Go Ahead, Taste the Honey

In my earliest post  (see Honey, Honey) I mentioned that I asked a friend what she would like me to bring back from India.  Her response surprised me when she said she would just like me to taste the honey.  She said that honey carries a unique flavor, it carries the taste of the land. So I used this as a metaphor for enjoying life in India.  I promised her that I would taste the "honey" of India.  I realize now that I needed to put conditions on that...

Let me explain,  I've been back from holiday in the U.S. for only a couple of weeks and the contrasts have been emphasized in my mind, kind of like seeing things with fresh eyes.  I got used to the way things were done here and nothing surprised me anymore after 9 months in India.   There's nothing like stepping away for a few weeks to renew one's perspective. The way we do things back West is very different from the way things are done here in the East.  There have been many times when I have said, "that would never pass in the U.S.", or "that is definitely not OSHA approved" and "that certainly has not been approved by the FDA".   

But then I have to remember that the world's second largest population has survived and thrived for centuries doing things their way.  By comparison I live in a sterile environment back in the U.S.  We sanitize and boil and wash everything. Now there are more allergies and super strains of bacteria than ever before.  Perhaps there's a connection?



Sure people get sick out here, and when they do it's pretty serious, but they have strong immune systems and they've gotten used to the bacterias here that would put me in the hospital.  I  am very careful where we eat and what we eat, but when I go out I don't think about the condition of the kitchen, the food handlers, or whether or not they've washed the food properly.  You just can't think about those things if you want to enjoy a meal out here.  Soap is a rare commodity in public bathrooms, heck, you're lucky if you get toilet paper.


The way India has been doing things is sometimes centuries old traditions that have been passed on from generation to generation. Today was one of those days when I was reminded of a centuries old practice of retrieving wild honey. I marveled at the haphazard way they handled the nest, and the way the honey was collected.  I shook my head and said "they've been doing it like this for centuries,  before they knew about soap or boiling, or bacteria".

After lunch I went for a walk in the warm sun and just down the street I noticed small billows of smoke coming from the grass.  Leading from there was a long ladder made of bamboo reaching into the height of one of the palm trees that lines the avenue.  Way up in the tippy-top was a young man....what was he doing?  I moved in for a closer look and grabbed the camera.

There was a young man up in the tree. I was curious so I stuck around to watch.

Guy is climbing down and the ladder is inside the rickshaw to give them added height.

A guy just pulled off a chunk of the fresh honeycomb.  The bees are the black blobs that you see all over it.

All these guys are waiting around for their portion of the loot.

Amazingly, these guys were not stung once as they pulled the honeycomb off the tree in huge chunks. Maybe they are the stingless type. They placed the combs in the buckets to let the honey seep out. Bees were swarming them and swirling around by the hundreds.

The honey was scooped by hand into water bottles.

I was amazed at how it was done.  More people gathered around from a safe distance to watch the retrieval process.  An Indian neighbor of mine was not amazed or impressed, she said this was normal.  She told me that they will sell it at the market, but it's a tricky business since occasionally they will have sugar syrup on the bottom of the bucket to get more money in the trade.

One of the guys scooped honey by the hand fulls into used water bottles, the golden liquid money spilled over his hands back into the bucket.  They proudly pushed a water bottle half full of honey in my direction and offered to sell me some of the raw, wild, sweet, gooey-goodness.  I had to kindly decline.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I want to taste the honey of India, but on ONE condition - it must be in a sterilized jar, with a label, on a shelf, in a western market. Alright, FOUR conditions.

The Wild White Visit

This time of year always has me reflecting on things I'm grateful for...too numerous to list here, but always at the top of my list is family and friends.  I'm especially feeling grateful to our friends, Angela and Jeff, who flew out here to spend two weeks with us and lugged a whole suitcase full of yummy goods from the U.S.  Seriously, like full of peanut butter cups, licorice, fruit leather, and wine.  It was the heaviest bag they brought with them.  We feel so loved!

I'm welcoming my girlfriend to India wearing the tradtional shalwar kameez

I couldn't wait to show our friends what life has been like for us the last eight months.  Early November they flew into Bangalore around 2 a.m. so we took it easy on them the first twelve hours they were here.  After that, all bets were off and we showed no mercy.  We took them into the blaring, busy, bustling streets of Bangalore.  

Commercial Street - notice the Mc Donalds and KFC

On the first day we took them down to a must-see shopping district of Bangalore called Commercial Street.  It was full of activity and smells to keep them awake for the rest of the day.  Its never dull on Commercial Street - there is a dedicated police station, its where Keely was run over by a car, Owen puked from the smell.  Why not take your friends to such a wonderful place?

