Feeling LOW Riders...

So, after haggling with checkout and breakfast we stepped out into the street to find our excited bicycle rickshaw driver waiting. He was a ropy little guy who spoke limited English but was thrilled to usher the three of us onto his little vehicle. It was extremely tight, but we balanced and were giddy about seeing the rest of Madurai.

Only a few blocks into the trip, the driver stopped amidst a crowd of other drivers and asked us to step off. We were excited as we thought he was grabbing a bigger vehicle. Instead, he wanted to separate us into two rickshaws. Not knowing him, his buddy, or the town, we were concerned about being split up and began to walk off---but this guy never took no for an answer and convinced the three of us to pop back onto the back of his bike.

And we were off. Soon, the sun was beating down on us and we realized the reason he wanted to break up his load. Each one of us was heavier than him and Madurai is a town with some topography... By the time we made our first stop, he was a straining sweaty mess, glad to have a break as we explored the Tirumalai Nayak Palace. Actually, its just remnants of the palace---only 2 1/2 rooms are left, less than a quarter of the original building---but it's plenty. We entered through the main gate into an entry courtyard and main hall. Called the Celestial Pavilion, this is another of those amazing indoor/outdoor spaces like the front of the Raj's pad in Mysore. The courtyard is over 200 feet wide and flanked by massive colonnade that draw the eye to an ornate throne portico. The filigree above the columns and detail in the roof must have been something to behold in the 1630's when this palace was built. Today it is partially restored, showing a fascinating mix of ruin and grandeur---today and yesterday coexisting in the same space. In the adjoining dancehall, I was struck by the similarity to gothic church architecture with buttresses, vaulted ceiling and even statues of deities somewhat reminiscent of gargoyles. We took our time in the palace---mainly due to the quiet beauty, but also with a sense of dread over making our poor rickshaw driver go back to work.

As we walked out the hot sun intensified. We considered letting the driver go, but he would have nothing of it and insisted he was fine to drive us to the Ghandi Museum many kilometers down the road. As we moved on, it seemed as if more an more people were taking notice of us---and it was getting uncomfortable. Soon, it seemed as though we were only riding uphill. Much to the driver's chagrin we got out and pushed a few times when progress slowed. Once, Jeff insisted on driving, which he abided as he thought it was just a silly tourist photo---which it was, the picture is great!---but it was also an effort to mollify our increasing guilt at what we were putting this guy through.

Block after block, he strained and fought traffic. Muscles strained. Sweat poured. We felt heavy.

Seemingly the further we got from the town center, the more people were focused on us as we passed. Many, many people pointed and laughed---no doubt the scene was odd looking and was made more funny by our obvious embarrassment. I could not help but focus on the bad Western stereotypes we were fulfilling for all of the people along the road---the giant Americans lounging while a little third world guy broke his back for us...UGH.

After a while, I think he was kind of relishing the work---going out of his way to drive us through neighborhoods where his labor would be noted. Perhaps he was building up his ghetto juice, getting props from his rickshaw homeys---all I know was that I was relieved when we came to our next stop.

The Ghandi Museum sits in the home/palace owned by the British East Indian Company official who was in charge of the region. An interesting historical footnote given the institution's focus on the Indian fight for independence. The interpretation was simple but moving, telling the story of the fight all the way back from the appearance of the British and other Europeans; all the way through Mahatma Ghandi's leadership and the heartbreaking eventual separation with Pakistan. The most intense and shocking exhibit in the entire building is the glass case reportedly containing the still-blood stained clothes that Ghandi wore when he was assassinated. A powerful place.

And after walking through the halls that represented screams from the Indian people to pull the yoke of the West off their backs, we jumped back on rickshaw... Thankfully, all that was left was the hike back to the hotel. He knew it. We knew it. We were all happy about it. But the troubles continued on the way back as we fought through congested streets uphill, around bridges, too-narrow streets, and impassable lanes. The driver desperately searched for the most down-hill route he could take, which invariably took us through the poorest of Madurai's shabby neighborhoods. Throughout, we were greeted with red banners and flags brandishing the hammer and sickle. These are not areas where it is comfortable to be a big American on the back of a small Indian. These were the blocks where the smiles turned into scowls. Where we were fulfilling all of the worst expectations. Where we, for the first time in all of the India trip, felt unsafe and in danger. The feeling did not last, but it was palpable. I did not necessarily worry of physical harm, but you could see in people's eyes that they were ready. Ready to grab a bag. Ready to swipe for loose, or not so loose stuff. It was interesting to see that a ghetto is a ghetto is a ghetto---wherever you are. The ride felt like it would go on forever, but mercifully and suddenly we found ourselves in environs we recognized. We hopped off, completely overpaid the driver. And at his request, I wrote him a recommendation for his business portfolio:

This is the best and strongest driver in all of Madurai. He is skillful and
safe. You should let him show you his town. Josh, Chicago, USA.
P.S. Let him bring a friend along if your group is large...

He was dead tired, but happy. We were just embarrassed.

The only way to feel better was a return trip to Apollo 96 for KF 1X2's. Our trip into space was less chill than the night before as it was punctuated by cell phones and belches. Nonetheless it was good to be off the bike...

Coming Soon: Umm, that orangutan should not be there, should it?