A brush with protests and riots

A beachfront experience thanks to an inconvenient protest

In1997, we visit Allepey ( Kerala, India) near Kumarakom which is a bird sanctuary. We  book into a two-bedroom thatch-roofed houseboat on the backwaters. It has a reasonably sized dining room. The onboard 'chef', prepares our meals and refreshments. When there are no mosquitos we sit out on a platform that extends out of the boat at a lower level.  This could only accommodate two chairs. The backwaters are calm and so we are never in danger of being washed over by waves or slipping into the waters.

When we are about to disembark the next day we find out there is a hartal in place. Our car with a driver has been waiting for us at the pier but he will not take us. He will not drive us to our next destination. He fears the car will be damaged by the protestors. Now, we have to spend the night in Allepey. A quick thinking boatman says we could book into a local hotel for the night and just hope the hartal would end the next day.

He has got someone with a motorbike to take us 2 at a time to a hotel he recommended. The suitcases also come on a motorbike. 

We are lucky to meet the owners of the hotel. They are resolutely hanging on to the house the have inherited along the beach front, refusing to sell out to hotels sharing the expensive beachfront with them. We have lovely home made meals and naps in a hammock on the beach. 

The hartal ends the next day and so our relieved driver feels it safe to take us to our next destination.

A hartal is a mass protest, often forcing a shutdown of workplaces, offices, shops, and courts of law. It's somewhat like a labour strike. 

In Kerala, unlike most other Indian states, normal life almost comes to a standstill, during a hartal. Union leaders ask people to keep vehicles off the road and to shut shops and other establishments, including schools, for 48 hours. 

A real threat

In that same tour we are stuck in traffic jam in one of the main thoroughfares in Bangalore, India. We are just a few minutes away from the hotel but the traffic is at a standstill. We hear protestors. We get angry looks. Our driver gets jittery. They might smash our windows. Shards of glass could wound us. I'm sure we all kept our fingers tightly crossed. We were fortunate that within a few minutes traffic began to move and we were spared.

Steering clear 

We are just ending our day of walking around 'Japan Town', Sao Paulo , visiting the special museum depicting the history of the largest Japanese Population outside of Japan (see my blog: Alms and the Man). As we walk down the main thoroughfare and turn into the street leading to our AirBnb apartment right in the city centre. We see suspicious activity. Shields held by riot police form 4 walls at a busy intersection. They are not movinng. Our minds sense urgency. We just know that we have to leave the area immediately. Since we are very familiar with the area, having spent a few days there, we immediately turn into the side streets and alleys. The circuitous route takes us safely into the condo. 

We are already thinking of taking the metro bus and train to the outlying areas of Sao Paulo the next day. Little did we know then that a riot did take place and had turned violent. And what was the protest about? Fare hikes! 

In the thick of it

Our AirBnb apartment in Buenos Aires was right on Avenida De Mayo, the main road leading to the seat of Argentinian governance, right next to the historic Parisian style Cafe Tortoni, the haunt of famous figures from all walks of life, including Albert Einstein and world leaders. It is best known for the salon downstairs that holds interesting daily events, including live radio performances, poetry readings and a tango show. ( Little did we know that we would watch a life performace outside a restaurant on our forays the next day.)Of course, there was always a long line outside the cafe waiting for their reservations.  If there were any famous figures we were glibly unaware. 

We returned from roaming the streets, negotiating a long queue next door, before entering our temporry premises. A cruise friend, a tourist agent from Buenos Aires, came to share the simple dinner I had prepared. Over dinner she enlightened us on why Argentina welcomed immigrants. "We are all boat people," she puts it simply.

Just as she leaves we hear drums and dismiss it as some activity next door at the cafe. But it continues and we hear chants as well. It's all in Portugese and so we are clueless. Curiousity gets the better of me. I  look out the window. What do I see? Groups of people all walking towards Plaza de Mayo. It all seems peaceful. No need for bravado in going out on the streets to really get to know what is happening! So, I do. I see some musical instruments but no visible weapons. I don't see police. A woman comes by and hands me a pamphlet. I try to make out the message. Could it be a commercial advertisement? it is in a foreign language. Since it didn't seem exciting and I simply couldn't comunicate with anyone ( blog on having trouble with exchanging tickets) I called it quits and retired for the night. Weeks after we left Buenos Aires we found out that I had witnessed a protest against repression and censorship.