Jeff and I are browsing through dusty shelves of nick-nacks.

 We have our favorite little shops, like the amazing tailor with the tiny assistant (best tailor in town if you asked anyone on the street), and the shop that looks like you've stepped into some old lady's attic.


 Jeff took advantage of the tailor and put in an order for some custom made shirts and pants.  Meanwhile, Angela and I found a shop full of glistening bangles and watched in amazement as the sales man expertly put together a beautiful pattern of bangles in about 15 seconds and convinced us that he had custom designed an original work of wearable art.  Of course we bought them.

We made our way through the winding streets until about three hours later we were famished.  We wanted to be careful about exposing them to new foods so we had to pick our restaurant wisely. We decided on the Taj West End Hotel; this is great place for visitors.  A shop keeper assured us that the hotel was close enough that we could take a rickshaw for about 40 rupees (less than a dollar).  So the four of us crammed into the back of a rickshaw - its really more like a riding lawn mower with a back seat designed to fit two passengers side by side. I wish we could've taken a picture but we didn't have room to even move our elbows.  It was the perfect "Welcome to India" experience for our friends:  they got an up close-and-personal experience of Bangalore's rush hour chaos, a few close calls with death, exhaust fumes in our faces, and plenty of laughs.  As we pulled up to the hotel gate 15 minutes later we peeled ourselves out of the backseat to the amusement of the hotel attendants. 

Taj West End is an amazing place, even if you aren't staying there.  They have beautiful gardens for a  leisurely walk or a relaxing escape from the noise and chaos of the city.  They also have great Indian and Vietnamese restaurants.  Blue Ginger is located on the side gardens of the hotel with amazing Vietnamese food and an ambiance to match.  This is where we took Angela and Jeff for their first dinner in India.

The next morning we wanted to show Angela and Jeff the other side of Bangalore, so in stark contrast to the Taj West End hotel we started early and ventured off to a Bangalore slum area to visit the ANU business unite.  

Jeff and Ang entering the slum community

This is an organization which empowers young mothers to support their community by making handbags out of recycled cement sacks and tetra packs (juice boxes). The products are a big hit with the expat community and they are cleverly recycling their trash and giving the women pride in their handicraft, so it's great fun to support this group. 

This hand bag is made from cement sack and
yarn is weaved through to make a pattern.

These are some various items available to buy.

This woman is weaving tetra juice boxes into a bag. 
It's later sent to a tailor for lining and handles.

That afternoon we ate at another one of our favorite places, Bar-B-Que Nation .  This is a cross between a Japanese steakhouse where they cook the meal at your table and a Brazilian steak house where workers wander about serving endless portions of meat until you cry uncle or fall into a food coma.  The Nation also offers vegetables (including Cajun Potatoes - spicy, deep fried morsels of amazing).

Steve is stuffed and turned down the flag that indicates "Have Mercy!"

The next day (Sunday) we followed up the meat coma with an all you can eat brunch at our Palm Meadows club.  Most of the upscale hotels offer Sunday Brunch at 12:30, so it's really lunch buffet served with a side of live entertainment offering all the hits (some which should be forgotten) from the past three decades.  We usually spend a few hours each Sunday lounging around the pool to work off the meal. 

Ang and I relaxing by the pool.

Maledives...

The highlight of their visit was when we took a break from all the mayhem and jumped on a short flight to the Maledives. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity and we had to take advantage of being this close to some of the most amazing atolls and diving in the world.  Angela gave this short interview about the trip on this blogspot  http://www.travelandphotographytoday.com/.   It's a great summary of our stay at the Constance Moofushi resort. 

 

Diving in the Maledives was like snorkeling inside a huge aquarium.  

India has a strange visa rule which prohibits visitors from reentering India for sixty days from the date of your last departure.  There is a caveat that allows you to reenter if you establish up front that you intend to use India as a base for tourism and present your itinerary to the immigration officer when you first arrive in India.  The application of this rule, like most things in India, is dependent on the immigration officer you get when you arrive.  Jeff and Ang followed the process, provided all the right documentation, and hoped for a smooth experience.  When we hit India immigration after a short four day adventure out of the country Angela and Jeff were held up for a couple of hours at the airport and they were permitted to re-enter but also required to visit the Foreigners Regional Registration Office (FRRO) the next day to receive additional paperwork prior to leaving the country on their flight to the U.S.  We have endured the FRRO a number of times as part of our employment visa processing:  imagine the DMV...now imagine the DMV in hell...now imagine people at the DMV in hell happy because they are not at the FRRO.  Jeff and Ang had only 2 days before their flight home to the U.S. and they would need to spend an entire day in purgatory to be permitted to leave the country.  Welcome to India... 

