Adventures in Hindustan - Drie
I'm studying abroad in INDIA! This is to keep you all updated (and hopefully entertained) about my adventures in this awesome country. I hope to read your responses and comments.

ohhh traveling
Denver, United States
So today is the big day (yes, christmas eve, but I mean my semester abroad.) It felt strange getting up this morning know it would be at least 4 monthes before I'd wake up in the US again.
I will be leaving today from Denver with my Mum and Dad in tow heading to Heathrow. We'll be meeting my sister (who lives in Delaware) there. The funniest thing is that none of us will have our cell phone and I swear we spent 45 minutes on the phone yesterday trying to figure out how we were gonna meet up in the airport without them!
We will then be spending a very jolly or simply very expensive three days in the great city of London. If I haven't already shared this story with you, the buses AND the tube shutdown christmas day. Thus, we will spend 45 pounds ($90) for a 14 mi ride from the airport! For my family that kinda money dropped on ground transport is about as rare as us dropping money on the super bowl.
I have a spiffy new backpackers backpack for checking (28 Ib), my laptop (8 Ib), and my daybag (6 Ib.). All in all less than one of the bags I bring home from college weigh. Pray I didn't forget something vital.
Well, that's all. Hopefully, my blogs will be a bit more interesting once my travels actually begin.
Cheerio and Happy Christmas Eve
written by  Drie on December 24, 2007 from Denver, United States
from the travel blog: Adventures in Hindustan

rubbish, and wine and mince meat pie, oh my
London, United Kingdom
So it is now our third day here in London. What I enjoy doing is reveling in the many subtle differences between this country and our own. On the way from Heathrow we had a Polish driver who claimed that the few Americans he met were far friendlier than Londoners. Luckily, in our experience this was far from true. We found all our contacts with the British to be friendly and cordial.
In fact, a family friend's friend invited us over to dinner with them all. We had a meal which I have imagined as a true Italian meal. We had no less than 5 courses, 3 types of wine (and many more bottles), with at least half hour period of leisure between each one. We also got introduced to mince mea pie and a little British tradition of crackers which are not food but little party wrappers that you pull apart with a loud crack. Inside are little presents, jokes, and paper hats.
Going back to the beginning: we arrived around 10 AM London time after a fairly pleasant flight (or as pleasant 9 hours in cramped seat can be) through the night. The city greeted us with weather the Scottish like to call 'dreak.' It rained all Christmas day. We fought to stay awake in intervening hours, going to evensong in the Westminster Abbey (built in 1060!), and then walking down the equivalent of Capital hill, Whitehall, until we reached Big Ben and Eye of London along the Thames. On the walk home I felt I was going to fall asleep walking in rain and cold! I guess going 24 hours with 3 hours of sleep doesnt work for me.
Since then, we have gone to see the changing of the Guard at Buckingham-Pretty much a nonevent except for the absolutely huge and gorgeous horses the policemen ride about ot keep order in the crowds. Today, we saw the Victoria and Albert museum, a giant collection of 3d art objects with more than 12 miles of corridors filled! Also today we went to the London Museum which is, as they say, the greatest collection stolen treasure in the world, containing among other amazing treasures the Rossetta Stones and the original sculptures of the Parthenon. Tomorrow morning we leave already heading for our true destination: Hindustan.
My favorite things from London: they call it 'rubbish' instead of trash, they say 'mind the gap' on the subway, they drive smart cars, all the major intersections have signs on the ground saying 'look left' or 'look right' so us silly tourists from the other side of the road don't step into traffic, people's general friendliness, and of course the accents.
My dislikes from London: the constant frigid grey weather, everything costs money and twice as much in the US (including cup of water .90 p), constant crowds everywhere worse than NY, the tubes close randomly on boxing day leaving you stranded in the middle of nowhere.
written by  Drie on December 27, 2007 from London, United Kingdom
from the travel blog: Adventures in Hindustan

