as well. These guys kept chatting to us and asking us where we were going, and wanted to keep talking to us, but we said we had to be on our way and so, in the English way, pretended to not need the bus and then proceed to keep walking. We then waited at the next bus to go back. After day of traveling to Mahabalipuram and back (go read the other post), we were happy to just rest for a bit in the hostel. Then, dinner time.
First, we went to get a load of that Charna that the lady was selling the night before. No way were we going to go and not try it. The lady remembered us, and then served us the charna with mashed samosas in it, sprinkled with onion shreds. Probably some of the best food I've ever had the pleasure of having. Also, it would make great drunk food. That's my philosophy on charna. Next, we find a Chicken Biryani place nearby because apparently Chennai has some pretty good biryani. We have no clue, and so we order a plate of it. The guy says we can eat 1 kilo's to share, so we order it. Oops, big mistake. There was so much rice, and it was full-blown carboloading. But, we didn't want to be ungracious so we tried our best to go through all the rice. We made it about 3/4s of the way through.
Super full, we decide to walk to Anna Nagar Tower, which is part of Anna Nagar Tower Park (original names..). The only reason we knew about this structure was due to the fact that our hostel owner recommended it as a place to go if we wanted a scenic stroll at night. Taking his advice, we walk about 40 minutes or so to get there through the city traffic, only to discover that, in fact, the park was closed. So confused, we realized that the stroll itself was supposed to be the scenic stroll, not the park itself. The park had closed and was roped off and so we just made our way back. However, venturing out was in fact a blessing at first, even if it seemed like wasted time initially, because we ended up at a street festival.
There are noises all over Chennai. Usually it's horns and the sound of traffic, but when you approach temples or some neighborhoods, there is music playing. Not music from speakers, but live music. While we were about 2 minutes away from the hostel, we heard some noises going on in the parallel street to us, and we headed towards it. The closer wet get, the more kids there are playing in the alleyways. With my camera still strung around my neck, I get a few weird looks, but nothing out of the ordinary. After we arrive on the main street containing the procession, an Indian woman with a sari says, "hey!! come, come." She grabs me by the right hand, and lures me into the center of the street, with crowds on both ends. I found that moment hilarious, as if I were walking into some paradise and some local was greeting me and 'welcoming me to their country,' like some landing scene at a Hawaiian resort. "Come, aloha, and welcome to fabulous Hawai'i." And then, I realized I was in the urban sprawl of Chennai, the sun now set, and the cooling air permitting all the Indians to relax outside at night. The smile she had and the direct eye contact, and the genuine happiness she was expressing while I was pulled through the crowd - I will remember that.
The funny thing is, you see one traveler, you think they're all together. The woman doesn't in fact lead me into the main procession (thank god, I'd be so embarrassed and awkward), but in fact leads me to some white girl with a bindi, there with her elephant pants, smiling hesitantly and taking pictures of the shrine erected to Krishna (apparently, someone said it was Krishna night). She almost feels offended that she no longer is the only tourist in Chennai at this moment, and she gives the most suspicious stare to Thorin and me, as if defending her territory. I go up to her ear and say, "I think she mistook us as traveling together." to make friendly conversation. She says nothing. Sorry to step on your territory, girl.
What happens after is beter. An old man who is about 60 comes up to me and starts talking to me in Tamil. I try my best to assert that I do not in fact speak Tamil, other than the occasional "nandri" (thank you). He then says, "Oh, then what language in India do you speak?" presumably thinking that I must be Indian. After having been in the city for a day or two and getting a look as to the diversity of people around, I understand his assumption, but again say that I don't speak any Indian-country language. So, he proceeds to talk to me in a broken English. The conversation is very broken but we get by on figuring out where I'm from, what the festival is, and his hearty welcome to the festival. He asks me if I want to try some of the sweet snack that people are taking and getting lit at the shrine, giving an offering. I'm unsure as to if I want to, not because it doesn't look delicious, but because I don't know if I'm eating your God's snack.. so I just comply, seeing as it was passed to me by a local. I use my fingers, scoop the food towards me, and eat it. It's an oily dessert, yellow in color, but sweet and almost like a mashed bread consistency. I look over at the white girl, who has now made her way into the crowd further and has started photographing the shrine. Meanwhile, Thorin and I eat our dessert.
