February 8th: Mount Meru in Northern Tanzania

On February 8th 1980 I was walking with a friend up the slopes of Mount Meru, the volcano which dominates the city of Arusha in northern Tanzania.

After a couple of days in Arusha I had worked out a couple of things: firstly, there wasn't much to do and there were hardly any other cheap travellers around, and secondly there was no point in even thinking about going on any organised tours to get into the wildlife parks.  So, I thought, let's just walk towards the mountain and see what happens - this was my first walk in Africa.

Getting through the suburbs in the late afternoon immediately felt better, then I reached the Nairobi - Moshi road, and there was a turning to the left at the village of Sekei and after a moment's hesitation I took it because it felt right first time.  I went up through the straggly village with bars and shops and crowds of people going home.  The country got better, up in the coffee fields, bananas, maize, cabbages.  Huts became simpler and simpler, rounder and more thatched, the women with less city clothes.  There were plenty of Maasai walking.  There was a field with church and mission bell, and a white woman in a Rover.  I gained a schoolboy companion and on the way back down we stopped at his house in the dying light for tea and looked at his photos of foreigner friends.  It was good to be among the fields with the stars above.  I was shown to the main road in the darkness, and went into a bar with others for pombe, millet beer.

The next morning I met Audrey, American and a few years older than me, and within seconds we were talking about how we could go further up towards the mountain, starting the next day.  So on this day we left at daybreak, poking around in Sekei, looking for a chai but it was still too early.  I was carrying an outsize avocado to eat for breakfast, which we took under the shade of a tree down a little lane.  We were happy and optimistic enjoying the "Jambo!"s  and "Where are you going?", but knowing we were not going to get very far up the mountain.  The next village had a wonderful large fig tree with a double trunk and hanging roots.  In the last village there were no corrugated iron roofs but all around mud and wattle huts, often with a second little one in the compound and with maize and banana fields and sometimes pastures cut for cattle.

Then we were in a spruce and pine forest, dark with a stream running through it and the first little orchids, pinkish.  We came to a clearing around a giant fallen mahogany tree where we sat for a while in the sunshine looking at the green forest trees around us and the hornbills.  As we walked on we had a fine view westwards towards a green hill that must have been beside the road north to Kenya.  Further up the ridge was steep but easy, very beautiful and jungly with more orchids, colourful birds calling in all directions, and the noise of colobus monkeys moving through trees.  At some point we crossed from the ridge to the mountain itself.  The forest was full of drum-shaped hives and the trails leading to them.  The trails were bigger where the bamboo cutters had been in; some places were quite dark, some places were swampy with by-passes; we saw a pair of colobus monkeys at one point among calabash trees and bright red flowers, the first wild animals I'd seen while walking in Africa. 

On The Edge of Mount Meru:  My picture

Finally we reached a clearing where we could see the clouds above us across a river and a steep precipice but we could not make out the top of the forest and could not find a trail.  After walking all day we had done enough and we had only food and water for the one night.  So we listened to a wood cutter on the other side of the river, and his cow, and then came down.  We found quite a large trail and, as the sunlight was fading, a nice camping spot.  We enjoyed the final rays of the sun beside a tiny blue orchid, collected firewood, ate our beans hot and our carrots and settled down to try to sleep in what was a cold night.  The stars and the moon and the hornbills rowdily roosting were fine but I was pleased when the sun got up in the morning.

The down trail was really easy, but as is usual not so interesting.  We found bamboo cutters pulling their loads down the trail.  We had frequent rests to admire scenery, the trees and the birds, to warm up, to eat mangoes, and eventually to find running water.  We cut back to where we had been the day before near the pine forest and found a closed valley for a couple of hours, lazing, watching black and white colobus monkeys in the jungle on the escarpment, there were maybe 15 or 20 of them, nearly always in view.  We saw groups of boys with cattle.  The way back was wearisome, but we were well greeted by Maasai and others as we sat under the double fig tree.  Eventually we were taken to the pombe shop for much needed refreshment.

