Memoirs Of A Gaijin

Back in Tokyo we decided to go out for the night - this necessetated staying out *all* night as the hotel's curfew was set at twelve. Cue rapid and repeated slapping of forehead. Oh well, we amused ourselves by wandering around Roppongi, getting steadily blootered in rubbish hip hop clubs and failing to pull. Further larks were had on the 5:00am train back to Minami-Sendju by talking to an 80's Heavy Metal promoter, whose racist remarks on the country kept us in slack-jawed incredulity all the way home.

A big thank you to Iain (centre), Fiona and Darius (left) for putting us up in Inuyama - it was much appreciated and very generous. They are all currently working for Nova, a company that provides jobs for teaching English in Japan. Listening to their day to day experiences, and the setup that Nova provide you makes me think this would be something I'd be interested in pursuing in the future. Sunday evening was spent in La Cavalera, a fantastic bar owned by Kei (right), which also doubles as a tatoo parlour. They serve burritos and snake whiskey, oddly there's Belle & Sebastian on the stereo - good times. We were introduced to Ray, a friend of Iain's who also works as an English teacher, and an absoloute gent. He's lived an extremely interesting life so far, and has a wealth of knowledge about the local area - he showed us around Inuyama castle (built in 1537, the oldest standing in Japan) in the morning, and explained the customs of a recent yearly festival. Huge multi storey contraptions are pushed around by the men of each neighbourhood, whilst drinking lots of beer and smoking. The top storey of the cart usually houses a puppet show giving a rendition of traditional folk tales, and the whole thing has hundreds of candle-lit lanterns hanging off of it that could go up at any time. Precarious is one of several words that leap to mind.

Banzai ! Overexposed Sake ! We drank our fill of this and then went to the karaoke bar ...














GOLDEN SLUMBERS !! The serenity of Kyoto forever shattered. Yep, that's right they had every single track on Abbey Road. It occurs to me that this sums up the last ten years very well - two idiots, off their chumps on hooligan juice and bellowing their heads off with no regard for time signature, dynamics or melodic consonance. Dan kept banging a tambourine so hard that he had a massive bruise covering most of his leg for the following few days.




Only one of these people wanted to be in this photograph ... Morton-San plots his escape.












Nara was the capital of Japan from 710AD to 784 - this is one of the numerous cultivated gardens that are dotted about the town.











I chanced upon this quintet of loons whilst wandering around central Tokyo, in parts they sounded uncannily like the Cantina band in Star Wars.















Mount Fuji from the air.

Hiroshima

In the years following the Meiji restoration of 1868, Japan underwent an economic and military expansion, and driven by a combination of nationalistic members of the military and government and a need for resources, embarked on a number of aggressive actions in neighbouring areas - including China and Russia, seizing the whole of the Korean peninsula in 1910. This put it in conflict with the west, eventually leading to a total oil embargo (oil being crucial both for interior demands and continuing military action - 80% being imported from the US). Japan was to either back down and comply with demands to halt action in China or go to war with the allies. This eventually led to the attack on Pearl Harbour in Hawaii, initiating the Pacific War and bringing the US fully into the global war. Meanwhile, the discovery and development of nuclear fission in Germany in the years preceding the Second World War led to the instigation of the Manhattan Project - a US led programme that involved the UK and Canada to create a functioning nuclear weapon, out of fear that Nazi Germany would do the same.

The Pacific War saw Japanese forces sweep through the Philippenes, Burma and Indonesia. However, by 1944 defeat was in sight and the 1945 Potsdam Declaration called for their complete surrender (with no mention of the possible continuation of the Emporer). After their failure to respond, the US and allies had several options for ending the war - the deployment of atomic bombs was chosen possibly also as a way to curb Russian influence after the war (instead of using Russian forces in a land invasion). Several cities were chosen as potential targets, originally including Kyoto, but the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were the final targets. Hiroshima was a city of note for both academic and military importance.

