This one's going to be short as we're heading off to dinner in 20 minutes.
The Taj was one of the most beautiful places I have been in all my life, and words cannot render how spectacular it was to experience. But I took quite a few pictures, and since those are worth a thousand words, I'll leave it until I return to show you all what I mean. Though those don't quite do it justice either.
4 hours there, 4 hours back, and now we're off to dinner and an all-nighter before the British crew leaves at 4am. Noelle, Katrin (from Idaho) and myself are left with an extra day because our flights are late tomorrow night. We'll probably do one last tea and a Bollywood film.
So I wave goodbye in cyberspace until I can greet you all again in person and share so much more of my experience. Until then, "dhaniyavad" (Thank you) for reading!
~christiana
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Safari, Rain or Shine
We spent Thursday and Friday at Ranthambore National Park, a huge 400-km protected wildlife santuary famous for its 30-something tigers. We weren't lucky enough to see any (it's a 5% chance this time of year) but all the same, it was quite the adventure.
We arrived in the dead of night on Wednesday and slept through the heat for most of the morning. Prepared for the hot sun, we all wore light clothes and too much sunscreen, leaving behind our umbrellas and the waterproof covers of our two jeeps. You can surely see where this is going - right as we pull onto the park trail, ominous drops fall on our heads, and they're barely a warning before the sky rips open and we're drenched, immediately and continuously, for the next hour and a half. Never in my life have I been more wet, with drooping hair and transparent shirt for an added effect. But in spite of the torrential downpour, the spirit of our group proved strong through laughing and singing even as the rain pelted our faces. There were a few electronic casualties of saturated cameras and phones, but thankfully my camera lived through the storm.
When the sun finally did appear once more, we made the most of our remaining time careening full the park over extremely rocky paths and steep hills. We saw a bizarre type of deer/horse, tiny antelope, and lots of birds . . . about which our flamboyantly-mustached guide (green khaki safari) could only point at one and state "Young Male," and naught else. (Meanwhile, I wonder what all the females are up to, and how our guide can be so sure of this info from so far away.)
Day Two commences with a visit to a young leopard in captivity, saved by one of the head rangers half a year ago when she was injured and lost her mother. In hushed voices we stood in awe on the other side of a flimsy fence as the beautiful creature chomped away at bits of meat quite similar to my Siamese at her dish. And the ranger was chasing her around in her mini-jungle, capturing her in his arms for a moment when we were privileged to stare into her wild eyes before she leapt up into a tree to regard us at a safe distance.
Obviously, that was my favorite part of the day. Well, almost.
We saw more wildlife and more breathtaking expanses of green, sharing our last day as a full group in natural splendor. Then on the ride home came what my poetry professor would call a "moment of pure ecstasy" - spontaneous, vivid, ephemeral, unforgettable. We're suddenly all standing up lock-kneed tight-gripped in our open jeep, blasting through twisted jungle trails and square farm plots. So high up with the open-air rush that we were flying. And as we touch ground again, back in the village near the hotel, everyone is grinning and waving frantically and shouting out their few known English words. We do the same only with an enthusiastic "Namaste!"
Just in a few short hours we find ourselves at the train station, standing in a guard circle around our mountain of luggage, buying cookies and mango juice from food stands, ignoring the growing crowd of dodgy-looking men staring through our skin. But this is all unimportant as we hug goodbye to our four comrades who are to return to Udaipur for another four weeks.
And then there were nine.
We arrived in the dead of night on Wednesday and slept through the heat for most of the morning. Prepared for the hot sun, we all wore light clothes and too much sunscreen, leaving behind our umbrellas and the waterproof covers of our two jeeps. You can surely see where this is going - right as we pull onto the park trail, ominous drops fall on our heads, and they're barely a warning before the sky rips open and we're drenched, immediately and continuously, for the next hour and a half. Never in my life have I been more wet, with drooping hair and transparent shirt for an added effect. But in spite of the torrential downpour, the spirit of our group proved strong through laughing and singing even as the rain pelted our faces. There were a few electronic casualties of saturated cameras and phones, but thankfully my camera lived through the storm.
When the sun finally did appear once more, we made the most of our remaining time careening full the park over extremely rocky paths and steep hills. We saw a bizarre type of deer/horse, tiny antelope, and lots of birds . . . about which our flamboyantly-mustached guide (green khaki safari) could only point at one and state "Young Male," and naught else. (Meanwhile, I wonder what all the females are up to, and how our guide can be so sure of this info from so far away.)
Day Two commences with a visit to a young leopard in captivity, saved by one of the head rangers half a year ago when she was injured and lost her mother. In hushed voices we stood in awe on the other side of a flimsy fence as the beautiful creature chomped away at bits of meat quite similar to my Siamese at her dish. And the ranger was chasing her around in her mini-jungle, capturing her in his arms for a moment when we were privileged to stare into her wild eyes before she leapt up into a tree to regard us at a safe distance.
Obviously, that was my favorite part of the day. Well, almost.
We saw more wildlife and more breathtaking expanses of green, sharing our last day as a full group in natural splendor. Then on the ride home came what my poetry professor would call a "moment of pure ecstasy" - spontaneous, vivid, ephemeral, unforgettable. We're suddenly all standing up lock-kneed tight-gripped in our open jeep, blasting through twisted jungle trails and square farm plots. So high up with the open-air rush that we were flying. And as we touch ground again, back in the village near the hotel, everyone is grinning and waving frantically and shouting out their few known English words. We do the same only with an enthusiastic "Namaste!"
Just in a few short hours we find ourselves at the train station, standing in a guard circle around our mountain of luggage, buying cookies and mango juice from food stands, ignoring the growing crowd of dodgy-looking men staring through our skin. But this is all unimportant as we hug goodbye to our four comrades who are to return to Udaipur for another four weeks.
And then there were nine.
The First Goodbyes
We've finally reached our last stop - Hotel Singh Empire in Delhi, smooshed and stretching high on a bustling street. And finally a bit of Western luxury - soft beds, air conditioning, hot showers (though it's too hot for them anyway), and room service! Our group collectively decided that the hostel we stayed in when we first arrived would simply not be a proper send-off after our adventurous month. Today has been sleeping, strolling, and snacking - an in-between before we leave for the Taj Mahal at 2am! (Apparently sightseeing will be better in the morning; less tourists, less heat.)
Internet is limited here, so I'll recap in the next few entries.
Wednesday - our last day at school, and one of the purest. We sit down with our individual classes and do magic with needle and sky blue thread, sewing on missing buttons, mending rips, hemming pants. It's difficult to describe the wonder in each child's eyes as we fixed up their only school uniforms; I'm hoping that some of that sparkle remains in the photos I managed to capture in the precious minutes before we left. I didn't think 2 hours of teaching for ten days would affect me so much, but somewhere between gripping their little hands for the last time, saying goodbyes they couldn't quite comprehend, and our coordinator closing the classroom doors on so many anxious faces peeking out, the care and frustration and worry and love build and burst from my eyes in salty tears, and I had to walk back to the rickshaw all too quickly so that the children wouldn't see me crying.
We returned early so that everyone would have time to figure out the puzzle of re-packing suitcases. Being nearly a master at this I was ready in no time, so my friend Ran and I went to town for one last rooftop tea. The dark lemony taste lingers in our mouths as we reccount our firsts, favorites, and futures, me trying too hard to hold onto all the senses of the past month like the smell of spice and sweat in the streets or the way everything turns red at dusk.
