Here is my journal for the first days of my journey...
August 26th, 2008
New Delhi, India
Last night as we got off the plane a wall of thick, hot air hit us, quite a shock after 14 hours of the artificial-feeling cold air of the plane cabin. Outside we were greeted by Sanghamitra and Shashank, our program directors here in India. They guided us smilingly outside to the clamour of cars, motorcycles, autorickshaws and taxi drivers. I was happy to note that steering wheels are on the right side here, and therefore cars on the left side of the road. Without Shashank and Sanghamitra to guide us, we would have been impossibly lost and overwhelmed...sort of like when I was trying to flush the toilet in the airport, and instead of flushing I turned the nob for the bidet (thanks Kendar), and it splashed out of the bowl all over my legs.
We found the driver Shashank had called, piled our bags in a mountain on top of the van, and squished our sticky bodies into the small cabin. Practicing our weak Hindi all the way to the hotel, I was reassured that this group I am with will be great to lean on for support and humor
during the coming year.
Once at our hotel, we registered quickly and were lead to our rooms. Shashank and Sanghamitra must have been tired, being 11:30 already, but having had a 14 hour night on a plane before arriving at the hotel to sleep, I decided to call home quickly, then take a cooling shower before attempting to sleep more.
This morning I woke at 4 am after a night of restless dreaming, which seemed more like daydreaming than sleep. I read "Nectar in a Sieve," the book Laurie gave me for the plane, and now I am sitting on the balcony of my room joining the birds in welcoming the day. The air feels, smells and sounds much like what I remember of Portoviejo, Ecuador, hot and humid and delicious, and sitting here eating Anne's bagel and cream cheese, wearing light shorts and a t-shirt, I don't feel at all in a strange place. I have not yet been shocked or surprised, though I know I will be soon. For now, I imagine this 20 hour night I've been living in will help me get up early, or at least earlier, now that the nights will be back to the usual length.
As I flew through an accellerated night, over Canada and the Atlantic, then an accellerated day over Copenhagen, then the mountains near Kabul, I looked out the window, with my scratchy airline blanket over my head to maintain the artificial nighttime in the plane, the bright sun shone down on the Caspian Sea, then the mountains I have heard so much about in news of war and searching for terrorists, and thought of how unassuming and peaceful it all looked. I thought of the reality of existence down there, trying to imagine the language spoken, the every-day goings on, but I found that seeing the world from a plane is no different from seeing the pages of the National Geographic magazines. Maybe that is how people can bring themselves to drop bombs from way up there.
The sky is bright now, and with luck, it will soon be time to meet in the dining hall and begin the adventure that this day and so many more before me will hold.
I hope that throughout it all I can remain open-minded and light-hearted.
Here goes...
August 27th, 2008
New Delhi, India
New things are beginning to pop up here and there. Yesterday we visited Qutb Minar,
the first mosque built in India, and along the way saw people carrying enormous loads on bicycles, and beautifully sareed women carrying multiple children riding sidesaddle on the back of what currently appear to me to be suicide motorcycles. The cows and bulls in the street surprise me less than I expected they would. The most difficult things for me have been the heat-I sweat through 2 pairs of clothes yesterday- and crossing ridiculously busy streets. Crossing streets, I know, will come to me eventually, and Sanghamitra helped me buy- or more accurately bought for me- a kurta which hopefully will be cooler or at least less obvious when my sweat soaks through it. The heat bothers me less than I expected. It is the unflattering sweat-soaked clothing that makes me slightly uncomfortable. My goals for today are to not comment on the heat unless asked about it, to speak Hindi shamelessly, and to get Shashank and 
Sanghamitra to tell me about their lives and families. Yesterday I learned that Sanghamitra came to Varanasi from Assam when she got married, but she is now separated from her husband. She lives alone and works for our program, a very strange thing for an Indian woman, and not always well accepted.
