My swashbuckling instincts having gotten the better of me and I headed back for the hub of Guwahati to recover from the rough experiences in the hinterlands. I had had enough of the jolting paths and rough environs of rural Meghalaya and Arunachal Pradesh. I am glad for the adventures achieved and feel proud that I stayed my course through the hardship. That said, my quest for exotic adventure had been satiated and I was ready for easier going.
I returned to Hironmoy’s spotless airbnb flat for a few days. I brought my health back preparing my own scrambled eggs, potatoes, okra, caramelized tomatoes, ginger, garlic and green chilis with liberal amounts of butter. Soon I was feeling much better. By now I had a better understanding of the city’s layout and was more comfortable taking buses around. As I mentioned earlier, one of the two places I go to when visiting a new city is the library and, if there is one, the botanical garden. I had avoided the garden in town as it is part of the Guwahati zoo. As an animal lover I resolved years ago that my days of visiting zoos are over. But google maps told me of an alternative, an extensive botanical garden that was part of the University of Guwahati.This was a fair jaunt out of town. I took a combination of bus and app-hired car to reach it.
Upon arriving I found the gates to the garden locked. The considerate rickshaw driver lingered for ten minutes while I went into the botanical department building to ask about entry to the garden. Somehow I was treated as an honored guest. The academics and administrative people received me as if I were a professional in the field. I did not mislead them here, I think there were just so few westerners visiting the place that my visit was treated as a special occasion. It was so nice to be such an honored visitor and I think they felt that honored their efforts at the University and the garden. Soon approval was given for my visit and I was guided through the park by a pair of professors. They were clearly proud of the garden and that someone from so far away was interested in seeing it and learning about the plants of the Northeast.
What struck me about the garden was its lack of monetization. This was a college effort- there were no tourist kiosks or “guides” hustling for business. Thank the lawd. What was there was a dazzling array of trees and plant life, sprinkled with the occasional monkey here and there. We walked through the grounds and I marveled at all the trees and plants that I had never seen before. They all seemed really healthy. Some of the plants even received supplementary irrigation for optimum health. I will try to include a good deal of pictures to give you the idea. If you want to visit the garden it’s at Guwahati University and is called the “Regional Botanical Resource Centre.” I thanked all those involved in the warm welcome and said goodbye to my guides. I went into the student “canteen” for a simple lunch. Then a few students helped direct me to a bus that was headed back to Guwahati. Such polite and hospitable behavior was the norm for me in Assam, and is something to experience. If you are at all interested I recommend you go and visit, let them know you are curious about Guwahati and Assam.
Anyways, a few days later I was ready to address arranging transportation onward from Guwahati. I heeded Hironmoy’s suggestion and bought my own train ticket at the Guwahati station. Although this was meant to empower me I had a startling interaction at the station. I was pulled into the train station manager’s office where he questioned me about “why I was in India.” The man suspected something and was not shy about it. He didn’t seem to believe that my purpose for being there was tourism. How much more like a tourist can one look like? This was all very unsettling and it took me a while to realize how shady that Guwahati train master was. Was it a crime to be a tourist? Was I not spending my tourist dollars? What did he suspect? That I was an undercover guerrilla warrior? This encounter still troubles me to this day. Anyways, in the end the clerk sold me a ticket and I was on my way.
Although nothing is really definite or secure in India, getting this ticket felt to be a significant accomplishment. I learned later that I paid astronomically more than even the wealthiest Indians simply because I was a foreigner and had bought the “takal” ticket. In my cluelessness a sense of satisfaction (and anxiety) had come with getting the ticket. I had not paid an agent or a commission. This constituted victory for a solo backpacker that doesn’t speak Hindi or Assamese. It sure would have been great to be able to use my smartphone to get the ticket. Alas, I had tried every combination of tactic and app but every time I neared the completion of my ticket purchase the transaction was rejected because of “some error.” I knew it was my foreign credit card. This is modern India. One moment you are hailing a cab via your smartphone or having food delivered via an app, the next you are plunged back into the most archaic of systems- standing in lines filling out forms, riding in donkey carts, spending hours navigating constantly evolving bureaucracy (even handing out commissions) just like during my first visit to India.