At 8:15 on August 6th 1945, the Little Boy uranium based atomic bomb was dropped from the Enola Gay, a B-29 bomber that had set of from Tinian (a large island in the Mariana chain). At 600m above the ground the uranium 'bullet' was shot into the main mass of the 60kg payload, causing it to go supercritical and 0.7kg undergoing nuclear fission. This was enough to generate an explosion equivalent to 15,000 tons of TNT and measured 3-4000 degrees celsius on the ground. A devastating amount of radiation and heat was released on the populace of 255,000, immediately killing 80,000 and destroying 80-90% of the city buildings. Those who did not die instantly from the heat and pressure were exposed to massive doses of radiation that, even though they had subsided a week later, caused leukaemia, cancers, cataracts, organ failure and birth defects for years afterwards. It is estimated that in total 140,000 people died from the effects of the bomb. The heat effects from the explosion caused burns on people within a 3.5lm radius, and organ damage within 1.2km. The dark patterns on clothing were burnt directly onto the skin beneath, and the writing on paper and cloth burned instantly even far from the source, stone steps turned white with a shadow of the person sitting there. The effects of the pressure waves and 440m/s wind collapsed the mostly wooden buildings instantly, shooting shards of glass and brick into bodies. A fire conflagration raged for three days, and a black rain began to fall, even up to 29km away.

The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are still a subject of fierce debate, though undoubtedly they contributed to the surrender by Japan soon afterwards, and thus the commencement of US occupation until 1952. In the years following, Japan underwent an astonishing recovery, the economy given a boost during the Korean war as a result of manufacturing most of the supplies and food for the US forces. In the sixties the country had on the surface turned around completely - exports growing twice as fast as the rest of the world.

Immediately after stepping off the train, I was hit by an extremely strange and sad feeling ... I hadn't really had time to meditate on what had actually happened at Hiroshima as we had been rushing around everywhere before, but even though the situation itself was utterly normal (an upmarket commuter station with marble walls and huge advertising screens) it still felt incredibly strange to be visiting an area of such sadness and historical significance. Hiroshima today looks like any other highly developed city, with a population of over a million and nicely sculpted walkways and buildings. It was difficult to reconcile this with the horrific images of human destruction and tragedy, there are still thousands of people who survived living in the completely rebuilt city.

Walking around the associated museum, I was shocked by the personal accounts of the survivors - graphic details of the injuries sustained by those not immediately killed, the confusion they felt of not knowing the nature of what had happened. Information concerning the workings and effects of nuclear weaponry were suppressed by occupying US forces for several years immediately afterwards. 150,000 people left the city in the years following, those that stayed suffered a lowered resistance to disease, scarce medical supplies, clothing and shelter (most of the infrastructure having been destroyed) - many of the shelters built were washed away by a typhoon later. The spoken personal accounts were too much to listen to in parts, and I had to wait for a bit to go and read the written accounts (the museum had an extensive database of recorded and written accounts). Many of them were from the 6300 students mobilized to demolish buildings and create firebreaks - they told of the appalling sights that lay throughout the city, and the anguish felt by finding loved ones dead or unrecognizably burnt.

The museum now works to promote abolishment of nuclear weapons testing and development throughout the world - every time a test occurs, the city government of Hiroshima sends a letter of protest. Without wanting to politicize this too much, I was reminded that Britain is currently trying to replenish it's Trident missile stockpile. It is also worth noting that the Hydrogen bombs used today are 1,000 times as powerful as the Atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima.

In the centre of the city, 160m south east of the bomb's hypocentre stands the Atomic Bomb Dome, which was originally the Prefectural Industrial Promotions Hall. The bomb detonated 600m above, this is one of the only buildings not completely destroyed - it is thought that this is because the blast was almost completely above, so did not blow the walls apart. It now forms part of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial.







The Memorial Cenotaph, framing the Atomic Bomb Dome.

Wrist watch stopped at 8:15.