I bid farewell to the friendly old man, and he's disappointed that we're not staying. We really wanted to, but it had just been such an exhausting day that we had to get back for some rest. When we prepare to leave, a woman grabs me and says come come come, and gestures at my camera, still strung around my neck. She gestures to take a picture, and I ask whether of them or us. They said of them, and so I take a picture of four Indian women in this festival. But then, it goes beyond that. They then want a picture with Thorin and me, and so I take my camera off, and the woman gives it to a guy and asks him to take pictures of us together. The guy is not smiling, in true Tamilian fashion, but is eager to take our picture. He takes one for us, and then I check to see if it comes out. The ladies then start making conversation with us, touching us and joking with us, asking if we are having fun. The man, who still has my camera, takes it about 5 meters away, and begins photographing random things in the street: his family, the shrine, etc. I tell Thorin I'm so excited since I'm going to have some street photography from a local on that camera, but I'm also a bit weary since I'd just passed off my camera to a total stranger. The woman can see my eyes dart and track him, and she says, "it's ok, don't worry, my husband."
So, the women are just smiling at us. They then ask me to eat the dessert I'm still holding in my hand. I smile and eat it, eager to show them that this is really tasty, and they smile. The woman offers her sari to me, for me to hold it and clean my hands, messy from the oil of the dessert, while she beckons for her husband to come over and take another picture. I politely say I cannot in good conscience wipe my dirty hands on her sari, but she insists and makes me grab her sari to clean her hands. "Don't worry, can, can!"
The last part gets a bit weird. This woman links her arm around mine and smiles, as if we were posing for a couples photo. Her friends make some passing comment in Tamil about the process, and they giggle to each other. The guy snaps another picture. I feel weird that the photographer is the husband of this girl who is openly linking hands with me and am unsure how to proceed, but I just smile and act harmless. After about 10 minutes of talking and taking pictures, I decide with Thorin that perhaps we should go back, and we finally break from the crowd. The man returns the camera to me without even the slightest hint of wanting to take it - a reminder to assess and not always be suspicious of people while traveling, and the women all bid farewell to Thorin and me. It was a hell of an experience, and I'm glad we decided to take the walk back from Anna Nagar Tower that night.
When we left, unfortunately, the camera was turned off so the guy didn't actually capture any of the pictures. We only have a few from when I turned it on briefly for the guy for our first picture. So, here it is:
Exhausted from the day, we relax on bed and shut our eyes. Tomorrow is our last day in Chennai, and we'd be going directly to the airport after a day of traveling.
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The city bustles again, early. I wouldn't lie if I said that the exhaustion of crossing another busy street weighs on me, but then I realize that for me this is temporary, and for the people here this is life, and existence -- and I am the one with the privilege here. Chennai has been liberating and exhausting, so today we took it easy. In fact, we took it so easy, we thought we'd try a rickshaw. This wasn't, of course, after a train ride.
We hop on at Chetpet again. This time, we ride to Park station so we can get off and go see Chennai Main Station, an architectural remnant of the British rule. When we get off, we ask ourselves the same thing we always do: "Where do we go now?", but slowly we follow the throngs of people and get a small aerial view of the station.
Walking down, we get a better view of the station from its front side. There's something about colonial architecture that strangely fits in to the land here. I'm not sure if that's a product of us used to seeing and glorifying British colonial architecture, or if it just works. The deep, reddish paint on the flat facing wall, with arched windows lined throughout its perimeter. A white coat of paint outlines the edges and contours the building facade, and there is a clock tower staked in the middle. The palm trees coupled with the blue sky in the back give it a slightly Hollywood feel, and, surely enough if we transplanted this over there it would also fit in. But, I take a look around. The buses are pulling into the station and honking incessantly, and there are streets bustling with people, some sitting on the curbside, some waiting to get on the next bus. On the station, three signs displaying "Chennai Station", written in Tamil, Hindi, and English. I think it fits in so well because the local environment has, in a way, molded the atmosphere here, never letting us forget that we're in Chennai.