But it's too soon before we're off, after a row of squeezing goodbyes. We hang on loosely to rickshaw sides, now accostomed to the sporadic speed and random bumps. We hang on to our bags as a chain of beggars infiltrates our cluster at the train station, though we escape to buy mango juice and cookies. And we hang on desperately to each other, faces and names staying illuminated in our minds through joking impressions and familiar stories, hanging on still in darkening train cars even as we run out of time together.
~christiana
Internet is limited here, so I'll recap in the next few entries.
Wednesday - our last day at school, and one of the purest. We sit down with our individual classes and do magic with needle and sky blue thread, sewing on missing buttons, mending rips, hemming pants. It's difficult to describe the wonder in each child's eyes as we fixed up their only school uniforms; I'm hoping that some of that sparkle remains in the photos I managed to capture in the precious minutes before we left. I didn't think 2 hours of teaching for ten days would affect me so much, but somewhere between gripping their little hands for the last time, saying goodbyes they couldn't quite comprehend, and our coordinator closing the classroom doors on so many anxious faces peeking out, the care and frustration and worry and love build and burst from my eyes in salty tears, and I had to walk back to the rickshaw all too quickly so that the children wouldn't see me crying.
We returned early so that everyone would have time to figure out the puzzle of re-packing suitcases. Being nearly a master at this I was ready in no time, so my friend Ran and I went to town for one last rooftop tea. The dark lemony taste lingers in our mouths as we reccount our firsts, favorites, and futures, me trying too hard to hold onto all the senses of the past month like the smell of spice and sweat in the streets or the way everything turns red at dusk.
But it's too soon before we're off, after a row of squeezing goodbyes. We hang on loosely to rickshaw sides, now accostomed to the sporadic speed and random bumps. We hang on to our bags as a chain of beggars infiltrates our cluster at the train station, though we escape to buy mango juice and cookies. And we hang on desperately to each other, faces and names staying illuminated in our minds through joking impressions and familiar stories, hanging on still in darkening train cars even as we run out of time together.
~christiana
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Winding Down
We're nearing the bottom of the spiral now - time seems to be passing faster and faster with only 6 days left. Today is our last day of school, but no teaching, just photos, games, hugs, and smiles. Then packing: taking down the mosquito nets, donating clothes to lighten our suitcases, turning off the room fans for the last time. I'm counting on one more afternoon chai lounging in window seats before we depart for the overnight train at 5pm.
But I guess I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.
Saturday night was a hot and sticky blur of mango juice mixes and inside jokes, of dancing too much and staying up too late . . . needless to say Sunday was spent in quiet dining room rumination over final lesson plans and student evaluations. Cabin fever spurred a few of us to escape for dinner to someplace new. The Whistling Teal was a hideaway oasis; walk through looming marble passages that open to a quaint courtyard surrounded by low tables and couches with tents. It's all soft conversation over candlelight and hookah smoke, lovely and exotic.
Monday after school a few of us accompany Meenaji, our sweet and amazing cook, to her house for our very own private henna session. Seated on floor mats, we pour over her life's accumulation of photos while cool dark flowers and swirls squeeze out of corner-cut packets onto our skin. I've got a little bit of India stained from my thumb to my forearm, and I'm hoping it lasts long after I return home to remind me of all the beauty I see here daily.
Last night we finally donned our saris (with much help from Meenaji and Janki, an Indian volunteer), and stepped delicate into rickshaws that carried us to the rooftop of Jagat Niwas, the group favorite of the guesthouse/restaurants and the one the can most easily accomodate a long table for 25! I splurged on tandoori chicken, cheese nan, rich coffee, and a glass of Indian Chardonnay. It felt a bit like how an ending should, but yet not at all - our group just going out for another nice dinner, like we do every Friday/Saturday.
I get the feeling that it won't feel like it's ending until it's already ended. Until the train starts moving, until the plane takes off, until I fall back into my own bed.
~christiana
But I guess I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.
Saturday night was a hot and sticky blur of mango juice mixes and inside jokes, of dancing too much and staying up too late . . . needless to say Sunday was spent in quiet dining room rumination over final lesson plans and student evaluations. Cabin fever spurred a few of us to escape for dinner to someplace new. The Whistling Teal was a hideaway oasis; walk through looming marble passages that open to a quaint courtyard surrounded by low tables and couches with tents. It's all soft conversation over candlelight and hookah smoke, lovely and exotic.
Monday after school a few of us accompany Meenaji, our sweet and amazing cook, to her house for our very own private henna session. Seated on floor mats, we pour over her life's accumulation of photos while cool dark flowers and swirls squeeze out of corner-cut packets onto our skin. I've got a little bit of India stained from my thumb to my forearm, and I'm hoping it lasts long after I return home to remind me of all the beauty I see here daily.
Last night we finally donned our saris (with much help from Meenaji and Janki, an Indian volunteer), and stepped delicate into rickshaws that carried us to the rooftop of Jagat Niwas, the group favorite of the guesthouse/restaurants and the one the can most easily accomodate a long table for 25! I splurged on tandoori chicken, cheese nan, rich coffee, and a glass of Indian Chardonnay. It felt a bit like how an ending should, but yet not at all - our group just going out for another nice dinner, like we do every Friday/Saturday.
I get the feeling that it won't feel like it's ending until it's already ended. Until the train starts moving, until the plane takes off, until I fall back into my own bed.
~christiana
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Sampling the Local Cuisine
Since several of you have inquired about the food situation here, I'm finally devoting a whole entry just to that subject. Before I came I was a bit reluctant about how things would go, due to my aversion to strong spices and strange vegetables. I was guaranteed by many that I would get sick and have a hard time adjusting to the vegetarian habits over here.
It was hard the first few days, ordering arbitrary dishes at a spectrum of rooftop guesthouse restaurants and tiny shops at train stations. But over the past few weeks I've figured out the basic combination: some sort of saucy dish (vegetables, cheese, lentils, and/or potatoes with spices) mixed with either rice or (more often) nan, which is chewy flatbread, which calms down some of the spices as to not upset my tongue... just wake it up quite a bit.
Now that we're in Udaipur we have most meals in the apartment, made by Mina G, our fantastic cook. Breakfast is my least favorite, because it's usualy just toast and bananas, but occasionally an oatmeal-like mix as well. Cereal's avaliable, but the few days I had it my digestive system went a bit off, probably because of the milk. Chai is always avaliable, and I usually down 3 cups in the morning to replace my coffee addiction!
Then lunch and dinner are 2 "sauce dishes" like I described above, rice and bread, and amazingly sweet tomatoes and mangoes. We've gone out for lunch and dinner a few times as well, and each time I feel more confident when ordering. Part of our Hindi lessons last week included the names for every vegetable imaginable, and knowing these has proven quite useful!
My favorite dish that I've had so far has been "Paneer Butter Masala", which is large pieces of cheese in a rich sweet tomoato sauce with lots of herbs and spices, and combined with cheese nan. Aloo (potato) dishes are also good, and the handful of times I've had chicken (always in commendable restaurants) it's been wonderful as well, cooked in all those spices.
When we went for tea a few days ago we ordered chocolate and banana "Pan Cakes", which to our pleasant surprise actually turned out to be thick crepes. We've had other sweetened grain dishes a few times, and they're uniquely yummy.
I actually haven't had a bad meal here. Of course, I often find certain foods to be too spicy, but I eat more nan and drink more mango juice and the problem is solved. Other than the day or two when my stomach was a little upset (but nothing unbearable), I haven't really gotten sick. It seems like nearly everyone at the apartment has had this sporadic day-or-two bug, but once you pop some immodium you're good to go!
