World Tourist Destinations

The Champakulam Boat Race popularly known as Snake Boat Race of Kerala is a sight to see — set against the scenic canals and backwaters of Alappuzha. Exceptionally long country boats, chundans, are used for this, the oldest snake boat race and the first of the harvest season of the state. Festival boats of the area accompanied the idol of Krishna, being brought to the region’s temple, in a colourful, ceremonial procession through the lake in 1545 AD. Celebrating that moment, the whole procession is enacted every year with the same enthusiasm. A line of boats festooned with colourful parasols and performing arts delights spectators before the race kicks off. The snake boat race is often considered the ultimate test of endurance, speed and skill in this region and rowers numbering about 90 to 100 on each boat undergo rigorous training for several days, prior to participating in the race.
Even the International Dragon Boat Festival or Tuen Ng Festival from July 2-8, is celebrated to memorialise the death of a popular Chinese national hero Qu Yuan who drowned himself in the Mi Lo River over 2,000 years ago to protest against the corrupt rulers. Legend has it that as the town people attempted to rescue Qu Yuan; they beat drums to scare fish away and threw dumplings into the sea to keep the fish from eating his body. Today, festival activities recall this legendary event. This year 3,000 athletes from 12 countries will race and the Dragon Boat Races will be a lively, vibrant spectacle with elaborately decorated boats moving to the beat of heavy drums. The special boats measure more than 10 meters and are ornately carved and painted with a dragon head and tail, carrying a crew of 20-22 paddlers.
This week Finland will also witness Sulkavan Suursoudut, the biggest rowing event which gathers over 10,000 rowers and over 20,000 visitors, from July 5-8. During the weekend, rowers can participate in the small boat, special boat and the noted Sulkava long boat race. Sulkava long boat crew consists of 14 rowers and a cox who paces them. Each rower has one oar and rows on a sliding bench. The cox also steers the boat and urges the rowers to their task. Most of the routes take the rowers around the isle of Partalansaari where they can enjoy the beautiful Finnish nature while competing.

When it first became popular, social networking site Twitter had a simple purpose, which was encapsulated in its tagline, ‘What are you doing?’ However, after aiding revolutions in the Middle-East, becoming the sounding board for everyone to post their opinions on everything, and giving celebrities a new platform to break controversies, Twitter seems to have lost its simple personality. This is reflected in its current tagline, ‘Find out what’s happening right now, with the people and organisations you care about’.
The difference between the two reveals a lot about how social networking has changed in recent times. Responding to the earlier tagline is a voluntary act, whereas the current tagline is meant to tease — if you are not on our site, you are missing out on being in the ‘happening’ place.
And now, to measure who the stars are in this ‘happening’ world is an online tool called Klout. It connects to Twitter, Facebook, Google and a host of other social services to measure how much influence you wield, giving you a Klout score out of 100. Influence is measured in terms of the number of posts you create, how many responses you get, the number of followers you have (especially ones with high Klout scores of their own), and other unknown factors that the proprietary Klout algorithm uses.
Until recently, a Klout score was simply something social media junkies bragged about — the undisputed king of Klout world was Justin Bieber with a perfect score of 100. But there was outrage when Wired published a story featuring a marketing executive who lost out on a job because of his low Klout score.
The story went on to talk about how people with high Klout scores were getting Audis to test drive, better rooms in some hotels, and preferential treatment by airlines. All because people with high Klout scores are more likely to talk about their experience and what they say would reach a larger number of people on social networks.
Klout, along with marketing and sales reps, has effectively created an elite class among users of social networks. Like the elite of the real world, the virtual elites too have to yap and indulge in ‘I like your status, you like mine’ games. Social networking is no longer about expressing the things you genuinely care about. It’s about boosting a score to get material rewards.
There is a loud grumble on the internet. In response to Klout, Tom Scott, a programmer, built Klouchebag, an online service that measures ‘the standard of asshattery’. Visit klouchebag.com and enter your Twitter username to calculate your score. Klouchebag measures asshattery based on the ARSE rating system. “Anger: profanity and rage; Retweets: please RTs, no or constant retweeting; Social Apps: every useless checkin on foursquare or its horrible brethren. English Usage: if you use EXCLAMATION MARKS OMG!!! or no capitals at all, this’ll be quite high.”
If you are offended by the tags Klouchebag gave you, Scott has a piece of advice, “This is about as scientific as Klout’s own measurements — which is to say, it’s pretty much a crapshoot. You are probably a lovely person. Although you might want to cut down on the swearing a bit.”
And in case you were wondering. Justin Bieber scored a 50, which translates to only ‘a bit of a douchebag’.