From here, instead of trekking the 4km in heat (our skin was seriously about to burn off at this point), we decide to take the famous rickshaws that everyone was talking about! The usual bargaining goes on, and we were off to the Chennai Lighthouse, near the beach.
The rickshaw gives you a pseudo shelter from the noise and bustle of the city. It's nice not to have to worry about crossing a street, or looking out for traffic. It's not the same feeling as a train, but there is a breeze that rolls in and breaks up the smell of gasoline, and that moment I take a deep inhale. We arrive at the lighthouse, pay our fare (2 Singapore Dollars! or, 1.4 USD) and head to the lighthouse. The fare system here is strange, first, it's tiered by whether you're Indian or Overseas. Fair enough. But then, they charge you an additional 25 Rupees for bringing in a camera, which, of course you would do since you're here visiting. I pay the money, collect the ticket, and go in.
I believe it's still a functioning lighthouse, but most of the attraction is being able to go up to the top and get an aerial view of Chennai. It's just a small perimeter but climbing up is worth it, you really get to see the beauty of Chennai architecture in all its glory. You know when a plane lands, and how every city looks unique when you look out the window? Chennai also has its flavor.
What I appreciate most about Indians (I think I can generalize here, from what I've seen), is that they don't shy away from colors. In fact, you notice it in many parts of their architecture, such as their temples, as well as their dress. Saris come in so many different varieties and colors, and when you see a group of women together, it works. This is opposite to the west, say, where we'd shy away from louder colors and probably prefer to wear more neutral tones, or, have one article of clothing that stands out. Chennai architecture is similar to its dress. A lot of the Mughal stuff was done in stone, and so most of these are on the scale between white and brown (such as the "Big Mosque" we saw), and the intricacies are actually in the details of the carvings. However, modern Chennai architecture can be described as a stack of colored boxes. There aren't that many high rises in the horizon, so it gives it a 'ridged' appearance when you look out. On the other side, there is the main road that divides the beach up with buildings. Here's what I mean:
While looking out, you really get a feel for the sprawliness of the city.
Next stop is St. Thomas' Cathedral. We spot it from the lighthouse then are on our way. So, actually, this is one of three churches which is erected atop the tomb of an apostle of Jesus Christ. The other one is in the Vatican City and the other, Spain. Thomas was the doubting one, who doubted Jesus' resurrection. Apparently, he reached these parts of the world and died here, and so a church was built here. You can go visit his tomb which is in the basement of the church. When you walk in, the interior turns marble and there is a nun there supervising the area. A small, narrow pathway leads into an area with a few pews and the location of the tomb, as if in some underground cult area. Upon entering the tomb area with pews, we saw a group of kids who were there on a field trip. They were listening to an old Indian man preach to them, talking about the love of Jesus Christ, etc. It was a bit surreal to be there, watching the indoctrination of children through religion. They reminded me of my younger self, stuck in church, wanting to leave, but listening to someone talk to us about a concept that is way beyond us. We wanted to wait to see the tomb, but couldn't be asked to wait through the old man's speech, and so we left.
Our next stop was Arulmigu Kapaleeswarar temple, a Dravidian style temple dedicated to Shiva built around the 7th century. Again, some old ass architecture. I take a picture of the temple before going in. They have us remove our shoes and put them somewhere (which will cost us extra, we know this time in advance), and then we pay for our camera fee going in. There are people worshipping everywhere, and walking around barefoot. There is a stable for cows in there, as well as a large water tank in there for festivals (of which only locals are allowed to go see). It's, compared to the other temples we've seen, a little more grandiose and large, with Indian people scattered around doing various activities. Some people are hanging things onto trees (sorry, don't know the significance of this), one kid is riding the elephant statue, and others are eating underneath the overhang area, protected from the heat. We make our way around the perimeter and then head out, hungry and in search of lunch.