Kyoto

Life in the eighties was good. Perhaps I should qualify that, it was good for me, a kid in the South East of England - no doubt for the rest of the world it was as terrible as it ever was. But for me it was a time of bold primary colours on bowed cathode screens - the Amstrad CPC with it's formidable 26 colour palette vying with the Transformers animated series for my sense of awestruck wonder. Not for me the worries of the world stage, not a care for dwindling resources and the subtleties of power struggles between nations - just a mild obsession with what life would be like in the year 2000+. This was an unimaginable amount of time into the future - I'd be 26 ! Pushing a zimmer frame, but with millions in the bank ... if people wore calculator watches that even stored phone numbers in the mid 80s, it was inconceivable that there would not be flying cars and robots doing all the work.

You can guess the sense of disappointment I feel now. Quite frankly I feel cheated. True we have ready access to the Internet - the sum total of human knowledge, culture and unprecedented ease of communication - but lets be honest, 99% of the time it's used by people for free music and dirty pictures. But ! It turns out that at 26 I've had a small glimpse of what the future in England might have been like if everything had just been a bit cooler. Here taxis open their doors as they approach their fares, high speed trains that resemble the inside of the space shuttle rotate their chairs for cleaning, and the whole thing is set against a Bladerunner-esque backdrop of light drizzle and neon signs that turn the night sky light grey.

So ... it was a shock to find that in such a high tech place none of our bank cards worked. Oho ! What fun ! Our hubris in assuming we could roll up and snatch some readies from anywhere backfired mightily. It turns out that none of the local banks hook up with anything outside the country ... even if it does say VISA on the ATM. Ha ha ha ! Look at these two idiots, bumbling around on a Sunday night, with literally no cash at all, hungry and unable to understand anything anywhere. Given the shenanigans a couple of nights previously, that were only sorted out with the aid of a lot of ready cash, it's safe to say we weren't happy. To cut a long story short, we had our accomodation sorted out in the form of two rooms in the Hotel New Azuma (room dimensions 2.5 paces by 4, enough to lie down in but otherwise fine) and we managed to get ourselves sorted out the next morning. We then got on a high speed Shinkansen train to Kyoto and booked ourselves into the awesome K's House (voted #1 backpacker hostel in Asia, and a veritable budget paradise).



I think it's safe to say that Kyoto is the most beautiful place I have ever been, the blossom from the trees floating delicately in millimetres thin streams, evoking the exquisite haiku of 17th century poet Basho. The default religion of Japan is Shinto, which places a lot of emphasis on the beauty of nature - and it shows in just about everything around you. Interestingly, Shinto does not preclude other religions, and indeed has led to certain integrations with other faiths (most notably different sects of Buddhism - which was apparant in the temples of Nara and East Kyoto).

Back on the bikes for a morning cycle around the town, the babblings of lysergic troubadour Syd Barrett on Pink Floyd's Bike seeming appropriate. The first stop was the Kyoto National Museum, which while not as large or grand as some of London's offerings has a wealth of interest and beauty within it. While my overall knowledge of sculpture is best described as "piss poor", it is still an artform which I find hugely interesting - a cast of Rodin's Le Penseur broods over the entrance to the museum. Inside, huge wooden Buddhist figures stood with such defined contours and lines that after a while the shadows seemed almost to suggest breathing. I had my own cliched expectations of what Zen and Shinto artworks would be like, my knowledge beforehand being limited to images such as The Great Wave by Hokusai. I was instead struck by the vivacity and energy of the screen prints, even in greyscale. On to the Sanjusangen-do temple, where 1001 gilded statues of Kannon, a Buddhist goddess stand watch, side by side, and each uniquely different. Visitors can write hopes and wishes on candles, which when burnt make the impassive faces shimmer as the laminar flow of heated air rises from the wicks.

In the grounds we were approached by a group of schoolchildren who asked if they could practice their English with us. We of course said yes, being very familiar with the process of being goaded by a teacher to approach people at random and embarass yourself. About 12 years ago in Mainz, Germany in our case. Anyway, they did very well and much bowing and shaking of hands followed - Dan's crafty use of domo origato dozaimasu causing a standing ovation from the kids.