August 28th
New Delhi, India
Yesterday held more sightseeing, and I dare say more sun and more heat. Luckily, I was more appropriatesly dressed, so my sweat barely showed through (not to say it didn't show through-it was literally pouring unfettered down my back under my baggy shirt.) We saw Jama Masjid in Old Delhi, with smaller streets covered in people on foot and in cycle rickshaws. We saw Humayan's tomb,
an enormous castle-like thing with extensive, beautiful gardens and trees and a huge pool and a mosque. All were beautiful, but none too eventful (except for the girls in short-sleeves being forced to wear big bright floral printed abayas to go into the mosque). I spent lots of time asking Shashankji questions about life, and grammar, and Hindi vocabulary, and with a head waggle and a smile he would answer everything. That man is my cheerfulness superhero. He is also a softy, which brings up the main point yesterday emphasized. Traveling in a group of loud, cackling, table-pounding Americans (I admit to be one of them, and place no blame on anyone for this), we attract attention, most impressively attention from beggars, who grab at our sleeves and tap at our arms if they are tall enough, and play with our toes when they are too young and tiny to reach beyond our knees. I have watched my fellow students be reduced nearly to tears by their pleading eyes, trying fruitlessly to have a conversation with them, and show them they are valued without giving them money. The thing is, we know they don't want, and have very little use for our friendship. We are rich beyond their wildest dreams, and just a weeks worth of our spending would last them months or years. And then what? Would it change the cycle of poverty? Would the children go to school? Would they eat well? How many would it go to feed, and how long would it last for an entire family before they were back begging on the streets again? Do I even have the right to ask these questions? Is there any way to help beyond tonight? Gret Mortenson, you are my hero (Anyone who hasn't should read Three Cups of Tea), along with Shashankji, who gives the children candy to get them to go away and protect us, his bacche (children) from the heartbreak he sees every time they cling to us.
I feel immensely guilty every time I don't finish a meal, which is every time I order anything at a restaurant here. There is no longer comedy in saying "eat your vegetables, there are starving children in Africa." Now there are starving children on the street outside of our posh restaurants, and I can only imagine that our leftover food is not getting eaten by them.
Today is our last day in Delhi. We will see the national museum, have a few free hours, then board the train to Varanasi, which promises to be a very good time. I am continuously pleased, entertained, and horribly embarrassed by my travelling companions, but hey, if you are gonna stick out, why not do it withy style, laughing yourself to tears all along the way.
"I just don't want any table banging. That's all I ask." -Mary Beth
Today's goal: patience and boldness in speaking, bargaining, and unsmiling modesty. Smiling has been getting me into a little bit of trouble these past three days...
August 28th, 2008
Between Delhi and Varanasi, India
I am watching soggy fields and flooded villages go by as I lay in my posh air conditioned sleeper
car. I just saw a peacock standing in one of the fields. I am considering how I still need to perfect the art of squat toilet use. It is 6:30 and the only people who seem to be awake are me, a litte girl a couple of compartments down, and the coffeewalla. My thoughts are not flowing just as I would hope...
Yesterday the National Museum was nice-immensely more bearable than I expected it would be, because I stayed near Shashankji and he told stories about much of the art and history of the displays.
This train keeps stopping, and I can't figure out why.
I tried again to buy some kurtas yesterday, but couldn't really get into it since there were people waiting for me with full bladders. Luckily, this train is air-conditioned, so my clothes dried and I am amazingly unstinky despite the days and days of sweat that have soaked and dried on these clothes.
This sleeper train is fantastic. It seems relatively secure, and it is very comfortable and masterfully designed. Last night before putting up the middle bunk, Shashank and Chris and I looked through my photo album, and it was wonderful. Shashank says, after hearing about my mom, he will touch her feet when he meets her. He is impressed at her superhero capabilities when it comes to gardening and working and canning, and pottery, and running and skiing and life in general.
Yersterday morning before checking out from the hotel, I went on an adventure trying to find the market. I failed, got lost, got a ride to the opposit side of Connaught Circus by a rickshawvalla who was getting paid for delivering me to a tourist textile shop, looked around inside just to be nice, then left on foot to find the market that never was, got lost more, didn't ask directions from the right people, had a fat little sleezy man try to pick me up, and a cyclerickshawvalla tell me I was completely lost, but he couldn't take me to Ashoka road with his rickshaw. Eventually I got back to the hotel, a little wiser and more experienced, but no better clothed for it all. Who needs clothes anyway? Not me!
Today my goal is to NOT SHAKE MENS HANDS or give any misinterpretable signs. This is going to be an ongoing challenge.