~christiana
It was hard the first few days, ordering arbitrary dishes at a spectrum of rooftop guesthouse restaurants and tiny shops at train stations. But over the past few weeks I've figured out the basic combination: some sort of saucy dish (vegetables, cheese, lentils, and/or potatoes with spices) mixed with either rice or (more often) nan, which is chewy flatbread, which calms down some of the spices as to not upset my tongue... just wake it up quite a bit.
Now that we're in Udaipur we have most meals in the apartment, made by Mina G, our fantastic cook. Breakfast is my least favorite, because it's usualy just toast and bananas, but occasionally an oatmeal-like mix as well. Cereal's avaliable, but the few days I had it my digestive system went a bit off, probably because of the milk. Chai is always avaliable, and I usually down 3 cups in the morning to replace my coffee addiction!
Then lunch and dinner are 2 "sauce dishes" like I described above, rice and bread, and amazingly sweet tomatoes and mangoes. We've gone out for lunch and dinner a few times as well, and each time I feel more confident when ordering. Part of our Hindi lessons last week included the names for every vegetable imaginable, and knowing these has proven quite useful!
My favorite dish that I've had so far has been "Paneer Butter Masala", which is large pieces of cheese in a rich sweet tomoato sauce with lots of herbs and spices, and combined with cheese nan. Aloo (potato) dishes are also good, and the handful of times I've had chicken (always in commendable restaurants) it's been wonderful as well, cooked in all those spices.
When we went for tea a few days ago we ordered chocolate and banana "Pan Cakes", which to our pleasant surprise actually turned out to be thick crepes. We've had other sweetened grain dishes a few times, and they're uniquely yummy.
I actually haven't had a bad meal here. Of course, I often find certain foods to be too spicy, but I eat more nan and drink more mango juice and the problem is solved. Other than the day or two when my stomach was a little upset (but nothing unbearable), I haven't really gotten sick. It seems like nearly everyone at the apartment has had this sporadic day-or-two bug, but once you pop some immodium you're good to go!
~christiana
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Bright Skies, Bright Saris, Bright Smiles
The last few days have been some of the most relaxing so far. The weather's cleared up - all that rain we had last week went back to sleep, and the sky is saturated with sunshine once more!
As I've gotten more familiar with the kids, I've gone slightly lax with discipline and turned up the smiles. But a bit of talkative chaos every once in a while balances out with concentrated moments of hands shooting into the air, focused chalkboard writing, and soft babble as they fill out worksheets with glee. In the morning before class I have my girls crowning my head with their busy braiding hands, and my boys all running to get me chalk for the day and picking me "flowers"(i.e. haphazardly yanked-up leafy plants).
Unfortunately, the two boys that were struggling the most in class (and the worst behaved) haven't been at school for most of the week because they have to work on their family farms. I see them hanging around the village around the time that we leave, but our coordinator said that there's not much they can do about it because they would arrive too late to do lessons. They suffer because they must work instead of getting an education that could possible free them from the poverty they face daily.
On a happier note, we went sari shopping yesterday. I was extremely thankful for Ritu, our female coordinator, and our three Indian volunteer friends that came with Noelle and myself - buying a sari is quite the complicated process! The most important part is the actual sari, the long sheer fabric that comes in infinte colors and patterns. We sat in awe as chiffon rainbows spooled through the air, thick with Hindi negotiations. I chose a royal blue traditional hand-dyed fabric - lower-priced and without all the embelishments, but still vibrantly beautiful.
And that was step one. Today we returned to pick up our freshly ironed saris, and transfered to another store to be measured for blouse tops, match fabric color, buy peticoats, and have fabric sewn at the bottom of the saris to weigh them down. And so many questions involved! What length for sleeves? Drawstring skirt? Round back or square? We'll have them by Saturday, ready to wear to our farewell dinner and whatever else we choose...
After the sari details overload, a handful of us went to a rooftop restaurant for afternoon chai. We'd planned on doing this based entirely on the setting - wide, plush window seats with 3-inch high tables and plenty of pillows - perfect for lounging barefoot and sipping masala tea!
It's been nice to really settle down and enjoy the small luxuries of Udaipur these last few days, especially with so little time left. We depart next Wednesday for Rathambore National Park for a tiger safari, then the final stop in Delhi for the Taj Mahal. Only two more days of teaching are squeezed in; tomorrow we are visiting the communities of our schoolchildren, and our last day (Wednesday) will be simply spending time with them. It's remarkable how quickly the time is passing; it feels like we've only begun to make a difference with the children. But it's been a visible difference nonetheless, and for that my heart is brighter than the shelves of a sari shop.
~christiana
As I've gotten more familiar with the kids, I've gone slightly lax with discipline and turned up the smiles. But a bit of talkative chaos every once in a while balances out with concentrated moments of hands shooting into the air, focused chalkboard writing, and soft babble as they fill out worksheets with glee. In the morning before class I have my girls crowning my head with their busy braiding hands, and my boys all running to get me chalk for the day and picking me "flowers"(i.e. haphazardly yanked-up leafy plants).
Unfortunately, the two boys that were struggling the most in class (and the worst behaved) haven't been at school for most of the week because they have to work on their family farms. I see them hanging around the village around the time that we leave, but our coordinator said that there's not much they can do about it because they would arrive too late to do lessons. They suffer because they must work instead of getting an education that could possible free them from the poverty they face daily.
On a happier note, we went sari shopping yesterday. I was extremely thankful for Ritu, our female coordinator, and our three Indian volunteer friends that came with Noelle and myself - buying a sari is quite the complicated process! The most important part is the actual sari, the long sheer fabric that comes in infinte colors and patterns. We sat in awe as chiffon rainbows spooled through the air, thick with Hindi negotiations. I chose a royal blue traditional hand-dyed fabric - lower-priced and without all the embelishments, but still vibrantly beautiful.
And that was step one. Today we returned to pick up our freshly ironed saris, and transfered to another store to be measured for blouse tops, match fabric color, buy peticoats, and have fabric sewn at the bottom of the saris to weigh them down. And so many questions involved! What length for sleeves? Drawstring skirt? Round back or square? We'll have them by Saturday, ready to wear to our farewell dinner and whatever else we choose...
After the sari details overload, a handful of us went to a rooftop restaurant for afternoon chai. We'd planned on doing this based entirely on the setting - wide, plush window seats with 3-inch high tables and plenty of pillows - perfect for lounging barefoot and sipping masala tea!
It's been nice to really settle down and enjoy the small luxuries of Udaipur these last few days, especially with so little time left. We depart next Wednesday for Rathambore National Park for a tiger safari, then the final stop in Delhi for the Taj Mahal. Only two more days of teaching are squeezed in; tomorrow we are visiting the communities of our schoolchildren, and our last day (Wednesday) will be simply spending time with them. It's remarkable how quickly the time is passing; it feels like we've only begun to make a difference with the children. But it's been a visible difference nonetheless, and for that my heart is brighter than the shelves of a sari shop.
~christiana
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Cobras, Beggars, and Skeleton Men
Just when I thought I was getting used to the cow roadblocks and gawking men of Indian streets, I get a series of bizarre sights jammed into a day.