Before leaving England, I had talked to my uncle Mick about going to Japan - his advice was to seek out some jazz because he had heard it was very popular over here. He should know because he has an impressive knowledge of music with a collection to match, and strangely, cookbooks as well. In any case, he wasn't wrong - our first proper night out in Japan was spent at the splendid Blue Note bar. I've been to some awful "Jazz Clubs" in England, which are basically the same as overpriced high street bars but with a stricter dress code - which is so conducive to the spontaneity and expression that I love about music.

Anyway, this was a world away from all that - the bar was lined with a fantastic collection of jazz records, the barman flipping LPs between serving up generous measures of bourbons and single malts. I drank Four Roses on the rocks whilst a very accomplished local quartet played and I drunkenly tried to explain intervals, modes and chord structures to Dan on the piano motif that lined the bar. I only hope nobody else heard any of it, because they would have probably laughed their heads off. It's always interested me the different ways you can view music - on the one hand it's something that is a product of wave mechanics and set theory, rigid physical laws, yet it produces such an emotive effect on people and sometimes sparks abstract imagery in the mind. The quartet started with some of the filthiest trumpet ever committed to the air, which quickly collapsed to a silky flowing line, and I was reminded of water and rain frequently as they played their set - large warm drops falling in suspended fourths and dominant sevenths, reflected in the polished black mirror of the lid of the piano - light rivulets forming and racing along the ride and snare - breaking applause following accomplished trumpet solos performed without show. When it was done we went on to some other bars, and failed miserably to find out about some other local music (to be fair, our attempts at communication were limited to writing "Yellow Magic Orchestra" and "Melt Banana" on napkins and thrusting them at people).

Hong Kong

And so our freight train of discovery blunders on, expanding our consciousness and irritating others. I am currently reading an account of the rise and fall of the British Empire as we seem to be on a tour of former colonies - from India to Hong Kong and later Australia. What better way to season our adventures than to wind up the locals with some well placed historical banter (segue to the scene of a speeding ambulance a fraction of a second later).

In anycase, our arrival in Hong Kong preceeded any attempt to plan what we would do whilst there, though we had booked ourselves a place at the brilliantly named Wang Fat hostel. Oh what a goldmine of mirth it proved to be, a spate of Musical Rooms providing an evening's accomodation in the caretaker's backroom - we found that the TV in fact was tuned to the CCTV loop; can confirm a universal truth that when a person enters a lift, they will spend the whole time checking themselves out in the mirror (particularly if that person is male). The other form of amusement came in eliciting gleeful screeches from the old hags in the corridor while stepping out of the shower.

Rambling drivel aside, Hong Kong was always going to be a polar change to Mumbai in terms of culture, though I think there are a few similarities. The balance between tradition and high technology is much shifted, whereas Mumbai still seems to be developing with a sometimes precarious infrastructure but rapid in growth, Hong Kong is obviously extremely westernised (though there are still reminders of traditional methods - building scaffolding consists of thick bamboo shoots held with cable ties). Getting about is disarmingly easy with an Octopus card - our glowering eight legged fiends of the deep allowing us unlimited use of the mass transit system (shared with Kowloon hipsters with combs in their pockets and children with wheels on their shoes). I have confirmation that it is physically impossible to get lost there - I tried stepping onto the wrong train and a boxing glove on a spring repeatedly punched me in the groin until I got on the right one. Dan spotted a woman scraping chewing gum from the floor with a scalpel (a rubbish job to be doing on a Friday night for anyone, but it explains the sterility of the general environment) - I wonder if there are plans for this in London or Slough ?