August 26th, 2008
New Delhi, India
Last night as we got off the plane a wall of thick, hot air hit us, quite a shock after 14 hours of the artificial-feeling cold air of the plane cabin. Outside we were greeted by Sanghamitra and Shashank, our program directors here in India. They guided us smilingly outside to the clamour of cars, motorcycles, autorickshaws and taxi drivers. I was happy to note that steering wheels are on the right side here, and therefore cars on the left side of the road. Without Shashank and Sanghamitra to guide us, we would have been impossibly lost and overwhelmed...sort of like when I was trying to flush the toilet in the airport, and instead of flushing I turned the nob for the bidet (thanks Kendar), and it splashed out of the bowl all over my legs.
We found the driver Shashank had called, piled our bags in a mountain on top of the van, and squished our sticky bodies into the small cabin. Practicing our weak Hindi all the way to the hotel, I was reassured that this group I am with will be great to lean on for support and humor
during the coming year.Once at our hotel, we registered quickly and were lead to our rooms. Shashank and Sanghamitra must have been tired, being 11:30 already, but having had a 14 hour night on a plane before arriving at the hotel to sleep, I decided to call home quickly, then take a cooling shower before attempting to sleep more.
This morning I woke at 4 am after a night of restless dreaming, which seemed more like daydreaming than sleep. I read "Nectar in a Sieve," the book Laurie gave me for the plane, and now I am sitting on the balcony of my room joining the birds in welcoming the day. The air feels, smells and sounds much like what I remember of Portoviejo, Ecuador, hot and humid and delicious, and sitting here eating Anne's bagel and cream cheese, wearing light shorts and a t-shirt, I don't feel at all in a strange place. I have not yet been shocked or surprised, though I know I will be soon. For now, I imagine this 20 hour night I've been living in will help me get up early, or at least earlier, now that the nights will be back to the usual length.
As I flew through an accellerated night, over Canada and the Atlantic, then an accellerated day over Copenhagen, then the mountains near Kabul, I looked out the window, with my scratchy airline blanket over my head to maintain the artificial nighttime in the plane, the bright sun shone down on the Caspian Sea, then the mountains I have heard so much about in news of war and searching for terrorists, and thought of how unassuming and peaceful it all looked. I thought of the reality of existence down there, trying to imagine the language spoken, the every-day goings on, but I found that seeing the world from a plane is no different from seeing the pages of the National Geographic magazines. Maybe that is how people can bring themselves to drop bombs from way up there.
The sky is bright now, and with luck, it will soon be time to meet in the dining hall and begin the adventure that this day and so many more before me will hold.
I hope that throughout it all I can remain open-minded and light-hearted.
Here goes...
August 27th, 2008
New Delhi, India
New things are beginning to pop up here and there. Yesterday we visited Qutb Minar,
the first mosque built in India, and along the way saw people carrying enormous loads on bicycles, and beautifully sareed women carrying multiple children riding sidesaddle on the back of what currently appear to me to be suicide motorcycles. The cows and bulls in the street surprise me less than I expected they would. The most difficult things for me have been the heat-I sweat through 2 pairs of clothes yesterday- and crossing ridiculously busy streets. Crossing streets, I know, will come to me eventually, and Sanghamitra helped me buy- or more accurately bought for me- a kurta which hopefully will be cooler or at least less obvious when my sweat soaks through it. The heat bothers me less than I expected. It is the unflattering sweat-soaked clothing that makes me slightly uncomfortable. My goals for today are to not comment on the heat unless asked about it, to speak Hindi shamelessly, and to get Shashank and 
Sanghamitra to tell me about their lives and families. Yesterday I learned that Sanghamitra came to Varanasi from Assam when she got married, but she is now separated from her husband. She lives alone and works for our program, a very strange thing for an Indian woman, and not always well accepted.August 28th
New Delhi, India
Yesterday held more sightseeing, and I dare say more sun and more heat. Luckily, I was more appropriatesly dressed, so my sweat barely showed through (not to say it didn't show through-it was literally pouring unfettered down my back under my baggy shirt.) We saw Jama Masjid in Old Delhi, with smaller streets covered in people on foot and in cycle rickshaws. We saw Humayan's tomb,