many MANY travels
Delhi, India
Time moves at a different rate when you enter a truly foreign country. Or perhaps its just constant moving about. That is, its warped between making you feel like you've been here for forever and just stepped off the airplane. And we have done a lot of stepping off planes in the last 24 hours. We got up around 7:00 to get to Heathrow airport in order to fly the 7-1/2 hours to Delhi. There were no less than 5 crying babies in our section of the plane. I'm sure some of you know and truly trying that was for me. Once in Delhi we waited in line (at 4:30AM Indian time), constantly harassed by taxi drivers, for the free bus to the domestic flight terminal. When a 2nd one came (the first was too full and left without us) and hour later we squeezed on with our gigantic packs and headed off into the smoke-filled night.
After a long wait through security we took a second 2 hour flight to Bangalore. From there, we got a quick taxi ride to the public bus stop and got on the big bus to Mysore. After another 3 hours of jouncing we arrived in the much smaller city, smashed into a tiny rickshaw to arrive at our fancy (in Indian terms) hotel. I had a reality check when stopped at a rest area along the way and found a hole in a tiled floor a funny faucet with water coming out. That was the bathroom. I must have looked shocked as a did quick 180 because a little girl coming the other way giggled loudly at me.
People here are either very nice, or somewhat deceptive and trying to sell you something or a strange combination of both. Even driving through a city like Bangalore is difficult to describe with any accuracy. Its such a strange combination of chaotic activity, rapid development, and dilapidating infrastructure. We passed men driving bullock carts just after I read the same giant poster sign of Tiger Woods I see in the US. Horns beeping creates a constant symphony of angry drivers as they pass down the pavement which is not so much road but a river of trucks, buses, rickshaws, bicycles and human beings float from lane to lane and across intersections.
I can sleep absolutely anywhere so am really just out to take a shower. My less lucky family, however, is exhausted.
Fun story I learned: A British-Indian and his wife told us that in India its illegal to have television advertisements for alcohol. Kingfisher, the largest local supplier of beer- and a huge company that sells things across the board including an airline and bottled water- gets around this sticky problem by selling its water products as if they were beer. Can you see the commercial? Students, out in a bar laughing and having a blast drinking their refreshing Kingfisher 'water.'
written by  Drie on December 28, 2007 from Delhi, India
from the travel blog: Adventures in Hindustan