THE FRRO...
We got a good night's sleep and showed up at the FRRO the next morning soon after it opened.  Unfortunately, we weren't early enough as the place was already packed with confused, and increasingly irritated foreigners desperately trying to navigate the FRRO process.  We got in line and received our number: 126 - with 13 showing on the "now serving" display.  We sat for a while but decided to head out for an early lunch rather than wait around.  We jumped in the car, enjoyed an awesome lunch at Tandoor, and arrived back with only a few to spare before our number was called. You would think that having a number system would make the process civilized, but this number simply gives you permission to enter the ring and fight for service.  The process involves 5 stages:

1. Complete the paper work
2. Stand in line for the "Scrutiny Desk" to review your paper work and approve you to move to stage 3.  The folks who staff the Scrutiny Desk must be ex-insurance claim processors because they pretty much deny everyone for at least 1-2 rounds.  In our case, we needed to attach passport photos, make a bunch of copies, and provide a proof of residence.  The passport photos were understandable (although not indicated as required on the paperwork) but proof of residence seemed illogical given they were here on a 2 week tourist visa?  Thankfully, Steve brought along his previous FRRO documentation and we were able to use his info for that requirement (after an extended back-and-forth with the "Duty Manager" -- the Chief of Scrutiny).  We headed out of the FRRO to find a place to get a passport photo and copies.  We walked a couple of blocks, past a wall with a large spray painted message "Do Not Pass Urine Here" (bummer...), and found the India equivalent of a tiny Mailboxes Etc where we could get all our stuff done, including the photos. 
3. Stand in line again for the Scrutiny Desk.  By using the word "line" it may seem like a civilized and orderly process.  Unfortunately, in India there is no concept of a line.  In order to receive attention everyone struggles to establish position and waves their paperwork in the face of the scrutiny officer on the other side of the desk, hoping against hope to be noticed.  The worker appears oblivious to the mayhem as he/she examines a set of documents, lifts them back in the air for a hand in the crowd to reclaim, then casually selects one of the waving sheets of paper from the next lucky winner.  As an individual, this process seems daunting - but as a group of 3 we decided to use our collective mass to our advantage.  We muscled our way closer to the front and established a 3-point barrier in the crowd, preventing others from entering our space and ensured a clutter free moment of attention from the officer.  After the second round of scrutiny we were allowed to pass...
4. Up the stairs and into the final stage - final like when you say "just 15 more minutes" after your kids ask "are we there yet?"  Once upstairs you stand in line again for yet another round of scrutiny.  Any issues with this round and you need to visit the dreaded corner office, home of the FRRO Grand Poobah.  During this round of scrutiny the person behind the desk flipped back and forth through our stack of papers at an alarming speed (how is he not covered in paper cuts?) pausing suddenly to scribble notes on a cover sheet.  As expected, we were sent to the principal's office where the FRRO wizard was required to approve whatever notes Furious Fingers had made.
5. Reach the processing station.  After sufficient scrutiny, were were assigned a station number.  This number corresponds to a table on the other side of the room where a person sits to finish the registration process.  We waited in line again (chairs this time!) and handed over our paperwork.  The woman indicated that we could pick up our completed registration at 5pm later that day, so we decided to take advantage of the lull, jumped in the car and zipped down to Commerical Street for Jeff and Ang to take in some last minute shopping. 
6. Drink Heavily.  This is the required activity following any FRRO experience.  We took Jeff and Ang to another fun restaurant where we could laugh about the day as we enjoyed some awesome food and plenty of below average (Indian) wine ;)  

Their days of adventure ended at the Leela Palace Hotel .  The last morning we had a delicious breakfast and did last minute shopping.  This hotel is another one of our favorite spots, probably top of the list of favorites.  The gardens, the decor, the food, the shopping - it's all there!

Rugs, pashmina shawls, carvings, and beautiful clothing fill the shops to nearly overflowing. Emerald and sapphire necklaces are displayed on the open shelves of nearly every shop trying to lure you in with their seductive sparkles... it worked on us. I think we spent over an hour trying on all the bling.

At the end of the day, as the clock struck twelve, we said our good-byes and sent them on their way.  The time they were here flew by.  What fun and what an adventure!