Hirnonmoy’s rental was booked for the next week, forcing me to seek accommodation again. I was too tired to lug my gear from guesthouse to guesthouse inquiring about a room like I had in “shlong.” So I opted to book what I could find in my budget through airbnb. I ended up settling on what seemed to be an alright option that looked to be ideally situated along the river. When the rickshaw dropped me off at the location I, again, had a rough confrontation with reality. I had booked a getaway in the slums. Corrugated metal shacks crowded all around. Google maps led me down a narrow dirt track flanked by open running sewers. My sixth sense tingled, sensing that I was in such a good location. I asked a few locals about a guesthouse and they kindly gestured further down the poop path. Sure enough, down the lane I recognized the facade of the building from the airbnb pictures. The proprietor had sneakily not shown the street view for good reason. I soon was acquainted with the proprietor.
He was a twerpy young lawyer in training and he shared his scam center, I mean the building, with his mother. He showed me the rental space, which he had also neglected to mention was currently under construction. I tried to withhold my dismay at him and the booking as I had already paid. I dropped off my things and accompanied the proprietor to a nearby restaurant for an attempt at a cordial tea. The young man did not grow on me. He had a sharp, inappropriate way of sharing judgments and stating things rather rudely. This was an experience that was quite the opposite of Hironmoy’s hospitality and of my experience of Assamese culture. In time I only grew more uncomfortable at the place and increasingly at odds with the jerk. Soon, in addition to the construction he was bringing all manner of people into the rental during my stay, obliterating any sense of privacy, sanctuary or even safety. In the end I started a dispute with airbnb which proved to be a fruitless exchange with bots and employees spouting corporate scripts that did nothing to rectify the situation. The experience was so negative that when nothing came of my efforts except frustration and feelings of victimization, I canceled my airbnb account completely. I could not have had a better illustration of being disregarded by it or its customers/landlords. Frustratingly, my canceling my account probably hurt me in the long run as it eliminated my lodging history, the reviews I had written of places where I stayed and those place’s reviews of me. It’s years later now and I have yet to make another airbnb rental.
With this hiccup out in the open, the remainder of my experience in Guwahati during this period was not entirely bad. During my imprisonment at the ghetto bnb I chatted up two young students on the street, asking them for a cafe recommendation. They ended up joining me for some coffee and we exchanged numbers. Hriday and Tanmoy met up with me the next day and took me on a walking tour of Guwahati, including a trip the Navagraha temple, often referred to as The Temple of The Monkeys. We hiked up a series of switchbacks in the hot sun. A playful banter passed between the three of us. Hriday and Tanmoy were university students at the University of Guwahati. They were working toward what I believe was a graduate level in Civil Affairs and Physics, respectively. The two offered a helpful window into Guwahati and modern Assam. Hriday was especially hungry for Western ways and sensibility. He wished to visit the United States and participate in the parties he had heard about. Tanmoy, like me, was a more serious and introverted creature. He would let Hriday take the main stage and chime in occasionally with a comment.
When we reached the temple Hriday again reminded me to be on guard against marauding monkeys and keep my GoPro close to my body. “Hold tight,” he said, “I’ve seen it happen.” I was also advised to not look into the eyes of any of the resident monkeys as this was threatening to them. I think the same rule goes for all wild animals. It is mostly the domestic animals that are safe to make eye contact with. We walked around the temple unmolested by the monkeys. The place offered quality architecture and views of the city. I created a simple video of the event, to be found on this page.
After the temple we walked on toward a war cemetery that turned out to be closed. Then we went for a local lunch served on a banana leaf and the two were surprised that I was accustomed to eating that way with just the right hand. After lunch I treated the two to some chocolate cake from a nearby shop. Put simply, sometimes one does not want, one needs chocolate!
In Guwahati the whey protein that I had been lugging around ran out. While in the relatively modern city I sought out a nutrition shop to get the difficult to come-by protein that I needed. This led to a bizarre adventure. I figured protein powder would be hard to find, but peanut butter might not be. If I was really lucky I figured I could find unsweetened pb. So I sought out a nutrition shop were I felt more than a little out of place but the locals welcomed me anyway. You see, I am an active person but I am no gym goer. I get my exercise outdoors, hiking or paddling, or surfing or something else that offers me incentive. Well, I stepped into the place and found it full of Indian bodybuilders.
