Roughing It

It was the last day of January 2009, and what else to do but go camping, which is what Jess and I did over the weekend on a farm west of Bengaluru with our compatriots Alex (dad) and Preston (son, and Jess’s friend). (Note: the moms stayed home, went shopping and had dinner at a very nice restaurant only to retire to a nice movie in the quiet of home with new bottle of wine!)

Dads –n- kids departed promptly at 6 am Saturday to get through city traffic unhindered, and the strategy mostly worked. Since we live at the eastern edge of the city, and we were traveling west to the Hunsur area, we had to traverse the whole of Bengaluru to get to the Mysore Road, which is one of the busiest roads into and out of Bengaluru. There is one intersection you must traverse to gain access to the Mysore Road port of entry, and a number of streets meet at this confunded junction. There was a dead bus in the middle of the intersection, which was proposed as our first obstacle to a pleasant weekend. Our second obstacle was that we needed petrol. The first service station we stopped at would only take cash, the second station would take a credit card but had a limit of Rs. 1,500 – such is the way here in India. By 7:30 we were underway, fueled and out of the city. The complete drive was about five hours, and since I had not been on the Mysore Road since October, there was “new” stuff to see. The kids went back to sleep, and Alex and I watched the world go by while drinking home brew java and conversing. A pleasant way to ease into the day, indeed.

Our camping host was not so lucky as their drive got hung up in Bengaluru traffic. We got several phone calls from our host checking on our location, and finally we were instructed to pull over and kill a half an hour to give him time to catch up to us. Luckily, we happened to be going past a new subdivision, and I had the driver pull into the subdivision so I could get some pictures on Indian style foundation building for a future disquisition. After a bit, and what I hope will be some good pictures, we were back underway towards the farm. Having caught up to us, our hosts were now guiding us through the back roads of a very rural area to the farm. There were a lot of oxen and cattle, rice production, and coconut plantations. The roads were poorly maintained, which I think was intentional as the pitted pathways kept motorized traffic to a minimum and slowed it down to that of its oxen based peer community. The area is quite dry as it is dependent upon rain for moisture, and southern India has not had significant rain since November. The reservoirs are down, and the countryside is brown.

Arriving at the farm at about eleven am, the kids quickly assigned our sleeping hut and exploded into the environment until all nooks, crannies, and critters are explored, examined, and named, which results in a ravenous and rancorous hunger and the need for feed. While the kids were doing kid stuff, the dads were doing dad stuff- getting unpacked, locating mattresses and sleeping bags, the boring stuff, all the while yelling at the kids to not do this or that as it might be dangerous or disrupt something or other, and please do not chase the chickens as it spoils the meat. However, in the mind of the seven year olds, once a chicken has been named, it is pardoned from attaining the status of main course until the next bus of tourists arrives, thus relieving it of the "do not chase" law to the current residents. They only caught the little ones.

Other farm critters included the cows, the rabbits, the chickens, the goat, and the dog. All had to handled, petted, in some cases naming rituals were performed, fed, chased, and rescued. On hen had a number of small chicks in a pen, and a couple of the chicks had gotten through the fencing, and were free range chicks (which is currently outlawed in Mangalore by the morality police – another story). Jessie felt it her obligation to return the chicks to the hen, which she did quickly and carefully after convincing dad that this was a truly necessary and compassionate act. One hen was on eggs in a mop bucket, which I dubbed “fresh bucket of chicken” – if you’re old enough to remember the early KFC. The rabbits were a big hit as they required being fed carrots twice daily.

Our host, Jerry, had brought a box of snakes that had been rescued within the city limits of Mysore. There were 20-25 snakes in all, most were harmless, but a few were quite dangerous – one being the infamous Russell Viper or Daboia, which is one of the most deadly snakes in the world and is responsible for the most snake caused deaths in India. The kids got to touch and release the harmless snakes, and we were treated to merely viewing the more dangerous ones, and they were not released on the farm as Jerry was going to release them in a very, very rural setting on his way home. (We were only in a very rural setting, and the population density was too high for disagreeable snakes.) The kids really enjoyed the snakes; however, the chickens rather disagreed with the slitheries. One of the released headed for a box under the chicken pen holding a hen with chicks. Another hen was on the ground, and the moment she became aware of the snake she became ninja chicken. Whereupon, Jerry had to rescue the snake from hentilla and aim it at other less well pecked grounds.