Mount Meru:  My picture

February 5th: Vellore in South India

On this day or thereabouts I was in Vellore in southern India.  We were there to fulfil obligations to my  relative John Cameron who had served with the Madras Sappers in Bangalore before and immediately after the Second World War.  We had met a number of people whose addresses he had given us, from a recently retired general to his driver living in Kerala.  We had stayed as honoured guests at the mess in Bangalore and had visited John's number two, called Sampangi, in Bangalore for a typically sumptuous meal.  We had made an arrangement to return to Vellore at this time to see more old soldiers.

We went to look at the Old Fort, which was a large intact space with fortified ramparts and an ancient temple.  There were the inevitable meals, which were too substantial and heavy.  There was a meal at the bungalow in Vellore where a number of old Sappers came to introduce themselves to us before we ate.  It was a very formal situation for much of the time. 

Finally we taken out to the village of Cameronpet, which was along the main road near the small town of Pallikonda as far as I can compute it.  This was a tiny settlement right next to a much more prosperous village which had a large white church.  All the inhabitants came out to greet us and showed us around.  My understanding is that John had paid for the building of this place for the impoverished families of soldiers probably sometime in the thirties - he modestly refused to discuss Cameronpet at all when I returned to England.  The buildings were simply built and looked all of the same style and could well have been pre-war.  I presume that all the inhabitants were untouchable as were most if not all of the people we were visiting in Vellore.  The Italian Catholic priest from the church was brought to meet us but unfortunately, with Sampangi back in Vellore arranging yet another feast, we had no way of doing much communication as little English was spoken.  A formal photograph was taken and I managed a less formal one as well, but not of the centre of Cameronpet itself.

We drove back to Vellore for the arranged feast and we were eventually allowed to relax on our own.  We started our journey north the next day by driving to Hyderabad.

In Cameronpet:  My picture

Near Cameronpet:  My picture

February 2nd: Dar Es Salaam

On February 2nd 1980 I was in Dar Es Salaam.  I arrived in the afternoon after an overnight flight from London.  My previous effort to get to Africa had died in Morocco in 1977.  My idea this time was to spend three months or so in East Africa, starting in Tanzania and ending up in Nairobi and seeing what I could in between.   The border between Kenya and Tanzania was firmly closed when I left, Zaire was a possibility depending on finding a visa and Uganda seemed to be open again after the overthrow of Idi Amin by the Tanzanian army nine months previously.

The flight to Addis Ababa was fine, filling up after Rome.  I'd been drinking champagne with friends in London and drank brandy with a friendly Italian businessman which helped me sleep.  When it got light we were still over the desert, but then we flew over Lake Tana, blue and muddy below, with the Nile Falls visible.  Ethiopia looked beautiful as it got greener, more rectangular fields and circular compounds and hayricks and huts.  At the stopover in Addis, the air was clear and warm and invigorating after London in early February.  Inside I sat briefly at the bar with a Swiss man working in Washington with the World Bank on  a two day visit.  He talked of fear and suspicion among the people, but he had a hatred of communism and all things red.  Our flight was delayed and I and everyone else seemed increasingly nervous; it was a most unfriendly couple of hours.  I gathered later that there had been hijacking incidents recently.  Kenya seemed more developed from the air, roads or straight tracks everywhere; one large pond or small lake had some animals visible.  Mount Kenya was clouded over and there was a storm over Zanzibar and the blue coral sea as we came down to land from over the ocean.  Most of the other tourists got swept into their rich hotels and I got a booking for the Hotel Mboye from the information clerk, very friendly but after my black market money.  I took the airport bus with a couple of my age American missionaries from Nairobi, who were convinced that the bus was going a long way round just to "shuck" them.  At the Mboye there was a room with a fan and a manager who brought me beer and hassled me to change money.

The next day I walked around, liking the African town around the Kariakoo market rather than the Indian town which took up much of the centre.  The day after, with my bus ticket to Arusha bought, I hung about near the ocean front, liking the sea breeze, the gulls and Nyerere's peacocks.

