There will always be, more India

In some ports my brother and I signed up for pre-planned trips. Our first trip in Chennai was a three day Art of Living course hosted by an artisan heritage village. Artisans come in rotation form all around India, to display their crafts in this village. The first person I met was a rock carver from Pakistan. He immediately told me how he would be down in this village for ten days with his friend, and they had come this far in hopes of making some sales. His table was packed full of little green carvings of Ganish in every shape and form. He sat me down and showed me the six little iron scrapers from his extremely modest tool kit. Each crafts person whom I talked with showed me the same basic tools, yet their crafts were all very different. The village hosted traditional palm leaf engravings, “green rock” carvings, glass blowing, Henna artwork, mat weaving, painting miniatures, and a traditional herb store.
Upon approaching each booth the usual high pressure sales situation I had grown accustomed to was replaced with a polite and interesting walk through on how each particular craft was created. One man specialized in palm leaf engravings. A series of palm leaves were strung together to make a sort of folding mat on which was engraved elaborate designs and circles with pictures in the middle depicting traditional stories. These engravings were made using the same tools I had seen earlier, only now for engraving. Each of theses circles folded over so that the mat could display either the traditional gods of India, a traditional story, or of course various pictures of the Kama Sutra. The mans best work, which also had the Kama Sutra option, was hung up to the side of the booth and he informed us that it had taken him nine months to finish. It was amazingly elaborate, each strip of palm leaf connected perfectly with the next, the craftsmanship was superb. It was strange to observe how each of these traditional works of art and depictions of sacred could so quickly, and yet secretly, be transformed into Kama Sutra pictures. My first reaction was that the Kama Sutra presence was a tourist hook, and nothing more. But after spending some more time in the village, and in Chennai, I noticed, by talking to various people, that in fact India does have a very sexually charged subculture beneath its conservative surface... just not when many other people are around.
Each persons craft was very specific, and the craftsman was very reluctant to do anything of which he was not precisely trained. There was a glass blower who specialized in making little boats with figures on them, swizzle sticks, and pendants with an air bubble. I ask if he knew how to make beads. He looked at me very uncomfortably and said he was not trained as a beads craftsman, but he could show me how to make an air bubble glass pendant. At this time a girl walked up and asked if he could make a dolphin. He quickly fired up his torch and in about three minutes had a dolphin swizzle stick ready to go. He looked up at the mystified girl, handed her the dolphin, and without missing a beat asked “how many?”
We were able to speak with a woman from India who travels the world doing various charities; she was able to give us some insight into the market. She told us how there were many orphanages, and that when a child was old enough to leave; they had three options open to them. First was getting married and moving out with their spouse, second being college if the child had found the means, and third being a workshop which would teach them a specific craft, such as stone cutting or engraving. This artisan / crafts person group is composed largely of males, yet some females engrave and weave mats. Every craft at this village was an example of a craft that would be taught in this situation; although it was unclear weather these particular craftsmen originated this way. The main source of income for these small crafts people were of course tourism, although some of the more conventional crafts, such as the weave mats, were used by the locals. She also brought up the good point that, no Indian house would be complete without many little stone statues of Ganish or Shiva.
On the way to this village our group had stopped at a couple stone temples. Each time we got off the bus we were swarmed with craftsmen of this exact type, selling anything and everything with the Kama Sutra engraved on it somewhere. Many stone pendants, little bamboo drums, and small reproduced paintings were insisted upon us. They would ask to trade any article of clothing our bodies, from shoes to our watches. This reoccurring situation, later combined with more of an understanding of the purpose and market (tourism) of this artisan class, is a bittersweet image. On the one hand these people were trying very hard to produce something that I really wanted, and in exchange wanted only my dollar store watch. On the other hand, these craftsmen were part of a system which was trying its hardest to lift more Indians from poverty. Needless to say we all bought endless little trinkets.
The last couple countries, Thailand, Vietnam, and China all had complicated tourist infrastructures set up to take advantage of the gigantic market, such as clubs, vacation packages, sight seeing packages, etc... India on the other hand had the basic institutions, but beyond transportation and a translator, these artisans were the only tourist money extracting element I found. Since declaring independence, India simply has not had the time, or lack of more pressing matters, to care about developing a tourist infrastructure, outside of the Taj and a few other exceptions. For Vietnam, Thailand, and China the tourist capital input has become a very important part of their economy. The result of India's lack of tourist infrastructure is that tourist cash flow goes directly to the impoverished artisans, and sadly enough to anyone in a position to exploit those craftsmen. Many, many people are in such a position. The carpet making store which our Auto-Rickshaw driver insisted we go in was of the same nature as these basic arts and crafts, only of higher quality. He sat us down and explained to us the detail with which each carpet was made, and that each had a very specific and unique cultural reliance. Needless to say, we bought on of those as well, and on the way back, our driver stopped to photocopy our receipt, because he had taken us specifically to that store, knowing he would get his own share.