We met a guy called Craig in our hostel, who asked if we wanted to go out with some girls that he met. Dan initially seemed indifferent, but after my asking if he was dropped on his head as a baby we made good with our promise to help rid the city of booze. Now my usual experience of drinking is sitting in a pub flushing pints of tea with my mates, gobbing off about subjects I know nothing about and doing robot dances until the landlord shooes us ouｔ with a broom an hour after everyone else. The scenesters of Hong Kong do it differently - drinking games are integral to bar culture, and the staff supply whatever paraphenalia you might need. Some examples of this are are a bizarro version of Bruce Forsythe's Play Your Cards Right, a version of Rock Paper Scissors on LSD which involves pointing and twisting your head around a lot and some other dice games which have such byzantine rules that they require the concentration of a stoned man playing chess. We ended up drinking like rascals, obviously. There was a minor emergency later in the evening involving a miffed taxi driver accusing us of smashing a window and threatening us with some kung fu moves - luckily the police were reasonable about it. We unfortunately had to pay for the damage even though it was not in any way our fault (it smashed when the door opened), it could have happened at any time to anyone.



My sentiments exactly ...

The Beach Of A Thousand Dogs

First off, congratulations to Ben and Mandy on the birth of their daughter Rose - she was born on the 9th of April, and Dan and I wish them all the best for the future.

And so we arrived in Goa - a part of India I had pegged as somewhere to laze around on sun drenched beaches, clear my mind and not do very much. I am very pleased to report that it lives up to my expectations totally - even if Palolem is clearly not the secluded paradise it once might have been (it's very much geared towards tourists now, I get the feeling it would have been very different ten years ago). We stayed in a hut on the beach - basic, but perfectly alright for our needs. When I say basic, I don't mean the sweaty concrete walls of a Kochi hellhole, but a wooden platform on stilts with a bamboo roof. The entrance is right on the Arabian sea, and it backs onto a pig farm. Perfect.

The journey there was notable only for the bus ride (which was something like being on the back of a teenage kangaroo at it's first Green Day concert - several times I was suspended in mid air for a few seconds before coming down suddenly and sitting on my testicles). Poor old Jaz was looking a bit green, as we'd gone nuts for booze the night before after meeting some other English people. Brendon and James were two blokes from Devon, Brendon being a professional Rugby player with a fine array of drinking yarns. We now have some speakers to listen to music with, and the age difference between us and Jaz was momentarily highlighted with our choice of music. Dan and I crashed about like lunatics listening to jangly early-90s indie, Jaz looked unimpressed.


Note the audiophile positioning of the speakers. Nothing's too good for us.












The beach was lovely, despite the fact that it seemed to be a gathering point for all the stray dogs in the area, and we were kept company on a morning run along the beach by a load of snapping canine interlopers. A few days exercise and decent food made all the difference, the rest of the time being spent careening around the Goan countryside on bikes and playing drums. The last two days have been spent hanging around Mumbai again, and we bid farewell to Jaz this morning. It was awesome travelling around with her, and she will certainly be missed - if you're reading this Jaz, hope to see you in Thailand ! I hope all our stupid jokes and improvised skits of Sylester Stallone naming his daughter Zucchini didn't drive you too nuts.

Happily we managed to find a music shop that would send on some instruments and books to the Emmanuel Orphanage - I only hope that they get there in one piece (nagging feeling that they might not - there was a bit of a language barrier in getting the point across that we didn't want to take them with us). My parents will probably pleased to know that the language barrier precluded an attempt to ship international. My advice is to laugh it up while they can, because buying a sitar and drone box is priority Numero Uno on my return.

The drive in the Kool Cab (meaning 'leopard skin seat covers') provided a reminder of the sobering poverty that greeted us on our entry to Mumbai. Miles upon miles of thrown together shelters, most stacked two high spilling onto nerve-jarring roads of speeding taxis under the gaze of grinning models on billboards, hawking the latest designer shirts and life insurance. Children run around in the stagnant water and slide gleefully on their bellies on the ubiquitous piles of dirt dug from unfinished road works. I can only imagine what happens around the time of the monsoon, most of the shelters being constructed out of odd planks of wood and torn plastic sheeting - I've no idea how many people live in these areas, and without wanting to sound naive or patronising, how they cope on a day to day basis with the disease and misery that comes of living in such an environment.

Now here's some more inane photos of us that didn't fit elsewhere :


I put this up under duress from Jaz. It's one of her favourite photos - my opinion is that we look like a pair of tools.