The bus journey was all night through heavy rain at first when the traffic got jammed, and then the road got worse when we started to climb.  I woke up to the sight of ostriches on the plain and ahead of us was Mount Kilimanjaro.  I transferred to a local bus with some of my money given back, as myself and a Swiss nurse were the only passengers travelling on to Arusha.  The new bus was full of farmers and some Maasai.  The countryside seemed beautiful especially the mountains and the coffee estates with rivers in between, and Maasai groups with their fine cattle and donkeys.  

View Dar in a larger map

February 1st: Near Rumbek

On February 1st 1981 I was near Rumbek.  I was some miles to the east near the bridge over the Bar Na'am, the main river in the area.  I sat for a long time on the bank of the river enjoying the view, as this was the first opportunity for a few weeks to at least sit higher than somewhere else and look down on things.  Rumbek is a seriously flat place.  I wrote this in my notebook:

The Bar Na'am near Rumbek:  My picture

It's hot, almost midday.  I've cycled from Begjui, where the archaeologists' camp is, and I'll be thirsty when I get back to Rumbek.  It's fairly peaceful here on the bank of the river with a wind blowing and the hot sun on my forehead.  A herd of cattle is opposite, some fine song-bulls, with yellow wagtails cheeping among them.  Between them and me trickles the muddy river; a skinny naked youth washes the ash from his body with a tin can.  Behind I can hear goats bleat and cranes crying.  A little cattle camp shelter by a nearly bare tree, with a flag and a few men sitting with goats.  

Such a contrast to the forest where I was this morning, looking at the ground hornbills.  I cannot sit in the sun too long.

On the previous afternoon, a Saturday and so no teaching, Jeremy of the archaeologists had come round to ask me out to their camp, at Begjui to the east of Rumbek, to help them eat a sheep which had been given them by a local chief called Chut.  I borrowed Andy's bike and put it in their Land-Rover and grabbed my sleeping-bag.  In the event the occasion did not work out, as two of the party were ill and the camp was very subdued.  I went to bed quite early as did everyone else and then Jeremy left early in the morning.  I went for a dawn walk and enjoyed the monkeys and the small mammals of the forest, which I could not see closer to Rumbek.  Then I cycled out further east along the road as far as the river, which is probably about 20 miles from Rumbek.  The road however was too much for the bike as the rear brake failed and finally a valve went.  After sitting at the river, I pushed the bike back a mile or so towards Rumbek.  Finally a truck passed, the first vehicle I had seen, and I hailed it.  I had a miserable bruising ride back to town, as the truck had little cargo but a huge number of passengers and I had to support the bike all the way.

The Road I Cycled:  My picture

At The Bar Na'am:  My picture

January 29th: Tiruvannamalai in Southern India

On January 29th 1982 I was in Tiruvannamalai in Tamil Nadu in Southern India.  Tiruvannamalai is a small town with a huge temple.  The backdrop to the town is the Arunachala hill, which is seen as Shiva himself and is the real object of devotion here.  The hill has been the abode of ascetics down the ages: in the first half of the twentieth century Ramana Maharshi lived here, and although not a guru many Indians and Westerners have devoted themselves to his teaching.

The previous evening I had gone to the temple and been impressed by its size, courtyard within courtyard, two tanks, lots of commercialism, monkeys, an elephant, even cows inside, lots of sadhus and babas, more Shiva here than I'd seen elsewhere.  A brahmin hustled me down to a lingam shrine beneath a pillared hall where Maharshi is supposed to have done tapas; it has a plaque and two photos; he did a puja for me so I had a mark on my forehead which got much looked at.  Many of the visitors were sitting facing the mountain.

Arunachala from the temple:  My picture

In the morning I went to the temple again and then wandered around taking photos of Arunachala, and of some people in the market/bazaar who to my surprise made friendly and willing subjects. Then I sought out the little hill to the north of the temple, going up through a charming little lane, nearly a cul-de-sac, and felt a little free of the town.  The temple at the top was rather spoiled by graffiti, but this did not detract from the good feeling.  I looked down on a little temple below where there was a lot of activity, and the people walking round seemed to be mostly women.  I also looked down on the five houses which seemed perfectly fitted into the edge of the hill.  One of them had new whitewash and red tiles, the local sort that fitted tightly on top of one another; next door had coils of rope outside the door and a strange slightly oversize dummy of a woman.