Some More Pictures

This stretch from India to Egypt is one of our longer times at sea. Its also one of the first times Ive had to do any sort of reflection whatsoever about he whirlwind of now things ive seen in the past months. I still am lacking words... so perhaps some pictures will surfice.

Getting ready for India (the blue pill is for malaria)
India
India
The View from my cabin
Spreading the lock love.

Ever Since Hawaii

Chennai India

Withing fifty feet of the ship, my shoes are black. Men in brown wool suits with orange and black automatic rifles hanging across their backs stair me down until I smile for lack of anything better to do, and then they grin back through tired eyes and inspect my landing card. From here I have been strictly instructed to walk between the warehouses, left to the gate, and then RIGHT! Not left... earlier in the week their had been a demonstration to the right, and the guards at that gate insisted that everybody pay a re-entry fee, which was by no means “official”. Outside the coal dust covered gates of port seven, a line of yellow “auto rickshaws” await. The drivers approach me, each dripping his own unique brand of insanity, “Sir, I take you down town, come, come with me now sir” “Brotha, come with me, I'll show you to a nice pipe” “Jonny, come with Jonny, I know where you want to go, no problem”. I kept expecting one to insist on taking me downtown to see a “ping pong show” or meet with “a happy lady”, but I had to remember that I wasn't in Bangkok anymore.
This is an average day for the rickshaw drivers. In fact, the American diplomat whom spoke to us while our ship was being cleared by customs, told us how as early as seven that morning the drivers were waiting for students to begin filing off the ship. When driving by them she had yelled out the window “Don't worry! They are coming, I promise!” to which she received a resounding cheer. Earlier that week a navy cruiser had been in port, and the Rickshaw drivers were able to make a nice profit, I later found out, that the average day for a rickshaw driver includes zooming in and out of buses and motorcycles on roads where the painted lanes could hardly be thought of as even suggestions. I lost count of all the motorcycles we cut off after three blocks, I did however keep track of all the buses that we were almost underneath until five blocks from the port, after that I was then occupied for the rest of the trip with talking the driver out of making a side stop at his friends shops. In Vietnam and Thailand, that last thing we wanted to do was be taken down a side alley for often the worst of things await tourists there, and the same in India could also be true.
Our driver had perhaps three teeth, a maniacal laugh, and the most awesome bed head I have ever seen. After he was kind enough to wait while we ate lunch, we accepted his request to take us to his friends shop on the way back to the ship. He was very grateful and informed us that if we were to buy anything, the shop would give him a percentage, and his four children needed some clothes. He didn't mention until we were stuck in a time-share style high pressure sales situation, that the store only sold 400$ antique swords and very intricate hand made rugs. But we knew just the people for a gift of these sorts, and all things worked out quite nicely.
While flying among green buses with people hanging two feet out of every opening, and darting in between 1950's style embassy cars (complete with hood flags), the truth of something an Indian woman had said to me two nights before proved evident “Whatever is true about india, the opposite is also true”. And indeed it was, I saw families tucking babies into burlap bags behind the dumpsters of five star restaurants with very trim and healthy parking attendants busily parking black Escalades. It was fairly common for us to be followed by three people at once. One asking for money with a solitary hand stretched out and a horrible look in their eyes, another trying to sell me sandalwood beads or trade a little stone statue for my watch, and yet another pawing at my hair with an amazed look on her face.

Life with the Semester at Sea program is absolutely insane. It contains all of the usual college life stresses interspaced with week long forays into unknown lands of unique beauty and profoundness... coming back to college life, and the urgency of college work, compacted onto a ship after these is adventures is to say the least deviding. When the rare chance comes along, and I have time to consider my existance... I am bombareded an overwhelming array of amazements and astonishing truths combined with hundreds of new faces and details about the world... I truly will, never be the same.

Blow is a little clip of me and tucker up in the mountains of Thailands ablsolutly stunning Patong beach on Phuket island.