1. We're outside at 9am as usual, waiting for the rickshaws, when an elaborately turbaned and mustached skeleton man strolls up, silent and casual across the path from us, sits down, and pulls a circular box from a dirty shoulder sack. I'm half-watching with curiousity until he lifts the top off and the head of a COBRA lifts out... I'm immediately swearing and backing up and hiding behind the few of us who aren't safe in idle rickshaws. And the skeleton man is oblivious to all of us, seeming almost as hypnotized as the swaying cobra, as our coordinator is chastising him and most of the girls are freaked. Never have I been more thankful to scramble into the rickshaw and off to school.
2. Again, a usual morning ritual is interrupted at school as we're serving the children their hot rice breakfast. Two village women are heralded in by the ten or so wild dogs that have been napping in the schoolyard. They beeline through the piercing barks toward our Western appearances, approaching us direct and unafraid with poor words ("hungry", "money", "help" - all in Hindi but translated by a knowledgable fellow volunteer) but not poor eyes. They were so aggressive; they didn't keep their distance, grabbing at our arms and nearly shouting a stream of angry Hindi. All I can think about is what this must look like in front of the children and how they may interpret whatever we do, meanwhile the teachers and our coordinator tell us to ignore them (nearly impossible) and try to get them to leave. They were offered food but didn't even want it, convinced that Western volunteers would be a free money handout. All we could do was ladle rice into their outheld skirts. I wanted to do more, but they were so bitter and the situation sadly complicated.
3. Departing from Cafe Coffee Day (i.e. Indian Starbucks) we sight Skeleton Man Number Two. He's across the street and naked. I'm a mix of shock and sorrow looking at his protruding ribs and ragged, palid nest of hair. He bathes and relieves himself, then re-dresses so nonchalant as if he's the only one on earth. And watching from the rickshaws we could do nothing, just like the pairs of silken women and collared men walking past.
India continues to surprise me.
~christiana
1. We're outside at 9am as usual, waiting for the rickshaws, when an elaborately turbaned and mustached skeleton man strolls up, silent and casual across the path from us, sits down, and pulls a circular box from a dirty shoulder sack. I'm half-watching with curiousity until he lifts the top off and the head of a COBRA lifts out... I'm immediately swearing and backing up and hiding behind the few of us who aren't safe in idle rickshaws. And the skeleton man is oblivious to all of us, seeming almost as hypnotized as the swaying cobra, as our coordinator is chastising him and most of the girls are freaked. Never have I been more thankful to scramble into the rickshaw and off to school.
2. Again, a usual morning ritual is interrupted at school as we're serving the children their hot rice breakfast. Two village women are heralded in by the ten or so wild dogs that have been napping in the schoolyard. They beeline through the piercing barks toward our Western appearances, approaching us direct and unafraid with poor words ("hungry", "money", "help" - all in Hindi but translated by a knowledgable fellow volunteer) but not poor eyes. They were so aggressive; they didn't keep their distance, grabbing at our arms and nearly shouting a stream of angry Hindi. All I can think about is what this must look like in front of the children and how they may interpret whatever we do, meanwhile the teachers and our coordinator tell us to ignore them (nearly impossible) and try to get them to leave. They were offered food but didn't even want it, convinced that Western volunteers would be a free money handout. All we could do was ladle rice into their outheld skirts. I wanted to do more, but they were so bitter and the situation sadly complicated.
3. Departing from Cafe Coffee Day (i.e. Indian Starbucks) we sight Skeleton Man Number Two. He's across the street and naked. I'm a mix of shock and sorrow looking at his protruding ribs and ragged, palid nest of hair. He bathes and relieves himself, then re-dresses so nonchalant as if he's the only one on earth. And watching from the rickshaws we could do nothing, just like the pairs of silken women and collared men walking past.
India continues to surprise me.
~christiana
Monday, July 14, 2008
Monday Distractions
I knew our lovely 3-day holiday of rooftop restaurants and spectacular sights was over when my alarm went off at 5:45 am for our first rooftop yoga class. It's optional, but of course I won't pass up the chance to do sun salutations at dawn in India with a real instructor, as opposed to library DVDs in my basement back home. It's a bit hard to take seriously though, with an instructor that's too serious and 10 teenagers that are barely awake. And this was the traditional sort of practice - chanting om while holding poses that are actually meant to be painful - rather than the nice Westernized fluid stretching routine I'm used to. I was hoping to be relaxed and energized for my second week of school, but unfortunately I was just deprived of sleep and the memory of my lesson plans.
And today was definitely not a good day to be tired - my class forgot how to behave over the weekend, I ran out of stickers near the beginning of class, and I couldn't hold their attention long enough to explain games and activities that would keep them from misbehaving out of boredom.
And today was definitely not a good day to be tired - my class forgot how to behave over the weekend, I ran out of stickers near the beginning of class, and I couldn't hold their attention long enough to explain games and activities that would keep them from misbehaving out of boredom.
This seemed to be the norm for most of us. Hopefully the fresh batch of stickers and coloring worksheets I have mixed into tomorrow's plan do the trick. It's a delicate combination of my energy and creativity, and their attention (or lack of such). I'm definitely going to bed early tonight, so that I can handle tomorrow!
~christiana
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Exploring Udaipur and Beyond
The last few days have encompassed quite the spectrum of sensations! On Friday school was actually cancelled due to rain, and the monsoons haven't really even started yet. It's usually just a light drizzle for a few hours, but it always seems worse right when we're stuck outside in it. I'm hoping that we don't have many more cancellations, as there's only about 2 1/2 weeks left of teaching!
Of course, we took advantage of our day off to venture into town and do some shopping. Haggling for prices is expected, especially because they go way up for light skin/blonde hair combo. And the best way to get a price you want is to be rude - don't spend too much time looking in the store, offer a price way lower than you want, and pretend to leave in the middle of negotiations (this one especially is quite effective). But knowing all this, it's still hard for me to be assertive enough over a few dollars, and I'd hate falling into the snobby/rude Westerner stereotype.
Putting that aside, going into town always provides new sights and adventures. While sorting through bedsheets in our favorite clothes shop, an elephant strolls by in the rain. We passed a number of white faces with backpacks in the streets, always accompanied by mutual smiles. My new pastime has become people-watching in the rain and seeing how much trouble even the natives go to just to avoid a bit of water. And on our 30-min ride back in the rickshaw I markerd a personal record - squeezed into one of these tiny vehicles with 16 others! I was thankful to have gotten on early enough to have a seat, rather than balancing half-crouched or hanging out by a hand from the side.
Dinner last night was refreshing - we went to one of several rooftop restaurant/hotels that offered a beautiful view, dishes with meat and without spices, and Indian wine! Getting above the city opened my eyes to its beauty, which is hidden at street level among the cows and garbage heaps. I was surprised to learn that Octopussy (James Bond film) was filmed here, and so of course all the rooftop hotels show it most nights, and each claiming to have the best view in town.
Today was a sightseeing day to Kumbalgarh Fort and a Jain temple in Ranakpur. I'm still debating whether the beautiful sights were worth the ride it took to get there. It was about 2 hours to each sight and home, with loads of bumps and potholes, speeding around hairpin turns up the mountains, nearly colliding with several cows, and playing chicken on narrow roads with buses that refuse to move over. Hindi love songs were our serenading soundtrack, with a retro-sounding string orchestra and tabla drums. Driving through the breathtaking scenery of mountains and green stretches of farmland made the whole thing feel cinematic, and enjoyable when the driving wasn't as extreme. We even saw a group of monkeys up in the mountains, but sped by before I could snatch a picture.