an enormous castle-like thing with extensive, beautiful gardens and trees and a huge pool and a mosque. All were beautiful, but none too eventful (except for the girls in short-sleeves being forced to wear big bright floral printed abayas to go into the mosque). I spent lots of time asking Shashankji questions about life, and grammar, and Hindi vocabulary, and with a head waggle and a smile he would answer everything. That man is my cheerfulness superhero. He is also a softy, which brings up the main point yesterday emphasized. Traveling in a group of loud, cackling, table-pounding Americans (I admit to be one of them, and place no blame on anyone for this), we attract attention, most impressively attention from beggars, who grab at our sleeves and tap at our arms if they are tall enough, and play with our toes when they are too young and tiny to reach beyond our knees. I have watched my fellow students be reduced nearly to tears by their pleading eyes, trying fruitlessly to have a conversation with them, and show them they are valued without giving them money. The thing is, we know they don't want, and have very little use for our friendship. We are rich beyond their wildest dreams, and just a weeks worth of our spending would last them months or years. And then what? Would it change the cycle of poverty? Would the children go to school? Would they eat well? How many would it go to feed, and how long would it last for an entire family before they were back begging on the streets again? Do I even have the right to ask these questions? Is there any way to help beyond tonight? Gret Mortenson, you are my hero (Anyone who hasn't should read Three Cups of Tea), along with Shashankji, who gives the children candy to get them to go away and protect us, his bacche (children) from the heartbreak he sees every time they cling to us.I feel immensely guilty every time I don't finish a meal, which is every time I order anything at a restaurant here. There is no longer comedy in saying "eat your vegetables, there are starving children in Africa." Now there are starving children on the street outside of our posh restaurants, and I can only imagine that our leftover food is not getting eaten by them.
Today is our last day in Delhi. We will see the national museum, have a few free hours, then board the train to Varanasi, which promises to be a very good time. I am continuously pleased, entertained, and horribly embarrassed by my travelling companions, but hey, if you are gonna stick out, why not do it withy style, laughing yourself to tears all along the way.
"I just don't want any table banging. That's all I ask." -Mary Beth
Today's goal: patience and boldness in speaking, bargaining, and unsmiling modesty. Smiling has been getting me into a little bit of trouble these past three days...
August 28th, 2008
Between Delhi and Varanasi, India
I am watching soggy fields and flooded villages go by as I lay in my posh air conditioned sleeper
car. I just saw a peacock standing in one of the fields. I am considering how I still need to perfect the art of squat toilet use. It is 6:30 and the only people who seem to be awake are me, a litte girl a couple of compartments down, and the coffeewalla. My thoughts are not flowing just as I would hope...Yesterday the National Museum was nice-immensely more bearable than I expected it would be, because I stayed near Shashankji and he told stories about much of the art and history of the displays.
This train keeps stopping, and I can't figure out why.
I tried again to buy some kurtas yesterday, but couldn't really get into it since there were people waiting for me with full bladders. Luckily, this train is air-conditioned, so my clothes dried and I am amazingly unstinky despite the days and days of sweat that have soaked and dried on these clothes.
This sleeper train is fantastic. It seems relatively secure, and it is very comfortable and masterfully designed. Last night before putting up the middle bunk, Shashank and Chris and I looked through my photo album, and it was wonderful. Shashank says, after hearing about my mom, he will touch her feet when he meets her. He is impressed at her superhero capabilities when it comes to gardening and working and canning, and pottery, and running and skiing and life in general.
Yersterday morning before checking out from the hotel, I went on an adventure trying to find the market. I failed, got lost, got a ride to the opposit side of Connaught Circus by a rickshawvalla who was getting paid for delivering me to a tourist textile shop, looked around inside just to be nice, then left on foot to find the market that never was, got lost more, didn't ask directions from the right people, had a fat little sleezy man try to pick me up, and a cyclerickshawvalla tell me I was completely lost, but he couldn't take me to Ashoka road with his rickshaw. Eventually I got back to the hotel, a little wiser and more experienced, but no better clothed for it all. Who needs clothes anyway? Not me!
Today my goal is to NOT SHAKE MENS HANDS or give any misinterpretable signs. This is going to be an ongoing challenge.
1 comment:
Hooray! You are a-live! It all sounds fascinating and wonderful and maybe a little scary, but the kind of scary that makes you smile for years after it's done (especially the getting lost part).
For the record, the thing that sprayed your legs is spelled "bidet," all hoity-toity and French-like.
I look forward to more of your posts!
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