a very trying day
Mysore, India
Yesterday was a very eventful, mostly trying day. We left late in the morning from our very expensive Ginger hotel, moved to our much cheaper-but as it turns out, much poorer- hotel Darsham Palace. Afterward we walked on (constantly berated by rickshaw drivers)) to the marajaha's palace. Rebuilt after a fire by an English architect in 1912, the palace a giant and beautiful example of what we think of as Indian architecture. It was extremely cosmopolitan; our hired guide told about the metal poles from Scotland, the tile floors from England, the marble floor from Italy, and carved wood doors from local sandalwood and constructed by local artists. The whole experience would have been far more pleasant if they had allowed us to keep our shoes, but alas we were required to check them in before entering the building, and believe me it was not daily mopped.
On the way out we had a near disaster as Dad returned from retrieving our cameras and discovered his wallet missing from his back pocket! Assuming the worst, that he had been pickpocketed in the jostling line (I'll talk more about Indian ques in a bit) and had left ALL his credit cards in there. We were all kicking ourselves and standing around hoping to spot the culprit when we spotted a family of upper caste Indians opening the wallet. Dad grabbed the thing and the mother told us her young girl beside her had picked it up off the ground. Nothing was missing! It seems he had dropped it, and instead of being disgusted with Indian pickpockets we were delighted by their generosity. The family refused any money reward.
That afternoon we took a local bus up Chaumundi hill at the top of which lay an ancient Hindu temple to Parvati. As we walked in we were befriended by an elderly man who without introduction handed us red and yellow powders to pour in respect over the golden feet at the temple center. He cut through the vast lines of people waiting from section to another, explaining what it all meant. Most visitors had a little offering 'package': a coconut for cracking in offering, a banana for the monkeys, and flowers. We were taught the three most important gods: Brahma the creator, Vishnu the protector, and Shiva the destroyer. It seems that all other gods are either incarnations or offspring of these gods (excluding the female goddesses which as far as we understand are all incarnations of just one goddess either Durga or Parvati).
The man then took us a to a much less crowded , and older, temple to Shiva where he told us the story of Shiva and Parvati's intelligent son Ganesha and how that son got his elephant head. There is another story of how Ganesha proved himself smarter than his brother. The parents asked the two brothers to race around the world and whoever returned first would be pronounced wisest. Gourimesh the youngest took off. Ganesh however, bowed to his parents walked around them in the a circle. Then he declared, "the world is here." We were quite enjoying the tour and the very sweet (if touchy) guide when as the tour ended. He had given no clue of the cost and now, in addition to all the many offerings we had been 'requested' to give in offering, were asked to give öur choice" of money to him. We had no idea and gave 500 rupie, which he was not happy with and continued to ask for more including claiming we had to pay more than a hundren rupies each for the red and yellow powder. We refused more than 100 on this last and finally walked away.
At last as evening came we returned to where the bus was coming. It did not return for a long time as more and more of the people showed up to wait. When the bus finally came chaos broke loose as people ran at the doors. We followed suite. The bus doors did not open and however and we realized too late there was in fact an established line with bars and everything. We went back to the end, knowing we would not fit on to the bus.
Then a a whole group of people, instead of coming to end with us, crowded in front of the line. The bus tried to swing past them, but failed. Suddenly, people began breaking the line and running at the door again. People who had stood dutifully at the front of the line were now blocked behind the bars and rushing people from the back. Desperate and confused we joined the mob and managed to force our way, holding onto each others arms. I, the last one, was nearly pushed back off by angry hands, but man-handled my way in.
As the doors closed behind the squeezed in bodies, we looked out to the teenage girls who had helped us earlier on. One girl saw me and waved rather forlornly.
The whole affair made me feel absolutely horrible. It's this same kind of mob fear behavior that have caused a man to drown another in his attempt to stay of the surface, to riots, and even to mob linchings. Even worse, such behavior cannot even be stopped except by individuals choosing to do the right thing. The government had even built metal bars for a line and it failed in the face of anarchic group think.
When we finally got back to the city, thoroughly crowded out we stopped the completely lit palace and headed back to Parklane restaurant. Here, though rather westernized, you can get a fantabulous meal for around $20 for 4 people. We returned to the hotel, showered, and settled in. Alas, this was not the end of the day for me. I realized as I settled in that I was getting a cold! Arrggg. After fitful half-waking dreams of crowds walking in and honking in our room I got up to find barrettes to get my hair out of my face. In frustration, I pulled out two barrettes stuck together and gripped one in my teeth. A chip of my tooth crumbled off!
I now have a very throat cold, a chipped tooth and a family that it endlessly planning the next leg of the journey.
written by  Drie on December 31, 2007 from Mysore, India

home sweet home
Jaipur, India
So we have finally moved in with Sunita-Ji and settled in a bit. I am a bit apprehensive about never leaving anything in plain site (ie not in a drawer or something) and might ignore it a little in the little corner by my bed. I cannot tell if our host mom is reserved or a little aloof or just doesn’t deal in English very confidently or doesn’t like me but her demeanor puts me a tad bit on edge.
However, Emma hasn’t even commented on sharing a bed, which is relieving since if she doesn’t mind, I don’t. I hope she isn’t a light sleeper! The room is nice, though, and the bathroom I still think is for our exclusive use. The window is large and we could sit on the ledge, though it makes it a bit chilly when open.
There is also a very weak open wireless connection, which my computer finds but isn’t able to get to any website—just enough to tease. I really hope that we are able to find a wireless café somewhere. It would make things much easier I feel. There also appears to be a functioning computer sitting in our room but am currently afraid to even ask about its use.
The morning was spent at the hotel with a short, somewhat informative, session with Rekaji, our homestay coordinator. Emma asked about possibly taking art lessons or something of the sort, and she said it might be possible once we know our time schedule. Spent a bit more time chatting with Aarthi and Meghan and also talked briefly to Sarah and Betsy who are our complex-mates living with the Mr. Bapna.
The park is even more of a blessing than I had first imagined. We all took a walk there and looks as if many events take place within. There was a rose show when we went over and Rima told us that free concerts with famous artists are held on the 2nd Saturday of every month!
Dr. Bapna rather abruptly asked if we wanted to go to a wedding that we aren’t really invited to, which Sunita seemed to object to. We aren’t quite sure what to make of it but obviously didn’t want to refuse the opportunity to go. We shall see.
written by  Drie on January 20, 2008 from Jaipur, India