In the afternoon I tackled Arunachala itself, not getting especially far up - it was too late in the day.  I passed the cave where Maharshi spent many years but what I wanted was some feel of the mountain itself.  I wrote this in my notebook:

I am perched on a huge boulder on the first ridge of this most holy mountain.  Late afternoon, sunshine alternating with cloud shade, and there's a lot of haze.  So far the climb has been dry and dusty, small herby plants, short grass and some cactus, some kites coming close to my head, a neophron landing on a rock, a pack of well-behaved monkeys, a big old male moving behind his family, slow but dignified.  Above it gets a little greener, long grass and some flowers, scarcely attractive though, a small group of people collecting something, grass perhaps.

Below the town is laid out.  I can see almost all of it, roads leading out at strategic angles, I can see seven at least, the eternal bleating of horns, the train line on the far side, and a train chugs slowly across and stops at the station.  The flat plain stretches out until it gets lost in the haze, some clumps of hills in the distance, but nothing as spectacular as this hill.

The temple:  My picture

The temple dominates everything; it covers almost 10% of the town area.  I can make out three courtyards and the shrine within, 4 gopurams for the two outside courtyards and one for the inside one, plus two tanks, one shining green, and various porticoes and the large covered hall of pillars.  There are trees in the outer courtyard on the far side.  On three sides around is the town, but on this side only a few red-tiled houses before the slope of the hill.  On the left is the smaller hill with temple on top and at its foot, it acts as Nandi to Arunachala itself which is Shiva.  Beyond is a temple and tank, an ugly yellow school, the mosque:  I heard them calling prayer-time not long ago, and I heard also the call for Friday prayers at noon.

I can see one or two shrines on the slope of the hill, one with the friendly well-spoken baba, but the cave and the ashram are hidden by a fold in the hill.  I cannot deny Raman Maharshi's presence; although it is the name on everyone's lips, the presence is getting rather dim, dimmed by the passing years.  But the mountain lives on, that is the presence, for here the mountain is Shiva, the mountain is God, and I can sense the reverence folk have had for this extraordinary mountain over the millennia.

On the way down I stopped by the shrine with the English-speaking baba, a happy soul.  "England is in London?"  He came from Tirutani, near Tirupati, and had been staying at the shrine two months.  He put ash on my forehead.  He told me the shrine was to "Annam that is Mata, Devi," I think that is what he said.

Roger Housden in "Travels Through Sacred India" describes the walk round the mountain. The internet has a vast amount of information about Ramana Maharshi, for instance this website and this website; there is also David Godman's blog with this post of old photographs.  There is also a webcam of Arunachala.

Temple Entrance:  My picture

Garland Seller:  My picture

January 26th: Kanchipuram in Southern India

On January 26th 1982 I was in Kanchipuram in Tamil Nadu, the holiest city in South India.

The day before I had taken the bus from Madras across the flat plain.  We drove past a pretty temple town and then I could see the big gopuram rising up in the glow of the setting sun fifteen miles before Kanchipuram.  I stayed in a simple but clean Hindu hotel on the first floor with a street view and ate in the place next door that served pilgrims.  The area near where I stayed was the old part of town, full of white-dressed pilgrims, old temples, sandy streets, Sri Sankara houses, medical places, a small market but no main street.

This day was Republic Day and a national, non-sectarian holiday, so many places were closed, including temples for at least part of the day.  I found my way out to the Kailasanatha temple, an early 8th Century Shiva temple, a monument nowadays, on the outskirts of the town.  Kanchipuram had been the capital of the Pallavas when this temple had been built.  I wrote this in my notebook:

I linger here on the outskirts of this most ancient of temples, because I like the feel, because it's the nearest to rural India I've been able to linger, for it's really a little village just outside the limits of the town.  Many of the houses around are of the tiny low-roofed thatched variety, with white-washed mud walls and brown geometric designs, miniature windows, cooking utensils outside; some boys build up a little shrine with leaves and flags of India for Republic Day. 