In a few minutes, we will meet Michael Jackson.”
I woke up with a start. We were on our way to Cameron Highlands from the incredibly hot Kuala Lumpur. As a finale that was only befitting of the hectic KL leg of our trip, we were asked to check out of our hotel at 8.30am — abnormally early enough to send us journalists into a tizzy. So tired were we that when we eventually managed to check out and troop into the bus, we drew the curtains, kicked off our shoes, adjusted the AC vents and went off to sleep — until our guide’s voice, promising a meeting with the late pop star, crackled on the microphone and woke us up.
Cameron Highlands is about 200 kilometers away from Kuala Lumpur. While driving up the long and winding roads, our guide Liza made an interesting suggestion. “Cover your belly button with bandages,” she said, waving a Handiplast. “It might sound funny, but you won’t feel motion sickness,” she continued with a straight face, despite our sniggers and laughs. While this lead to a slew of jokes on how someone new to Indian roads would need to have his entire body plastered, a couple of us turned around in our seats and discreetly sealed our belly buttons. We were not on puking terms yet, we decided.
Right before reaching Cameron Highlands, we met a group of aboriginals at their bamboo houses, happy to pose for our cameras. “Look at him,” said Liza, pointing to a man dressed in nothing but a loin cloth. The resemblance was uncanny. It was Jackson himself, minus all the surgeries. This man is even called ‘Michael’ in these quarters.
I tried to strike up a conversation with ‘Michael’ — essentially one-sided, since he didn’t understand my questions. He did, however, immediately understand when I said ‘photo’, while pointing to my camera. While he posed like a seasoned professional, it took me three attempts to get a passable picture. “Oh,” he exclaimed when I showed him the picture. We flashed each other the thumbs up sign before departing.
The Jim Thompson mystery
In terms of attracting Indian tourists, Cameron Highlands might lose out when pitted against the extremely popular Genting Highlands and Malacca. But the hill station is far from being a pristine piece of land waiting to be discovered. Driving up towards Ringlet and passing by vast expanses of tea plantations, I spotted a Marrybrown and even a Starbucks.
Aside from a continuous cool breeze, nothing about Cameron Highlands really made me feel like I was at a hill station. The weather so far, had been pleasant but not cold, and the roads were dotted with several well-known restaurants and supermarkets. But, just as we stopped at an Indian Malay restaurant for lunch, dark clouds hovered above us, eclipsing the sun. As the mist started to roll in and a chill set in, it started drizzling, making this the perfect setting for a Shutter Island-like film. We clutched our shawls and jackets tighter and entered the restaurant.
It was here, over steaming hot white rice and chapatis, that Liza shared the story of American businessman Jim Thompson, who has been credited with reviving the Thai Silk industry in the 1950s and 60s. In 1967, on Easter Sunday, Thompson went for a walk into the jungle and never returned. This lead to an intensive search operation during which the police combed the forest for any trace of Thompson. But neither he nor his body was ever found. Speculations and theories about Thompson’s puzzling disappearance abound even today — some even wonder whether he planned his own disappearance. The aboriginals have their own theory. “They believe that the spirit of the jungle took Thompson away,” Liza explained. And as if in agreement, at this point the drizzle turned into a furious downpour.
Salad bowl of Malaysia
Cameron Highlands is popular for its fresh vegetables and fruits, especially strawberries, and has earned the tag ‘the salad bowl of Malaysia’. We stopped at the popular Kea Farm in Tanah Rata. Fresh fruits, vegetables and honey are sold at a cheaper rate here. The people of Cameron Highlands take their strawberries very seriously, as is evident at the Farm’s stalls. Pencils, umbrellas, chopping boards and key chains with pictures of strawberries are sold like hot cakes. At a restaurant in the Farm, even the tablecloths are red in colour. Strawberry juice, strawberries dipped in chocolate, dried strawberries and jams are all on offer.
At dusk, we checked into the Strawberry Park hotel. The hotel’s restaurant, Jim Thompson Terrace, overlooked the bungalow where Thompson last stayed before disappearing into the jungle. Throughout dinner, my thoughts kept going back to Thompson and that fateful day. Can we go to the bungalow, I asked Liza. “No. It’s private property now,” she said. Back in my room, I resolved to get up early and go for a walk.
The next morning, at around 6.30, I walked within the Park’s premises with no one but the cold breeze for company. I stopped at a spot where I could see the bungalow miles away, on top of a hill. I fished out my camera and zoomed in for a good click. Suddenly a chilly mist descended on me and the lens of my camera fogged up. In spite of several attempts, I felt restrained from getting a good picture of the bungalow.