As for the sights themselves, both were immense wonders. The fort was way up in the (Avarelli?) mountains, appearing out of the mist like a forgotten castle. It boasts a wall second only to China's Great Wall in length, and its strategic location allowed invaders in only once, and for 2 days at that. I felt displaced walking inside those ancient walls - the mountains, the mist, the quiet, it all felt so contrasting and remote from the India to which we've grown accotomed.
The Jain temple seated as deep in a valley as the fort was in the mountains. We removed our shoes at the base of the steps (the action's become habitual with all our visits) and climbed into a maze of 1444 carved pillars, no two alike. It's hard to form a description that would capture the majesty and serenity that one could feel among all the white marble, so I'll have to leave it hanging until I can put up some pictures, either soon or when I return home.
One thing that struck me here that I also felt in the Baha'i and Hindu temples - an underlying emptiness in the peaceful cover. I was amazed at the work and the detail in the architecture, but for me there was no tangible spritual presence. Serenity, peace, sanctuary, yes. But also a indescribeble sort of loneliness that would prevent me from spending any extended amount of time in a place like that.
And I'm missing home a bit too now. I'm craving familiar faces, warm showers, and a freshly brewed pot of coffee. But my adventure's only half over - there's still much, much more to come.
~christiana
Of course, we took advantage of our day off to venture into town and do some shopping. Haggling for prices is expected, especially because they go way up for light skin/blonde hair combo. And the best way to get a price you want is to be rude - don't spend too much time looking in the store, offer a price way lower than you want, and pretend to leave in the middle of negotiations (this one especially is quite effective). But knowing all this, it's still hard for me to be assertive enough over a few dollars, and I'd hate falling into the snobby/rude Westerner stereotype.
Putting that aside, going into town always provides new sights and adventures. While sorting through bedsheets in our favorite clothes shop, an elephant strolls by in the rain. We passed a number of white faces with backpacks in the streets, always accompanied by mutual smiles. My new pastime has become people-watching in the rain and seeing how much trouble even the natives go to just to avoid a bit of water. And on our 30-min ride back in the rickshaw I markerd a personal record - squeezed into one of these tiny vehicles with 16 others! I was thankful to have gotten on early enough to have a seat, rather than balancing half-crouched or hanging out by a hand from the side.
Dinner last night was refreshing - we went to one of several rooftop restaurant/hotels that offered a beautiful view, dishes with meat and without spices, and Indian wine! Getting above the city opened my eyes to its beauty, which is hidden at street level among the cows and garbage heaps. I was surprised to learn that Octopussy (James Bond film) was filmed here, and so of course all the rooftop hotels show it most nights, and each claiming to have the best view in town.
Today was a sightseeing day to Kumbalgarh Fort and a Jain temple in Ranakpur. I'm still debating whether the beautiful sights were worth the ride it took to get there. It was about 2 hours to each sight and home, with loads of bumps and potholes, speeding around hairpin turns up the mountains, nearly colliding with several cows, and playing chicken on narrow roads with buses that refuse to move over. Hindi love songs were our serenading soundtrack, with a retro-sounding string orchestra and tabla drums. Driving through the breathtaking scenery of mountains and green stretches of farmland made the whole thing feel cinematic, and enjoyable when the driving wasn't as extreme. We even saw a group of monkeys up in the mountains, but sped by before I could snatch a picture.
As for the sights themselves, both were immense wonders. The fort was way up in the (Avarelli?) mountains, appearing out of the mist like a forgotten castle. It boasts a wall second only to China's Great Wall in length, and its strategic location allowed invaders in only once, and for 2 days at that. I felt displaced walking inside those ancient walls - the mountains, the mist, the quiet, it all felt so contrasting and remote from the India to which we've grown accotomed.
The Jain temple seated as deep in a valley as the fort was in the mountains. We removed our shoes at the base of the steps (the action's become habitual with all our visits) and climbed into a maze of 1444 carved pillars, no two alike. It's hard to form a description that would capture the majesty and serenity that one could feel among all the white marble, so I'll have to leave it hanging until I can put up some pictures, either soon or when I return home.
One thing that struck me here that I also felt in the Baha'i and Hindu temples - an underlying emptiness in the peaceful cover. I was amazed at the work and the detail in the architecture, but for me there was no tangible spritual presence. Serenity, peace, sanctuary, yes. But also a indescribeble sort of loneliness that would prevent me from spending any extended amount of time in a place like that.
And I'm missing home a bit too now. I'm craving familiar faces, warm showers, and a freshly brewed pot of coffee. But my adventure's only half over - there's still much, much more to come.
~christiana
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
The Start to Rainy Routine
Oh, the wonders of stickers, storybooks, and worksheets!
The last two days have gone loads better - the rapid familiarity that has sprouted between my class and myself, their "didi", has made me feel as though weeks have gone by. I'm picking up on what works and how each child performs in the classroom, making afternoon preparations for the next day take less and less time. The naughty boys and even my brightest girl have tested me from time to time, daring me to discipline them with rebellious eyes. It's so difficult to limit how often I laugh with them, and physically take their little hands and lead them to a timeout corner, but I think it's paying off.
I pull out new worksheets for them to practice and they all cheer; they love ones with pictures they can color (but only when work is finished, of course!). And stickers motivate them to do almost anything, making simple games last on their little hopes of getting lots of stickers with which to decorate their notebooks.
Every once in a while I get these pure moments - this morning when two boys from my class (one who was a terror the first day) come dashing towards me to grab my hands for our morning song circle, or later on when I can step back for a serene 15 seconds to watch them all excitedly hunched over worksheets - but they're always ephemeral, ruined by childish greed over stickers and colored pencils.
... Meanwhile, in the other universe that is our adolescent apartment, we're definitely falling into routine, right as the monsoon rains began this afternoon. Not a downpour yet, and so I ventured into town with two friends to get my traveller's checks exchanged. The bank was closed, but it was lovely to watch India treat rain just like humans would anywhere else. Children hop over puddles balancing bright umbrellas, women lifting sari skirts off their toes and sheltering their elegant heads, and wrinkled men squatting in shops, probably chatting about sports or politics.
We did some shopping, oggling postcards and haggling for poofy pants. We looked at bangles in every color, with tiny mirrors, sparkles, and charms, but then they wouldn't even fit over our hands - and mine are small to begin with! However, we did end up with eight people in a rickshaw at one point, which is spacious to the Indian standard of about 15 to 20. It was the usual stares, and crossed legs to make extra room, and broken English through crooked teeth.
And we returned just in time for dinner, which I think is getting spicier, and Swiss chocolate, brought from Emma who lives in Geneva, for dessert. And school tomorrow, with more stickers and smiles, I hope.
~christiana
Monday, July 7, 2008
First Day of Teaching
With the first day down, it's not going to be as difficult as I was fearing last night.
I had planned on reviewing my lesson plan on the 15-minute rickshaw ride with 3 other volunteers to our designated school ("Temple School" named for the worship house nextdoor). However, a minor flaw in supply preparation lead the four of us frantically sharpening pencils onto our laps, over the floor, and out the barred windows, with our eyes filling with the woody confetti bits instead of the surrounding's transfiguration from cluttered shops to overworked fields. All the sharpening helped get rid of my worries anyway.
We arrived and immediately began what will become a daily ritual - the good morning song. Then Ritu (one of our coordinators working at our school) shuffled us off to our classrooms.
While I was reluctant to start, several loud boys and a pair of subdued girls excitedly assumed their spots on the floor, and it's the eagerness in their wide-eyed patience that pushes me to begin. Teacher volunteers all get called "didi" (we were prepared for this in advance), which means something like big sister. As long as there's some authority established in that, it's fine with me.