House by the Temple:  My picture

I had an immediate good feeling for the temple as a hoopoe crossed my first sight of it.  A Shiva temple, but the statues made of soft sandstone have not weathered well, one or two give clues that they may have been fine; however much has been covered with plaster ("100 years ago" said someone), giving crude lines to the smiles of Shiva and Parvati and the fierce faces of the lions.  Its shape is interesting, small and slightly cramped in comparison with the magnificent later Dravidian styles, big niches on the inside courtyard walls with statues and some remnants of paintings on the difficult to reach inside.

At the edge of the barbed-wire compound is a plaster covered Nani.  A small tank has been excluded from the compound and given to some villagers who have built their small typical houses under the shade of ancient mango-trees.  Boys play cricket against the outside of the back temple wall.  One or two sightseers, rickshaws and bullock-carts, a big yellow Fargo parked and now started up.  In the distance the big gopurams of later, finer, more grandiose temples, and inevitably the sounds of a loud-speaker swirling in the windy humid air.

One of the boys from the village got talking to me, 7 years old, a Christian.  I also got invited into a handloom lungi factory in a field (Kanchi is a famous weaving centre), impressive looms, women gently spinning and twisting, but the men were working with great, possibly involuntary, intensity, naked except for loin-cloths.  So much work on a national holiday seemed like exploitation and I hurried away.

I went to the huge gopuram I had seen across the plain, a big closed Shiva temple; I climbed onto a pillared hall and looked out over huge grassy expanses in the courtyard but saw only rubble; outside by a small market I sat eating tangerines sitting under a stone shelter and heard the sound of Hindi from pilgrims from Madhya Pradesh; there were fine statues in this open space, unusual subjects including a man with a beard, some much venerated.

Towards evening I found the Vaikuntha Perumal Vishnu temple almost as old as the Shiva temple I'd seen earlier.  After a few minutes in the inner courtyard, very intimate, the electric lights came on and I could see some fine sculptures, only a few with the recent plaster overlay; more day to day motifs.  And then I had a glimpse into the sanctum; the black Vishnu image made me shudder but the power of this made me feel good and calm.  Then I went to the Kamakshi Temple, the Shakti temple.  I sat for half an hour undisturbed in a columned pavilion to the right of the main shrine, partly looking at the sculpture, including some mildly erotic ones, partly watching the to and fro of the pilgrims and the night sky above, with a new moon.  This was my favourite place in Kanchi.

The next day with time running out I hired a bicycle to visit the main Vishnu temple, in its own suburb across the river, the Vardhamana temple.  I found it full of Vaishnavite brahmins with characteristic hairstyles, long and sometimes braided at the back and short or shaven in the front.  The temple I could see little of, except for a fine 100 pillared hall and a nice tank; the hall had good sculptures, fierce men on horses and Krishnas playing the flute.  The river was almost empty and home for untouchables.

By the Kailasanatha:  My picture

Kailasanatha:  My picture

January 24th: Tiruchirapalli in Southern India

On January 24th 1982 I was in Tiruchirapalli (Trichy) in Tamil Nadu in Southern India.

When I had first arrived a couple of days previously, I had taken the bus to Srirangam, an island in the Cauvery River which holds one of the largest and most famous Vishnu temples in South India, the Ranganatha Temple.  I went straight to the temple which is vast, a series of squares within squares, the sanctum, the outer courtyards and small temples and several layers of houses which made up the town section, with thick high walls between each enclosure.  The temple itself I found a bit hustly, and a youth attached himself like a limpet to me.  But there were some nice areas, statues and gopurams amongst sand-filled roads, Vishnu marks large on the walls, Vishnu marks on an elephant, some nice column halls.  I climbed onto a roof for aerial views, and saw gopurams receding into the green palms, and the central shrine covered with gold.  But the best bit came when I left the temple and wandered amongst the outer town sections, some pilgrim areas, then a line of byres along the biggest wall, people friendly now, children running after me "Where's your come-from?", a hand-driven ferris -wheel with children caged in groups of 2 or 3 in the cars.  As I got the bus back I noticed another large temple on the other side of the main road and resolved to return.

