In Munnar India our driver talked us into getting an Aruyvedic massage. I cannot tell you how many times we've read never to take this kind of advice. The internet is full of reported scams involving kick-backs, robberies and even kidnapping. Well we really liked Santosh, our driver, and although we had just met, he really wanted us to do this- our experience would not be complete without it. So OK, wtf, we agreed. Our appointment was for 6:30pm and we went for the deluxe package, one hour of full body massage followed by half an hour of hot oil dripped on our foreheads. Jealous? Driving there we left the paved road at the outskirts of town and bumped our way along to a ramshackle building on the jungle's edge. It was dark when we arrived but not so dark that we missed the ripped threadbare rugs and stained walls. We were ushered into private rooms and the procedure commenced. Stripped naked except for a 5 square inch loin cloth I lay on the table trying to ignore the slightly cloying smell. The massage was interesting and I relaxed as he withdrew demons from me and realigned my shakras. After an hour the hot oil drip commenced and I discovered the source of the smell. This was also strangely relaxing even when half was through I realized this was recycled magical oil. I mused about how old it could be and how many foreheads had this oil dripped off of? Then the biologist in me turned to the bacteriological host properties of warm oil. Soon it was over and we waited the prerequisite hour before showering. Actually it took two showers to fully degrease. At no time did I feel I had put myself in harm's way until,calling home, my son Dan noted "sounds like a good way to wake up missing a kidney".
Madurai is one of those Indian Cities which attracts few western tourists. It has an amazing living Hindu temple but otherwise is a seemingly endless working city, crowded and frenetic. As was often the case our hotel was fine but seemed misplaced by western standards. In the evening, waiting for Beth to shower I decided to check out the street scene. Stepping out the door I entered a cacophony of sound and motion. A scrap metal dealer next to a store selling milk jugs and a guy selling betel nuts on and on down the street forever. Tuk-tuks are three wheeled open air taxis that are everywhere. In some places they are metered and reliable and in others they prey upon tourists. It is not uncommon for some hapless schmuck to be driven to some unknown location and held up for a higher fee or worse. Standing on the street in front of the hotel a driver struck up a conversation. We talked about New York, our trip etc. I was curious about his life and started asking questions about his business. How long had he driven? Did he own the Tuk-tuk? How much did they cost... Soon he, smiling and nodding insisted on taking me on a ride. I laughed and showed him my empty pockets having left my wallet in the room. No problem sir, you are my guest! Maybe it was the two beers in my belly but I agreed and hopped aboard. Off we flew, my new best friend excited about demonstrating his skills as we careened down the crowded roads horn honking and swerving. It was quite exciting and my laughter egged him on and he also started laughing (somewhat maniacally) as he careened through the streets the fastest driver in Madurai. After about 14 blocks, all of which to me seemed exactly the same, I realized here I was, no wallet, no phone, lost in a city I could not spell and staying at a hotel whose name I never bothered to notice. I am proud to say I did not panic. I dug down and retrieved my what will be will be mantra and was calm when we pulled back up to the hotel. Later that night he took Beth and me for another ride, for pay this time, and we learned more about him. A grandfather who had just lost his daughter to suicide and left the care of her two young kids to him. How sad this world can be and yet how amazingly kind people remain.