... divorced the same day.

Coast Potatos

I can't dress this up - the last few days have been terrible. After being ill for several days, all I wanted to do was sleep. But that was not to be - Kochi did it's level best to stop me from achieving this, with the result that I have not slept more than 2 hours per night in over a week. Friday was spent tooling around trying to find someway out of the festering pustule of Kochi, without much success. All buses and trains were fully booked, and I was beginning to get seriously wound up with the whole thing. Saturday we spent a pleasant day fooling around on Cherai beach and swimming in the Arabian Sea. The Keralan sun was pretty unforgiving - cue some admiring hoots from the lobsters on the way back. We got talking to some local oddballs in a restaurant, who took a shine to Jasmine and sat at our table for most of the meal - one of them bashfully told her she was "bit nice". How lovely it is to see romance blossom ! The bus ride back was broken up nicely with the bus making some diabolical noises and then giving up on life.

The real fun came in the evening though - we had booked ourselves into Hotel Hakoba (described by The Rough Guide To Being Wrong as "dowdy but with cable TV"). I had forked out extra to have a room to myself with air conditioning, as I was desperate to get a decent night's sleep. This didn't happen - by 2am the air was so close and suffocating that I realised I was going to have to stay awake until dawn. The experience that followed knocked the Mumbai train ride off the top spot for most traumatic event so far. The 'con didn't work at all, having an outlet vent that faced a brick wall, and a load of ants and lice waged a war of attrition in my bed while I slowly marinated in my own sweat. The ceiling fans looked like they would come off the ceiling at any moment and my plan to go for a walk was scuppered by there not being any light in the corridors, and no way of telling where the treacherous flight of stairs was. The only good thing that happened is that a huge lizard came in and eat some of the mosquitos. So I waited it out for 8 hours until the sun came up and booked myself into the posh hotel up the road (giving Hokaba the V sign on the way out). I don't think I've ever been so happy.

Now we're in Gokarna, an idyllic hangout for ageing hippies - first impressions were not good, but during the day it's extremely relaxed and has got a reasonably nice market place (which was overrun by the Full Moon festival on our first night). Om beach is awesome.

Of Sitars And Vomit

Friday we arrived at a motel type place in Mamallapuram, and then out to sea front restaurant (which had been nearly destroyed by the 2004 tsunami, a wave 40ft in height crashing through the upper floors). A cycle tour amongst the rock carvings and sunbathing goats took care of the morning, and a visit to another orphanage on the outskirts of town provided a chance to embarass myself in a game of cricket (painful memories of numerous school sports days filled my head as I glared enviously at Dan's volleyball game). Still, it made the kids laugh.



Mysore seemed to be a pleasant enough place, and I got the chance to see someone playing the sitar in a restaurant - something I've been wanting to see and hear from the moment we chose to go to India. Have resolved to get hold of one and play it extremely badly on my return.

After Mysore we took a bumpy ride up to the Jungle Retreat, lurching along with all the grace of a giant squid riding a tandem. The shared dormitory very closely resembled the set from the first part of the film Full Metal Jacket, and we had the pleasure if sharing the room with some charmingly social cockroaches. The food at the Jungle Retreat was excellent, but I think there may have been something up with the water. I came to this sudden realization after 24 delightful hours of diarrhea and vomiting, during which my stomach felt like a set of septic bagpipes. A summer home for Indian military officers in Ootacamund, 2000m above sea level was the charming place of my recovery. Am feeling a lot better now, but disappointed that I missed the ride on the toy train (which to be fair was the deciding point in booking the trip).

Now back in Kochi and looking forward to getting on towards Goa with Dan and Jasmine.

Madurai

The last few days have passed in a bit of a blur, we've crammed in a lot of stuff without much pause. The visit to the orphanage gave me a lot to think about and I haven't really had time to put it into words yet.