easy day
Udi, India
We took the morning easy, enjoying the warm sun on our patio-with-a-view after a quite painfully cold night. I think our little cute bungalow was built for the British in the height of hot season not for people to stay in the middle of winter. The ceilings are tall and thin metal and a few high windows are inoperably cracked open. We bundled up into our little beds with five blankets.
After bathing in the sun for several hours we headed out to Ooti’s renowned botanical gardens, which cost 10 ruppees each. We were amidst another monetary interaction in which the Indian salesman assured us they had no change when another white couple walked up on the other side of the bars and began a second interaction the sales person. My Mom flustered, tried to get our Rp 100 back and snapped at the guy when he told us to wait. As we completed the interaction and walked into the gardens, the woman laughed and told us she had felt the same way many a time. Turns out they were from the US. Where in the US? Denver, CO! Where in Denver, Whittier, our very own old neighborhood!
Well, we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening hanging out with Brett and Cheryl, our fellow Denverites. She had got a Rotary international scholarship to study urban planning for a year and told us of the many plights of going to school in this country. In sum, its not very impressive learning and tends to be frustrating or a waste of time, not to mention that flighty classmates are hard to work with because they are always “paining.” She had some fun and also sobering advice about traveling in India as a lone woman. The gardens were nice too.
Two things about Indians: they are incredibly social people and thus have the odd habit of always coming up to us asking to shake our hand and talk to us or want to take a picture with us. If you oblige, it is a likely that a whole crowd will gather round as if you were giving out a prize or something. Second, if you haven’t seen the head bob from Bollywood movies you will see it here, they use this gesture for everything from assent to apology.
written by  Drie on January 3, 2008 from Udi, India

b/c I need a title
Chennai, India
Two days ago we traveled. All day, all night—and it was surprisingly enjoyable. We took an incredible journey down through the mountains surrounded by tropical forest just as you would imagine is the home of the Bengal tiger and tapir. Then we got on the overnight sleeper train. The back of the seat folds down such that eight people may sleep in a single compartment. We shared the compartment with a young, obviously middle class, Indian couple and I found myself surreptitiously and wondering if they had an arranged marriage (most still are here) and what htat must be like.
It was a fascinating to ride the train, famous ‘infastructure’ created by the British. These particular lines were built for the transport of tea grown in the mountains, as a museum and factory of tea informed us. We arrived in Chennai and immediately left the big ugly city for the small tourist town of Mamallapuram.
This is hour second night in the town and we have spent our time enjoying the beach off the Bengal, visiting the temples here and shopping for the exquisite carved granite sculptures that the town is known for. My dad bought two incredible worked stone elephants that are hollow with another elephant inside. I can’t possibly carry such a heavy thing with me the whole semester but I bought a beautiful lamp cover for rp 70 or about $1.50.
I can’t decide if I enjoy more the small hippy town with every other person a westerner (a hippie one) and thus the subject of all Indian sales attention or not.
written by  Drie on January 7, 2008 from Chennai, India