They all seem so clever for what they've grown up in, but in that cleverness also comes misbehavior, testing me by refusing to do work or chattering to their buds in Hindi (head bobbling and all). The two girls I had today were wonderful; it was the boys put together that mixed up trouble in the back. There's really two main trouble-makers, but they rile up the others and then they all get distracted. I was limited on my disciplinary Hindi phrases today, but this afternoon we were equipped with simple weapons like "Come here!" and "Listen now!" and "Don't speak!" that will hopefully be lethal when combined with an evil eye and stern vocals.
My classroom's a three-wall punch at the end of the building with a lonely chalkboard inside. On the open side there's a half-wall with a doorway, but it still feels very much like an outdoor classroom. More distractions.
Worksheets and drawing activities work the best with them - the smart ones flow through, while the weaker ones can get individual tutorials from me in the trouble spots. But of course the activities need to be mixed up a bit, so I had planned some flashcard/chalkboard review sessions and what I thought to be some rather creative games as well. However, creative became synonymous with complicated, an so I abandoned several of these when I struggled to get my class to understand the rules. But with the blend of what worked and how the children generally accepted my presence into their little learning bubble, it was a wonderful introduction.
It's remarkable though, how those 2 hours drain me. Off to bed, 'til next time!
~christiana
I had planned on reviewing my lesson plan on the 15-minute rickshaw ride with 3 other volunteers to our designated school ("Temple School" named for the worship house nextdoor). However, a minor flaw in supply preparation lead the four of us frantically sharpening pencils onto our laps, over the floor, and out the barred windows, with our eyes filling with the woody confetti bits instead of the surrounding's transfiguration from cluttered shops to overworked fields. All the sharpening helped get rid of my worries anyway.
We arrived and immediately began what will become a daily ritual - the good morning song. Then Ritu (one of our coordinators working at our school) shuffled us off to our classrooms.
While I was reluctant to start, several loud boys and a pair of subdued girls excitedly assumed their spots on the floor, and it's the eagerness in their wide-eyed patience that pushes me to begin. Teacher volunteers all get called "didi" (we were prepared for this in advance), which means something like big sister. As long as there's some authority established in that, it's fine with me.
They all seem so clever for what they've grown up in, but in that cleverness also comes misbehavior, testing me by refusing to do work or chattering to their buds in Hindi (head bobbling and all). The two girls I had today were wonderful; it was the boys put together that mixed up trouble in the back. There's really two main trouble-makers, but they rile up the others and then they all get distracted. I was limited on my disciplinary Hindi phrases today, but this afternoon we were equipped with simple weapons like "Come here!" and "Listen now!" and "Don't speak!" that will hopefully be lethal when combined with an evil eye and stern vocals.
My classroom's a three-wall punch at the end of the building with a lonely chalkboard inside. On the open side there's a half-wall with a doorway, but it still feels very much like an outdoor classroom. More distractions.
Worksheets and drawing activities work the best with them - the smart ones flow through, while the weaker ones can get individual tutorials from me in the trouble spots. But of course the activities need to be mixed up a bit, so I had planned some flashcard/chalkboard review sessions and what I thought to be some rather creative games as well. However, creative became synonymous with complicated, an so I abandoned several of these when I struggled to get my class to understand the rules. But with the blend of what worked and how the children generally accepted my presence into their little learning bubble, it was a wonderful introduction.
It's remarkable though, how those 2 hours drain me. Off to bed, 'til next time!
~christiana
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Our Accomodation and Preparation
It was so uplifting today to read your comments! Here's an overview of the past few days to answer them:
We arrived at the apartments on Friday, and we begin work in the schools tomorrow (Monday). This weekend has been both relaxing and hectic - we settled down and almost immediately plunged into orientation for our project, visiting the schools, learning basic Hindi, doing mock lessons, and preparing lesson plans. And those lesson plans have taken nearly all day, though we took a lovely break in a shockingly clean and modern coffee shop (real espresso! not instant!), where almost everyone took advantage of the brownies on the menu.
Because today is Sunday, we can't copy worksheets or buy supplies, and so everything takes longer... we're utilizing pressed carbon paper and handmade creativity. Unsure of what activities will work and how much time they will take, we're sort of gambling on what we hope are the right combinations.
Right as we're learning to do all this, we're going to stumble into classrooms tomorrow to teach classes of about 10 pupils completely by ourselves. Our only company lies in letters and numbers; the only familiar names are those for animals, colors, fruits, and body parts. Oh, there's a lunch break in there, but that's about it. So I'm basically a bit nervous.
On a lighter note, living in the apartments has given our wild spectrum of adventure some much-needed ground. Home base is a spread on the ground floor, and most of the day's flurry happens here - meals, classes, activities, socializing. I love this because we're a huge jumbled family, with our mixing accents and continuous teasing. To illustrate, I had the mysteries of Sim cards (exchangeable programmed chips that exist in seemingly all cell phones but American ones) and the game of cricket (kind of like baseball, but less orderly) revealed to me yesterday by all the non-Americans (nearly everyone). And apparently "Z" in their alphabet is pronounced "zed", which Noelle and I found simply mind-boggling. It's like European enlightenment.
There's a few rooms here, then a few more in an apartment on the 1st floor, then another apartment with 2 rooms on the 3rd floor, where I'm staying. Through "floors" are really only half-floors; there's a main stairwell, with 2-3 apartment doors at every half-flight. We're three to a room, and bonding happens over hanging laundry in the balconies and filling up multiple buckets at "water time" ( the only 2 hrs in the morn and 1 in the evening when the water is on).
The weather's definitely not as extreme as I'd prepared for. Delhi and Jodhpur were sweltering and persistant with the dripping heat, but Udaipur shelters a whisper breeze, veiled sky, and lower temperatures; it's been wonderful remembering what it feels like to have skin that's not sticky and hot.
Finally, probably the centerpiece of my Indian newness, is Indian cuisine and how surprised I am that I'm surviving and not minding the spices and vegetarianism! Through various restaurants in the midst of our sightseeing spree, I experimented with the dishes that other newbies ordered. I think my most valuable discovery was in combining flatbread or rice with the spicy veggies/lentils to blanket that Indian masala punch to the tongue. And now at the apartment we have a smile-eyed cook who gives us traditional (but most likely milder) dishes for our full 3 meals. I'm not even missing meat too much, though by the end of this month I think the lentils/bread/unfamiliar veggies combo will get monotonous. I'd really love a cold, crunchy bowl of cereal... avoiding cold milk was advised by many due to lack of pasteurization.
I think that covers your inqueries. Thank you so much for reading!
~christiana
We arrived at the apartments on Friday, and we begin work in the schools tomorrow (Monday). This weekend has been both relaxing and hectic - we settled down and almost immediately plunged into orientation for our project, visiting the schools, learning basic Hindi, doing mock lessons, and preparing lesson plans. And those lesson plans have taken nearly all day, though we took a lovely break in a shockingly clean and modern coffee shop (real espresso! not instant!), where almost everyone took advantage of the brownies on the menu.
Because today is Sunday, we can't copy worksheets or buy supplies, and so everything takes longer... we're utilizing pressed carbon paper and handmade creativity. Unsure of what activities will work and how much time they will take, we're sort of gambling on what we hope are the right combinations.
Right as we're learning to do all this, we're going to stumble into classrooms tomorrow to teach classes of about 10 pupils completely by ourselves. Our only company lies in letters and numbers; the only familiar names are those for animals, colors, fruits, and body parts. Oh, there's a lunch break in there, but that's about it. So I'm basically a bit nervous.
