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