Snapshot: Cows on the Crosswalk
Jaipur, India
I know I will miss it when I leave and I don’t even like them. But wherever you go in India from the smallest villages to the heart of New Delhi, you will see them eating trash, lazing unconcerned down the road, or chewing their cud blocking the whole sidewalks.
Everyone who has told you that cows are sacred in this country was mistaken, they are the only form of traffic control. And they will form an indelible part of my memory of this country.
Some of them are the classic spotted Midwestern milk cow, with tiny straight horns. Others are the classic shiva bulls with humps that could hold their own against the best of camels, white hide, and majestic, often painted, horns clashing with hay-loaded carts they pull. Still others are nearly black, hairless, and have horns so curved they often frame the eyes. These are the water Buffalo. All the cows have one thing in common: their fat and they know they have the luxury of not being eaten. Instead they will live out their lives eating empty banana leaves and blissfully sauntering in front of honking traffic.
written by  Drie on January 22, 2008 from Jaipur, India

ah the famous people
Jaipur, India
Today was a rather surreal and incredible day. I feel guilty because it was all very upper class and westernized but I suppose that one cannot say it is not the real India, but just one India –on very fascinating India—as Rima said.
We had hindi in the morning as usual. We began to cover tenses and thus, for me, it was a rather dreadful time. And it also began that horrible habit of people starting talk to me in phrases of hindi. I don’t know if I simply freak out or don’t have knowledge capacity, but I generally stare numbly back at them and make an all around ass of myself.
But for the rest of day we went back to the literature fair and had a marvelous time. First we saw Fatima Bhutto speaking with Dalrymple. Basically she told the story of her life, and what a interesting and tragic life it is—not to mention historically informing. She must have seen every disaster personal and world-notable (from the death of Benizar to 9/11) possible. Very well spoken but I didn’t find her brilliant.
Afterwards, Emma, Emily, Teresa and I hung out for a while around the place and then walked to the old city. Here was wandered through crowded sales street after sales street taking it in. Ultimately, we homed in on a store that had the cotton pashmina-like shawls. Emma and I after a bit of haggling which I thought was going well but made 2 errors, 1) didn’t stick to my price that I had set to pay rp. 200 and 2) didn’t walk out of the store to get to that price. We ended up paying 230 each. Whatever. I very much like my new shawl though I fear to wear it because I have already managed one pull in the fabric.
When we came back we got lots of free food and lots of their amazing spiced tea. The whole thing reminded me strongly of events in DC with important people and free food in gorgeous places, feeling out of place but caring the ‘student card’ as I now like to think of it.
We then took big tourist buses to a mall theater where we saw Atonement—a uniquely filmed, wonderfully sound-orchestrated, and tragic movie. Then we got to hear from the author of the book Ian McEwen and the screenwriter of the movie! Nothing too fascinating was said, but it was amazing all the same.
To top it all off, it was warm today!
written by  Drie on January 24, 2008 from Jaipur, India