Tent 'city' in Seoul

Walking down the arterial road in Seoul, taking in a world war 2 picture exhibition and then posing in borrowed hanbo, we stroll towards Seoul's City Hall, an imposing glass structure with a living wall in its foyer. It is right beside the old city hall which houses a library. And next to it? A tent 'city'!

We knew that tents came up In Zucotti Park, NYC during Occupy Wall Street, a protest against ecconomic inequaities. But it is 11 years now. Is it still alive in South Korea? What a stark contrast to the buildings and the preparations for the Spring Festival. Typically, it is only much later that we learn of the protest by supporters of an ousted president. 

We were very lucky indeed not to be terribly inconvenienced by any of these events.

Alms and the Man, my apologies Mr Bernard Shaw

A new twist to 'when in Rome live as the Romans do'.

It was January when travelling overland in South America. We knew it would be summer in the Southern Hemisphere but really did not expect such high temperatures ( 38°C) and humidity.

Unlike Bernard Shaw's heroine (in Arms and the Man) who learns about the  reality of the world around us, we became part of that reality. The humour was not compromised. 

As we ambled the streets of Sao Paulo, even along streets that we had been warned against, we felt very much at home because our skin colour was similar to that of the local inhabitants. We dressed simply, as we were always wont to do in our travels ( branded clothing or shoes and accessories have never interested us, except to marvel at the prices as we windowshop). I carried an unassuming tote while Drink had his fanny pack with our documents. 

Homeless but not helpless

In Brazil and Argentina homeless people are treated with respect. Once we noticed a policeman approach a number of the homeless who made their barebones homes under bridges. He was not filing complaints. In fact, he had a friendly chat.

Unaffectedness draws welfare

In Sao Paolo we found ourselves in the Japanese part of the town. Sao paolo has the largest population of Japanese outside of Japan. They have assimilated very well not only because of their tan but also culturally for the most part. So here we were near shops selling Japanese goods while we noticed a museum dedicated to the Japanese history in Brazil. As usual, Drink encouraged me to visit the museum while he sat on the pavement outside. When I returned I saw him sitting shirtless, just like some of the local population. His cap was beside him, and, guess what? He had some pesos in it. He had been mistaken for a beggar and kind souls had given him alms. Maybe we could make enough money to visit all the museums!

Something similar happened in Paris. The grandchildren and I emerged out of the Metro to walk towards the Louvre hoping to see the Mona Lisa. Drink decided to find a spot nearby to sit and wait for us. So off the three of us went ( we actually got into the Museum for free, stuff for another blog later on ). Nearly 3 hours later we came back to the Metro entrance that is done up like a skeleton Cinderalla carriage embellished with  colourful baubles. Drink, shoeless, had been taking a nap on the bench in its shade with the cap over his face. He woke up to see coins in the cap. They would pay for our trips to answer nature's call.

Charity begins at home

While waiting for the bus ( an 18hour bus ride all the way down south to Buenos Aires)at the Iguazu terminus in Argentina  immediately after immigration procedures at the Brasilian side of the border we felt we should have a little something from a buffet, not necessarily because we were hungry but we needed a seat in a cool atmosphere which couldn't be found anywhere else in the bustling terminus.  

While slowly savouring the food we did what we love doing- people watching. A young affluent looking couple with a little chubby boy walked in through the doors and took up the table beside us. They ordered and as they were eating a few boys gingerly walked into the restaurant towards the tables occupied by non-foreigners and probably begged. I say probably because the children were not dressed in rags. But as soon as the family had finished, the father walked towards the counter at the buffet, bought a few boxes of food, and together with his little son walked to the door and affectionately handed out the food.

When in Buenos Aires,  a local friend visited us for dinner. We shared a lot of information about the Argentinian culture.  She said her country men were all immigrants at one time or other. They called themselves the boat people and that is the root of their compassion.

These are the occasions that leave an indelible memory.