Hmm, what's for lunch? We walk around in search of food and then head into a restaurant to have a "Chennai Meal", which is a set meal with some chappati and then about 10 small containers of dishes surrounding it, all placed nicely in a metallic plate. When we walk in, two guys that look exactly like me (as in, a darker looking East Asian person) stare at me, and I stare at them, as if we're trying to understand each other. There's a moment of perplexion, where we're both confused, but we acknowledge each other. I sit down with Thorin, and the guys come by and clean the table, while the other Indian man comes and takes our order. "Two Chennai Meals." He first brings us a soup that can only be described as a fresh, nice version of Spaghetti-Os soup. Once we finish that, then we get the Chennai Meal Proper.
I wish I had taken a picture of those guys. They looked almost Nepalese or Bhutanese, or what I imagine a Nepalese or Bhutanese person looks like. But, instead of wondering where they were from, I devised a plan. I went to wash my hands after eating, and there, I bumped into one of the guys. I asked him where he was from, and he said, "I am from Mizoram!"
India is a huge country. Most people are able to draw distinctions between the North and the South, but we forget about other regions of the country. If you imagine the shape of India, you may conjure up a kite-shaped country, and be roughly able to locate where the Taj Mahal is, Delhi, Goa, etc. However, if you look up India, in fact it's not just a kite shape, it's a kite shape with a bulge on the obtuse angle of the right side. This cluster of Indian states - deemed the "Seven Sisters" - is actually a result of recent land disputes (and, ongoing as well). I quickly Googled "Mizoram" and it turns out is sandwiched between the Bangladesh and Myanmar border. So, by definition of nationality, it makes him Indian.
I then did more research into the Mizo people, who are an ethnic group native to north-eastern India, western Burma, and western Bangladesh (the modern countries, at least). I won't detail anything here, but it was crazy to see people that looked like me that defined themselves as Indian. In context of the brief talk I had earlier about culture and religion, I can extend it now also to nationality. Although everyone in that restaurant serving us was Indian by nationality, I would have never guessed that the Mizos would have also considered themselves Indian. It brings into question what I understand as someone that 'looks Indian' as represented in Singapore (southern Indian), what I grew up with (northern Indians), and what I'm seeing in Chennai (north-eastern Indians). It's absolutely breathtaking to see the diversity of people in the world. You get similar parallel to the ethnic groups in China that are still Chinese (what they mean is nationally Chinese), but also prefer to identify with their ethnic group (Korean, Kazakh, etc.) The only exception is the Uyghurs, of course.
After the meal, we head home to rest, a bit pooped out from the entire trip. We went back and relaxed for a few hours, got a Chennai tea somewhere, and then headed back out, this time to St. Thomas Mount, which was a small hillock with a good vantage point of the city. It was also very close to the airport, and so it would be our last stop before heading into the international terminal. We took our last ride at Chetpet Station, this time going the opposite way from the beach, and further into the center. I will miss this train ride. I will miss that Indian man sitting casually reading a newspaper, and the man who has climbed up illegally to sit on the train edge from the other side of the platform. I will miss this Chennai breeze as the train clicks along the track. We arrive, again disoriented where to go next. We are at St. Thomas Mount station, but we want to get to the actual St. Thomas Mount. This point is difficult to explain in English, and nearly impossible to convey clearly to the locals - since they kept saying we were at St. Thomas Mount - so we fail. We then see that there is a metro line nearby the actual Mount, so, for the first time in Chennai, we take the metro. To clarify, the metro here is actually not underground as we know metros, but instead it's overground, but still under the name of "Chennai Metro Rail System", which could be confused with the trains that run throughout the country. You can think of it as similar to the Overground in London, despite the nomenclature shortcomings (back to St. Thomas Mount the train station vs. the actual mount..).
Only a few stations have been built for the metro. Most of the station we are at, ALSO called St. Thomas Mount, is hollowed out and still made of visible concrete. It's very quiet, and there are not many people taking the metro. It costs us 20 Rupees to go down two stations to near the actual Mount, a 100% increase for the price of the train, which is unregulated. We get our bags scanned at security before going in, and hover our small ride tokens above the sensor.