Once the animals were attended to, the snakes were released, and lunch was over, the afternoon beaconed before the wee ones. Naturally, afternoons should be spent in a lake. So, the crew headed off to catch bait for fishing, which was a rather unsuccessful endeavor. The whole fishing thing was abandoned the minute Jerry mentioned the coracle boats and swimming. And they were off to deeper waters for a refreshing dip in the lake. Jessie, being the Minnesotan that she is, was in her prime as swimming in a lake is one of her mostest favorite pastimes. She ignored all instruction and command and blissfully proved to the world that this was her lake to bend to her desire. I think that’s genetic, and I am not speculating on just whose 23 chromosomes the attitude came from.

At about this time, I realized tactical error number one: I had purposely left the camera battery charger at home to conserve space in the pack thinking that the blasted camera would make it through the weekend. Big mistake as the camera was drained, and I did not get any pictures of Jess swimming or of the safari. However, serendipity reigns o'er me, and Alex provided the much needed pictures.

While swimming was underway, and the avian crowd was doing its late afternoon scratching and pecking around where the earth had been disturbed to get worms. The attack came silently, stealthily, and swift. A kite had been watching from the top of a coconut palm, and with target acquired the attack was executed. When the chickens became aware of the predator, panic hit the flock and the feathers flew. The target was taken. The avians did not venture out into the open again Saturday or Sunday.

After swimming came showers, and tactical error number two was discovered: take towels. I think that this is why modern man has the familial woman assist with the packing because they tend to bring way more stuff than is necessary, but in that unnecessary stuff are some useful nuggets like towels and battery chargers. Oh, and tactical error number three: flashlights. I actually thought about flashlights, but the thought never got to the actionable phase and into the pack. Oh, well, it’s not like I was going walking around in the dark given that a large number of snakes had just been released into the environment.

Oh, and don’t put anything useful to an ant, such as food, into a grass hut. I had a plastic bag containing one apple and a bag of rather expensive ($6) Pepperidge Farm chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies. I set the bag upright on the “floor” of the hut, which was about two feet off the ground – above snake range I guess. After lunch I thought a nice desert would be a cookie, and I stealthily returned to the hut to feed my need. Awaiting me was a bag of ants and a huge disappointment. I think they were actually doing a conga line to carry away the cookies. I was able the save the apple, but the cookies were a total loss. Oh, well. I hung the rest of our gear from ropes to avoid future ant-ics.

Dinner was an interesting event. We were going to have barbecued chicken. The cooking staff did the marinating and got the fire started, and one of the guests was assigned to do the cooking. Well, this turned into a team event as we tried to keep the fire going just ahead of the basting operation, which was tasked to a young lass two years into environmental studies in college, who must have felt that too much fire was bad for global warming, and unbeknownst to her fire is a requirement for cooked chicken. So, we had a fire maintenance team, the barbecue team, and the baster. I took up the rear guard and protected the beer cooler to assure it did not succumb to a similar environmental purging before its time of need when the delivery of nutrient laden and filtered water is returned to nature. After dinner a rousing campfire was lit with coconut palm branches, and discussions of politics weighed heavily upon the adults as the kids attempted to roast marshmellows on bamboo skewers. It was a good thing the cooking fire team left some coals for the marshmellows.

Finally, it was bed time. A political rally was being held in the village behind us, with very loud speakers, and it went on, and on, and on, ad nausium – like trying to sleep through the republican convention with your cot on the main floor. I check the time at 2 am; finally got to sleep at 4 am only to be woken at 6 am to go on safari – the rally was still going strong, and I needed caffeine.

Safari was a bus ride through the Nagerhole National Park. The trip to Nagerhole was about an hour through the back roads, and was not really noticed due to sleep deprivation and lack of caffeine. We did see a large tusker (male elephant), several deer, peacocks, mongoose, malabar squirrel and a couple of other things I don’t remember the names of. The highlight was the python, which was about twelve feet long and maybe six inches in diameter – way cool to see one in the wild. The down side to the safari was that my camera battery was dead; so, I’m thankful Alex got some pictures. After the safari, we returned to the farm for a quick bite of lunch, and to say good-bye to the rabbits, the chickens, the dog, and the goat.

Alex attempted one last quest just prior to lunch: real coffee, not instant, not decaf, not sugared or milked, but real black product of the bean. He went into the village on Saturday night to acquire coffee. After being given a cup of coffee, he restated his need – coffee powder. Having achieved ground coffee, the next step in the process was poised for execution. The next morning, after the safari, Alex went to the cook shack to get hot water to make coffee. He was given a cup of coffee. The resolution to his, and mine, need for caffeine, took a fair amount of discussion with the cooking staff, but Alex persevered, and obtained sufficient hot water to make us a cup of coffee. It was a bit on the strong side, but not quite espresso strength and it held our eyelids up until we could get to a Coffee Day on the way home. Ah, the perfect end to a great weekend, indeed!