Tanjore: Brihadishvara Temple:  My picture

The next day I took the bus to Tanjore (Thanjavur), a pretty dull journey - the only interesting little town I passed was Vallam with an old temple and a match factory.  In Tanjore I took a rickshaw to the big temple, being unsure of my direction.  The temple is impressive enough, one of the main Chola relics, giant in scale and very open with a cloister and frescoes and lingams all round.  The central principal shrine is perfect in form.  With no signs prohibiting I walked straight in and got shooed out smartly like a pariah dog.  Still there was plenty to enjoy in the precincts.  Then I walked around the old town built around the later Nayak Palace.  The residential Main Street forms a squarish circumference and has some nice old houses, temples and a tank to the inside.  Then there is a bazaar street running straight down the middle.  I found a side street with a temple and a lovely old temple cart, then a strange building to the left which I think was the observatory of the palace.  I went into the art gallery in the palace, which was a real treat, with some beautiful statues, both stone and bronze, mainly classical Chola period, 10th - 14th Century, the finest were Shivas, especially the stone one from Darasuram, "Shiva Killing The Demons With His Smile."   In one room was the bronze collection, some fine Natarajas and Parvatis.  I was surprised to find a couple of Buddhas, unusual and not as fine as the Shivas.  Upstairs there was a tower which you could climb and a rooftop where you could look out over the massive walls of the palace, the roofs of the pleasant sleepy town, and the distant towers of the big temple.  I had a peep into the library with the nice palm-leaf Mahabharatas just like those I had seen being inscribed in Bali. 

On the day of the 24th, I had a long walk around Trichy with a friend, five hours in the heat of the day.  We went first to the Rock Fort, which towers over the town,  through the gateway temple which was full of devotees; they had had a procession out on the main street with elephant and carts.  We dropped in on the little Shiva temple halfway up, where a music festival was underway to mark the birthday of some great music guru from c1860 by singing his songs; while we were there, there was a great chorus of devotional song to Ram with tabla and violin and tamboura.  Further up we couldn't look in at the great Shiva temple, just the 6th to 8th Century upper rock cave to Shiva which had fine sculpture.  Up top there was a modern Ganesh temple and fine views all over the city and into the haze beyond to the industrial south and Srirangam to the north.

After a long gaze to the distance, this time we walked the few kilometres to Srirangam island and visited the Sri Jambukeshvara temple.  It is a Shiva temple and not as old as the main Srirangam shrine.  However it was less grand and more relaxed.  An old baba showed us some aspects, going over the numerology of the place, five courtyards for the five elements and so on, but he did raise my consciousness to some of the architectural features, some really beautiful ornate pillars with creatures like dragons at the top, and some fine carvings in niches which are losing their crisp clarity from generations of oil and powder libations.  He pointed out the system bringing water from the river that kept the holy lingam submerged in the central shrine.  We sat a long time absorbing the atmosphere despite some overt begging near the "No Begging Allowed" signs.  We did a quick puja to Devi to give an old baba a tip.  Outside the main walls of the temple was a community living in the streets around the inner temple as at the Vishnu temple, but lower key and less fine; there were byres around the thickest wall and we sat for a while at a tea-shop to the amusement of the locals.

Michael Wood shows in his series of films for the BBC, The Story of India, how the culture of the classical Chola period has survived.  He showed how modern bronze casters keep up the ancient standards for temple idols and how palm-books are still inscribed in the traditional way.

Patrimonium Mundi:  Panoramas of the temple at Tanjore.

Elephant in Procession in Trichy:  My picture

Chola Nandi and Frescoes at Tanjore:  My picture

The Rock Fort above Trichy:  My picture

Old street in Tanjore:  My picture

Temple Car in Tanjore:  My picture

Tanjore street:  My picture