The entire metro has a Blade Runner vibe to it. The massive halls of marble and unfinished infrastructure make it either seem like the metro is being phased out, or phased in. The organization of the platforms is incredibly inefficient in terms of placing stairs and escalators nearby each other. The signage is also half done, and it took us a while to realize that the two different platforms were actually built on different levels, depending on which direction you wanted to go. Some sections are still under construction and as you take the escalator or stairs up to the platform, you pass by gutted out rooms, and pristine ones that have just finished being built. Overall, it was the most confusing metro system ever since the opening wasn't done in one go, rather, it seems to be a slowly rolling process. I will say, however, I'm glad I was there for it at that time. It's cool to watch the flagship metro system that will eventually connect more of the city be developed. The very few passengers that we saw on the metro were not actually just commuting, some of them were on dates! Couples taking the train somewhere, and taking pictures of themselves in front of the train, on the platform, and with the view behind them, since the elevation of the train platform was so high relative to the other buildings in the vicinity.
Because metro stations are often so busy to us, it's a bit haunting that this one, at dusk, is empty and has an echo. But, we still take it anyway, enjoying the journey.
When we get there, we take another rickshaw to the base of the Mount, and then climb up. The climb up is very nice, now that the sun has set and the cool, Chennai air was blowing in. It's a small winding road that snakes through housing communities along a cracked road, and has a pilgrimmage air to it. Halfway up, we see free roaming goats and dogs lounging around the pathway in true Indian fashion. One goat is even stomping over the Jesus statue on the way up.
Atop the mound is a small church and clock tower. The layout of the place is similar to a South Indian temple - open space, kids running around, a lot of outdoor sitting spaces. In fact, if you think of a church, what we saw that night would be far from it. There's a liveliness to the air, as women in their saris walk in and out of the church, praying. Men, Tamil men, in their traditional plaid shirt rolled sleeves and long pants, also do the same. In order to enter the actual church, you must remove your shoes. When you place your shoes at the parking area, there's a small sign justifying that those who worship in the church take off their shoes to enter the House of God (Exodus something). Interesting. I would have never seen this in Europe or the U.S., but the Indians have even managed to take this form of Portuguese Catholicism and, to some degree, make it their own.
In fact, I love the way Indians worship. I realized this on the trip to Chennai this time. When we think of Christianity in the West, it's a serious religion. Rules, citations, rituals. Think of Russian Orthodox churches too - these are the epitome of seriousness. There aren't even any pews to sit on! But, somehow, when you walk into an Indian place of worship, everyone is at ease. This doesn't matter whether you are at a temple, a mosque, or a church. There is noise going on, and the fact that there is does not detract from faith. I see this as a permeation of local culture, and a certain adaptation of the faith to the local setting, and it challenges my understandings of what it means to be a Christian, a Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, you name it. Everyone worships in their way. At St. Thomas Mount, you can walk around the premises and soak in the cool air, take a look at some religious pictures and statues of various Popes (w'sup dude), and get a great look out into the city of Chennai.
We get our last meal in dinner, craving for kothu parotta. We rickshaw back to the train station knowing well that we could've walked this time, but we paid anyway - consider it us doing our duty as tourists and investing in the local economy. We went into the metro again, and then rode it to the airport, which was recently connected.
I will have mad profound love for the 'way things are' in India. These are moments that challenge my way of thinking and design. They challenge my sense of logic, and often teach me to let go and shrug it off. While we pull into the metro, I'm spoiled in thinking that it's going to be directly connected to the airport. In fact, what happens is, the metro is a separate building from the airport, and we have to walk another 10 minutes from the station in. I question to Thorin why they haven't bothered to connect the metro to the airport, but only out of a trace of frustration (it still doesn't make sense to me?) in that moment. But, if there's anything about my time here, it's not questioning why things are the way the are, and going with it. Let it go. When we got to the airport, our flight was not on the board and we worried a bit, but as it would be, we were too early for our flight, and it hadn't shown up on the board since it wasn't even checking in passengers. Even up to our flight out, there were still some organizational nightmares. Let it go. Chennai was all about opening up and embracing things like street festivals, street food, non-connected-metros-to-airports, and the camaraderie among strangers. Tamil guys still don't smile, though, and it really belies their friendliness.