I was perplexed. Where did the mist suddenly come from? What happened to Thompson? Are the aboriginals right in believing in the spirit of the jungle?
Shivering, I hurried back to the warm comfort of my room, leaving the breeze and the swirling mist behind.

Roop Singh is an old man. He has a bright smile and a quick sense of humour. His 81 years are evident as he guides us around the Bara Mahal (the old hunting lodge of the Maharana of Udaipur), his walking stick echoing as he leads us to what used to serve as the Maharana’s bedroom. All that remains is a miniature panorama — palaces, lodges, rivers, animals, trees and plantations — that covers the four walls from ceiling to floor. Singh points out to the tigers in the picture. “Now, there’s only one tiger left,” he says, his handlebar moustache bristling. “Me”.
They call it the Lake City, Udaipur. On my three-day visit, ensconced in the opulent lap of Oberoi’s Udaivilas on the banks of Lake Pichola, Singh serves as a touching reminder of an illustrious past.
In the lap of luxury
From the first floor of the Bara Mahal, the caretaker of the lodge points to where the royal family now lives. “All the royal land has been given to big resorts,” he says, his gesture encompassing every resort visible from Lake Pichola. Udaipur was once the capital of the erstwhile Mewar kingdom. Today, it is a city of resorts.
It’s easy to get swept up in this luxury. How can you not feel like royalty when your every need is attended to: a chauffeur picks us up at the airport in a BMW, the housekeeping staff in the morning is different from the people attending to our room in the evening, one person takes us on a tour of the grounds, a different one brings us the breakfast scroll and yet another brings us breakfast.
By contrast, Singh spends most of his day in the Bara Mahal, with only peacocks, deer and wild boar from the hotel’s conservatory for company. Occasionally, he receives visitors, those who find time to tear themselves away from their private pools and hammocks to indulge in a bit of sightseeing. The 81-year-old caretaker has also been a tourist guide for over 40 years. He’s always smiling, even when talking about the past, a time when the hunting lodge was actually used during shikar. Singh conspiratorially tells us a story from the past, one I suspect he has told many times before: During the freedom struggle, the then Maharana of Udaipur vowed not to eat from his sone ki thali till India gained independence. Post August 15, 1947, Jawaharlal Nehru personally offered him food on a golden plate. The touching gesture had political undertones. Nehru wanted the state of Mewar, and the Maharana signed it away to the government of India.
And the other city
On Singh’s advice, we visit parts of the city that he promises will not be bustling with tourists. One of these is the Hathipole market. Here, row upon row of shops sell everything — from scarves, silver jewellery, footwear and bandhani to fresh fruit juices, sweets and pickles. It’s a smorgasbord of colour and smells — and history.
Hidden in one of these lanes are Udaipur’s brass bands. Jaipur and Udaipur are popular wedding destinations and Hathipole has an entire street dedicated to all things wedding-related — cards, lights, jewellery, clothes and music. The bands’ vehicles are painted in vibrant colours and look like Carnival floats. In stark contrast are the instruments, many of them old and dull but still in use. The older band members are hesitant to talk, the younger ones are eager. They tell us tales of how band members get together at old godowns to practise and how their song selection depends on popular Bollywood ‘item numbers’.
These non-touristy streets also reveal a little about the people of Udaipur. They love their scooters here. Everywhere we turn, we find a Bajaj scooter, in different stages of ruin but still in use. One shop owner’s Vespa occupies pride of place in his empty shop. Rajasthan is known for being colourful and vibrant, and this is reflected in the clothes, footwear, jewellery and on the walls of Udaipur. Graffiti on the walls here takes the form of wall paintings, of kings and queens, of royal subjects, of gods and goddesses, and of hunting expeditions of yore. l_joanna@dnaindia.net
Visit www.oberoihotels.com for information on Udaivilas