We left for Madurai on the bus in the morning - not something I was looking forward to as the ascent had been nightmarish in terms of triggering my vertigo. I am told that the descent was equally gut-wrenching, but I was totally unaware of it as I was distracted by a local film that was being shown, and an interesting chap called Rhoji who told me about his life and family. They have an interesting way of loading and unloading the luggage here - balancing huge washing baskets on one's head and climbing ladders with no other support.

In Madurai we visited the Sri Menaksh temple (where some quite abrasive freeform jazz was being played - very unexpected, it sounded like something Ornette Coleman would come out with). Dan and I were a bit put off by the pitiful sight of a trained elephant being made to pat people's heads in return for money. I don't know what sort of quality of life the animal has (it could be very happy for all I know), but it certainly looked quite bored and frustrated, a contrast to the animals I had seen roaming around a couple of days before. Dan also took the opportunity to have some clothes tailored, a long sleeved shirt and some fetching green trousers (I have no idea if he actually intends to wear them, he didn't seem overly thrilled ...)

There was high drama as we made our way to Villapuram and caught a bus - apparantly Intrepid has some history with the taxi driver's union, the details of which escape me. In any case, they weren't pleased that we were catching a public bus instead of going with them, and much banging on the side of the bus (against the background of screeching bats) ensued as we bludgeoned our way through the traffic and crowds. Our driver was certainly agitated about something, the driving style best described as 'homicidal'. The bus leapt and snarled along with the ferocity of a wounded Bengal tiger, announcing it's approach with the delicate call of an ocean liner - I am amazed no one was injured (inside or out). I could tell this was a bit more than the usual progressive style of the continent because the locals were getting increasingly upset and jumping ship before their stops.

After all that excitement, Pondicherry made a welcome change. It's still very influened from it's days as a French colony. We went out for Sue's birthday (with a glacial rickshaw ride back), and in the morning walked along the beach front where the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami had deposited tons of rock, and that people now perform their morning meditations on). Prya explained some of the aspects of Indian politics under the gazes of Mahatma Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru (looking in to India and outwards respectively). The afternoon was taken up with an interesting visit to Sri Aurobinde Ashram.

In the morning we passed through Auroville, an experiment in communal living started in 1972. It is a sort of spiritual retreat / commune with a current population of 2000, the idea being that people renounce all religions and give up personal possessions and live in a collaborative, egalitarian society. There are apparantly no leaders, and everyone has a set role that they perform (practical, artistic etc.) and are expected to be students, researchers and teachers of their roles. 5,000 people are empoyed in the area, with a plan to expand the community to 15,000. It was an interesting place, but I left feeling unclear how things such as personal disputes etc. would be handled and if it was truly as idealistic as it claimed to be.

Emmanuel Orphanage

In the afternoon we made a visit to the Emmanuel Children's Orphanage, and I feel that this was easily the most rewarding thing we have experienced so far. There are 22 children of a range of ages living under one roof in two rooms with a surrogate family. Though the conditions are basic, the children seem happy and it is clear that there is a large amount of love for all the children from the parents. The twenty girls that live there share one room over four beds - incredibly small space for so many people, the boys have it better with two sharing a similar sized room. They seemed excited and happy to see us - the ice was broken with a nervous but tuneful round of hymn singing from them, which we attempted to return with a lot less competence.

We played for a while, kicking balls about and throwing frisbees - the children have so many different personalities, some are quite shy but respond so well to the attention given to them, others are disarmingly confident - it was so heartwarming to see young people who in most cases have not had happy starts to their lives enjoying themselves. The most significant thing that happened for me was meeting Robin, a young man who teaches the children music. I had already seen a disused guitar in the house and attempted to fix it (it was unfortunately beyond repair), and I asked if there were instrument shops in the area. He said yes, and we went for a walk amongst the dusty village tracks and rusting bus yards - unfortunately when we got to the shop, the quality of the instruments was atrocious, only negligibly better than the guitar in the house. We purchased a tambourine (which was played with some skill by a few of the girls), and resolved to send a package of instruments to them in the near future. Dan and I were both moved by the hopefulness and energy of the children, and the seeds of a longer term project are beginning to take form.