On a lighter note, living in the apartments has given our wild spectrum of adventure some much-needed ground. Home base is a spread on the ground floor, and most of the day's flurry happens here - meals, classes, activities, socializing. I love this because we're a huge jumbled family, with our mixing accents and continuous teasing. To illustrate, I had the mysteries of Sim cards (exchangeable programmed chips that exist in seemingly all cell phones but American ones) and the game of cricket (kind of like baseball, but less orderly) revealed to me yesterday by all the non-Americans (nearly everyone). And apparently "Z" in their alphabet is pronounced "zed", which Noelle and I found simply mind-boggling. It's like European enlightenment.
There's a few rooms here, then a few more in an apartment on the 1st floor, then another apartment with 2 rooms on the 3rd floor, where I'm staying. Through "floors" are really only half-floors; there's a main stairwell, with 2-3 apartment doors at every half-flight. We're three to a room, and bonding happens over hanging laundry in the balconies and filling up multiple buckets at "water time" ( the only 2 hrs in the morn and 1 in the evening when the water is on).
The weather's definitely not as extreme as I'd prepared for. Delhi and Jodhpur were sweltering and persistant with the dripping heat, but Udaipur shelters a whisper breeze, veiled sky, and lower temperatures; it's been wonderful remembering what it feels like to have skin that's not sticky and hot.
Finally, probably the centerpiece of my Indian newness, is Indian cuisine and how surprised I am that I'm surviving and not minding the spices and vegetarianism! Through various restaurants in the midst of our sightseeing spree, I experimented with the dishes that other newbies ordered. I think my most valuable discovery was in combining flatbread or rice with the spicy veggies/lentils to blanket that Indian masala punch to the tongue. And now at the apartment we have a smile-eyed cook who gives us traditional (but most likely milder) dishes for our full 3 meals. I'm not even missing meat too much, though by the end of this month I think the lentils/bread/unfamiliar veggies combo will get monotonous. I'd really love a cold, crunchy bowl of cereal... avoiding cold milk was advised by many due to lack of pasteurization.
I think that covers your inqueries. Thank you so much for reading!
~christiana
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Back to the beginning
For a backtrack update, I'll copy bits of my journal here from the past week. I was originally going to re-write the last few days in more detail, but I think my journal better preserves my initial impressions. Edits are added in parentheses.
30. June
Perpetual stickiness must be the norm.
We arrived (to Delhi) off the plane in the middle of a slow flurry of families, managing to rescue our bags after a while. Customs required no nerves - a glance, a stamp, and we're through. Past the gate and we meet a fence-parted sea of dark and anonymous staring eyes. Handwritten name cards are all unfamiliar, with awkward capital letters seeming unsure of which way to lean. But suddenly we meet friendliness in a smile and printed Times New Roman.
Gaurav and Neeraj (our coordinators) can sense our unsureness, and help us buy water bottles and exchange money (a close call with my debit card; I didn't pull it out right away and the machine nearly ate it!) before we're on our way in a "taxi".
After spending a day in the quiet glow of airline television screens and "lavatory occupied" lights, the 10-minute taxi ride is beautiful chaos. Horns are (prevalent but) not angry, saying "hey there!" and "coming through!" in a sort of childish game. We're jostling among hand-painted buses with arms hanging out the windows and covered rickshaws with the edges of saris billowing out the sides. Eyes and swirls, "I Love My India" and "HORN PLEASE" are all swooshed multi-colored on dented sides of sedans and semis.
1. July
We're trainbound to Jodhpur, in an overnight that's a far cry from the cinematic luxury of the Darjeeling Limited. We're packed and stacked in threes with open bar windows and (more) florescent lighting.
As mostly white female tourists we became the attraction even before loading. I was prepared for individual stares, but not a wall of lanky teens looking at us like fresh meat.
Women are flowing rainbows sparkling with gold bangles. Men, at least the cleaner ones, seem to have stepped out of the 70's, wearing high-waisted polyesters with oversized buckles and neon button-downs. They're all so short and thin here!
Such a land of contrasts. Our various sightseeing stops today (in Delhi) uncovered ancient tradition in the midst of sprawling urban chaos. Traffic is both frightening and amusing - speed limits, lanes, and politeness are non-existant, with vehicles jostling a staggered six-wide through a series of roundabouts. And going from high-walled white palaces to dodgy shops that look more like bomb shelters.
2. July
Good morning India!
My wake-up call was a piercing nasal "CAW-FEE?" up and down the train car aisles at about 6 a.m. But there's gentle sun streaming through the windows, waking up rolling hills, wandering cows, and broken villages.
We were just sung to by two men with tin-looking drums, tapping sidebeats on the rims with ring-fingers. It was a back-in-time dream until they pressed us for money (open hands in our faces), and we were all shifty-eyes unsure of what to do with our 100-Rupee bills. (All we had were "large" bills, and giving money usually attracts more beggars and disapproving stares.)
4. July
After all the difficulty in coming off the train, with awkward luggage (I definitely want to invest in a body-sized backpack!) and deep stairs and child beggars, we packed in the rickshaws toward a guest house in Jodhpur - just for showers, lunch, and a nap (not an overnight). By this time the "holy cows" of India are becoming more noticeable, and the crazy traffic, less terrifying.
A few hours later we're out to the desert in safari jeeps for our excursion, stopping on the way at a Hindu temple in little Osian. It's cliche, but I'm still thinking of The Darjeeling Limited as we barefoot-pad up marble steps and receive red fingerprints on our foreheads.
And then we reached our camel oasis. It was about 20 minutes through sandy car tracks (including getting stuck once!), along the way waving to families curious and colorful. Upon arrival (to the host family's residence, and open-roof house and separate hut with a porch), we were seated in front of a happy red hut and served chai by a proud and bright-eyed boy - one of many so eager to see us later on.
The desert life was so simple and beautiful - modest house, big family, sitting on rooftops, sleeping outside... how idealistically lovely it would be to disconnect from the world in such a way, in touch with only your community, riding camels and drinking chai. But there are small things too, that draw me back to reality, like women veiling their heads completely and little girls hiding inside while the boys romp all over the sand-dunes.
We dined at twilight and danced in the moonlight, to bowed sitars (don't know the correct name) and unfamiliar melodies. And at sunrise, we climbed from our outdoor beds (woven cots) and onto camels in twos. The camel ride was unforgettable and indescribable. We became an ancient caravan in isolated lands, a feeling I don't know if I'll ever have again.
It's so hard already, because so much happened between writing, and much of the sensory experiences are already lost deep in my brain cells.
There's much more to come. Any comments and questions would be wonderful!
~christiana
30. June
Perpetual stickiness must be the norm.
We arrived (to Delhi) off the plane in the middle of a slow flurry of families, managing to rescue our bags after a while. Customs required no nerves - a glance, a stamp, and we're through. Past the gate and we meet a fence-parted sea of dark and anonymous staring eyes. Handwritten name cards are all unfamiliar, with awkward capital letters seeming unsure of which way to lean. But suddenly we meet friendliness in a smile and printed Times New Roman.
Gaurav and Neeraj (our coordinators) can sense our unsureness, and help us buy water bottles and exchange money (a close call with my debit card; I didn't pull it out right away and the machine nearly ate it!) before we're on our way in a "taxi".
After spending a day in the quiet glow of airline television screens and "lavatory occupied" lights, the 10-minute taxi ride is beautiful chaos. Horns are (prevalent but) not angry, saying "hey there!" and "coming through!" in a sort of childish game. We're jostling among hand-painted buses with arms hanging out the windows and covered rickshaws with the edges of saris billowing out the sides. Eyes and swirls, "I Love My India" and "HORN PLEASE" are all swooshed multi-colored on dented sides of sedans and semis.
1. July
We're trainbound to Jodhpur, in an overnight that's a far cry from the cinematic luxury of the Darjeeling Limited. We're packed and stacked in threes with open bar windows and (more) florescent lighting.
As mostly white female tourists we became the attraction even before loading. I was prepared for individual stares, but not a wall of lanky teens looking at us like fresh meat.
Women are flowing rainbows sparkling with gold bangles. Men, at least the cleaner ones, seem to have stepped out of the 70's, wearing high-waisted polyesters with oversized buckles and neon button-downs. They're all so short and thin here!
Such a land of contrasts. Our various sightseeing stops today (in Delhi) uncovered ancient tradition in the midst of sprawling urban chaos. Traffic is both frightening and amusing - speed limits, lanes, and politeness are non-existant, with vehicles jostling a staggered six-wide through a series of roundabouts. And going from high-walled white palaces to dodgy shops that look more like bomb shelters.
2. July
Good morning India!
My wake-up call was a piercing nasal "CAW-FEE?" up and down the train car aisles at about 6 a.m. But there's gentle sun streaming through the windows, waking up rolling hills, wandering cows, and broken villages.
We were just sung to by two men with tin-looking drums, tapping sidebeats on the rims with ring-fingers. It was a back-in-time dream until they pressed us for money (open hands in our faces), and we were all shifty-eyes unsure of what to do with our 100-Rupee bills. (All we had were "large" bills, and giving money usually attracts more beggars and disapproving stares.)
4. July
After all the difficulty in coming off the train, with awkward luggage (I definitely want to invest in a body-sized backpack!) and deep stairs and child beggars, we packed in the rickshaws toward a guest house in Jodhpur - just for showers, lunch, and a nap (not an overnight). By this time the "holy cows" of India are becoming more noticeable, and the crazy traffic, less terrifying.
A few hours later we're out to the desert in safari jeeps for our excursion, stopping on the way at a Hindu temple in little Osian. It's cliche, but I'm still thinking of The Darjeeling Limited as we barefoot-pad up marble steps and receive red fingerprints on our foreheads.
And then we reached our camel oasis. It was about 20 minutes through sandy car tracks (including getting stuck once!), along the way waving to families curious and colorful. Upon arrival (to the host family's residence, and open-roof house and separate hut with a porch), we were seated in front of a happy red hut and served chai by a proud and bright-eyed boy - one of many so eager to see us later on.
The desert life was so simple and beautiful - modest house, big family, sitting on rooftops, sleeping outside... how idealistically lovely it would be to disconnect from the world in such a way, in touch with only your community, riding camels and drinking chai. But there are small things too, that draw me back to reality, like women veiling their heads completely and little girls hiding inside while the boys romp all over the sand-dunes.
We dined at twilight and danced in the moonlight, to bowed sitars (don't know the correct name) and unfamiliar melodies. And at sunrise, we climbed from our outdoor beds (woven cots) and onto camels in twos. The camel ride was unforgettable and indescribable. We became an ancient caravan in isolated lands, a feeling I don't know if I'll ever have again.
It's so hard already, because so much happened between writing, and much of the sensory experiences are already lost deep in my brain cells.
There's much more to come. Any comments and questions would be wonderful!
~christiana
Friday, July 4, 2008
The first week
So much has happened in this first week, and it's been rather frustrating not being able to share it until now! We arrived at the apartments in Udaipur (3rd largest city in Rajasthan) where we will stay for the next 3 weeks. It felt good to finally unpack our suitcases, yet also bittersweet to be settling down after all the adventure we've had the past few days.
But first, some overall observations:
I'm impressed with my ability to adapt to the lack of certain Western comforts here. Buying and carrying liter bottles of water, a constant sticky feeling on your skin, and constantly being stared at like a museum exhibit are things to which I'm gradually adjusting.
The "holy cows" of India really do roam the streets freely, and it's not uncommon to have one sitting right in front of your hotel door or standing next to you on a street corner. Their best friends are the wild dogs, short-haired and pointy-nosed, usually munching on street garbage.
Clean toilets just don't exist here.
Traffic is a chaotic, exciting, and terrifying mess at almost any hour. It's a thrill ride for us, and somewhat of a sport for drivers. Cars, rickshaws (small open-sided vehicle with golf cart motor), semi-trucks, motorcycles, and bikes all jockey for positions, a staggered 6-wide on a 3-lane street. Lanes, speed limits and curbs have no relevence. And to say horns are used liberally would be understated. It seems anytime one vehicle is about to pass another they honk, or when they're nearly about to run you over, or just to join in to the cacophony. Yet in spite of all this, it's really quite fun when you know what to expect.
I'm perpetually amazed at India's cultural capacity to adapt to its overpopulation. All is compressed and compact. We've ridden on both an overnight train and bus this week, where aisles are narrow and seats convert into triple stacked bunks. They stuff into rickshaws with no avail and hold few barriers of personal space in public.
I'm loving it all because it's all so exciting and new. The other volunteers, about 20 of us all together, are all eager to learn about this mystifying place and each other. Many are from the UK and Australia, and I'm starting to find myself picking up their accents and colloquialisms. At the same time we're mostly the same age and share those common generational ties - music, card games, pop, and Facebook.
I hate to leave with that introduction barely doing justice to what I've experienced thus far, but I'm hogging the apartment computer! There's much, much more to come very soon. Until then -
~christiana
But first, some overall observations:
I'm impressed with my ability to adapt to the lack of certain Western comforts here. Buying and carrying liter bottles of water, a constant sticky feeling on your skin, and constantly being stared at like a museum exhibit are things to which I'm gradually adjusting.
The "holy cows" of India really do roam the streets freely, and it's not uncommon to have one sitting right in front of your hotel door or standing next to you on a street corner. Their best friends are the wild dogs, short-haired and pointy-nosed, usually munching on street garbage.
Clean toilets just don't exist here.
Traffic is a chaotic, exciting, and terrifying mess at almost any hour. It's a thrill ride for us, and somewhat of a sport for drivers. Cars, rickshaws (small open-sided vehicle with golf cart motor), semi-trucks, motorcycles, and bikes all jockey for positions, a staggered 6-wide on a 3-lane street. Lanes, speed limits and curbs have no relevence. And to say horns are used liberally would be understated. It seems anytime one vehicle is about to pass another they honk, or when they're nearly about to run you over, or just to join in to the cacophony. Yet in spite of all this, it's really quite fun when you know what to expect.
I'm perpetually amazed at India's cultural capacity to adapt to its overpopulation. All is compressed and compact. We've ridden on both an overnight train and bus this week, where aisles are narrow and seats convert into triple stacked bunks. They stuff into rickshaws with no avail and hold few barriers of personal space in public.
I'm loving it all because it's all so exciting and new. The other volunteers, about 20 of us all together, are all eager to learn about this mystifying place and each other. Many are from the UK and Australia, and I'm starting to find myself picking up their accents and colloquialisms. At the same time we're mostly the same age and share those common generational ties - music, card games, pop, and Facebook.
I hate to leave with that introduction barely doing justice to what I've experienced thus far, but I'm hogging the apartment computer! There's much, much more to come very soon. Until then -
~christiana
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