what its like
1/23/08
I’ll try to give you a good idea of experiencing life in India (or one sub-culture, of one section of India). The first thing you have to understand is the noise. In every way this is a loud country. The roads are constantly filled with motorcycles, humming rickshaws (without mufflers), hawkers shouting their wares, and above all honking. Honking means a large number of things in this country. The roads are governed by a strict set of rules: who is bigger and who is chicken. The big buses and trucks obviously get right of way, and they honk to remind people of this fact. But the tiny rickshaws generally have drivers with nerves of steel. Their little constantly horns can be a friendly I’m coming up behind you, a do-you-want to ride call, or a I’m-not-gonna-break-so-you-better. Camels and donkeys are as unconcerned with traffik or honking as they would be of a passing fly. Last in the pecking order pedestrians and bikes. We dodge our way lane-to-lane through traffic with angry honks raining in from all sides. The cow is the top of the pecking order, but even these sacred animals get a few beeps of frustration as they ramble into the road.
The second thing is understand is the smells. The streets of Jaipur are a constant nose fest. From step to step smells change from the stink of public urination (a very common occurrence here) to the spicy aroma of somosas and other delicious fry food. The smell of smoke and pollution are never far away. There is the occasional whiff of marijuana.
The third thing to understand is the temperature. You think of India as hot, and we’re told that in 2 months it will in fact be unbearably so. But this is the winter season in Rajastan and that means its cold. Now for Coloradons the actual temperature wouldn’t seem that bad. The temperature ranges from mid-60’s in the sun to low 40’s at night. But the cold is a different experience here. The fact is that nowhere is warm. When you walk out of the weather inside in the US undoubtedly you have the relief of heaters or at least a fire. The buildings are invariably unheated here, and generally built to keep out heat as much as possible. Further, as the temperature dips at night you are faced with a bucket shower (which means frequent bouts when you are wet but not under the fall of water) and iffy electric water heaters. Don’t even think that sink taps have a hot knob. All of this adds up to make you almost constantly chilly.
(if you want the nitty gritty details….)
Life has begun to take on a semblance of a pattern. We get up around 8:10. Emma and I share a single large bed with a massive amount of blankets. We skip out of bed into the cold air to get dressed and wash with cold water. The maid walks in around 8:30 to sweep and is determinedly non-respondent to our greetings. Breakfast with Sunita-ji at 9:00. This generally involves white bread toasted with mango jam or leftover roti (bread) or porridge from the previous night. And also the obligatory chai and Sunita calling from the kitchen that I should pour her some too, but remember, no sugar.
Then we meet our two friends from the other Bapna house and walk the harrowing road to school. A short walk, but a noisy and generally perilous one. We chat with everybody on the school terrace then head for Hindi class at 10: the only rigorous class we are bound to have for the day. This is followed by lunch, various tea breaks served by Rugoo-ji and other classes taught by various people with somewhat flippant self-reflecting content on the ill-effects of globalization or the duty or negatives of, Indian culture.
Class ends about four at which point various people rush to the computers and we eventually coalesce to ‘hunt in packs’ on various errands to Reliance Fresh (supermarket), the post office, or, thus far, cell phone stores or ATMS. I’m sure we will venture to more exciting places as time goes on. Its best to be home before it gets dark. Sunita is likely crabbily complaining about the cold while sitting in bed watching bollywood soaps or about to go out and socialize. She’ll be back for dinner, which is likely to have the most scrumptious food and the obligatory tea.
At night Emma and I take our harrowing bucket showers and settle down to write in journals or study hindi. Just before bed, we watch an episode of Heroes on my computer cringe under our many covers (and my sleeping bag) until the day begins anew.
Today was especially exciting. We spent the morning at the International Book Festival which turned out to be marvelous. There are many renowned speakers from the Rudolphs (who happen to be professors of my parents at U Chicago back in the day), to our very own Rima Hooja (our program director and author of a giant tome on Rajastan) Willian Dalrymple (the author of City of Djinns, a spectacularly written book I’d recommend for anyone remotely interested in India), to Gore Vidal (famous author), to my beloved Aamir Khan who I am thrilled to be seeing speak on Saturday! Who would have thought that particular dream would come true? Will I possibly get his autograph?? PS. Got my cell phone today! 011 91 9784584659 if anyone wants to skype-to-cell me (cheap that way) I would be delighted!

school and weddings
1/22/08
Orientation is pretty basic. We have homestay advice, hindi classes (fast but good so far), intl deveoplent (basically just our personal observations and discussion so far) and we will soon visit with the healthcare lady. The longer we are here, the more I realize I only really have two real classes (I know this isn't what my parents want to hear). But I'm learning so much from the experience.
We went to that wedding yesterday (the bride and groom are distant relatives of Dr. Bapna). We just saw the procession and very initial Garland ceremony. But this was very cool. It was like a parade with men carying electric candleabras, a marching band, and the groom decked out on a highly decorated white horse.
He received puja at the door and touched his Golden sword to the entrance seal. than him and the bride got up on this little stage with benches and stood around forever will pictures were taken with the Garlands. We didn't actually go to the ceremony because it was at 11:30 and we felt unsafe walking back home then.
You'll be happy to know I avoided a pickpocket attempt on the way out fo the hotel. Two children swooped down on me at teh door and sort of blocked my way. One girl made to shake my hand while in the corner of my eye I saw the boy trying to unzip my purse. I grabbed his hand away and just walked away. I'm half proud of myself and half disgusted.

Sidewalks arent for walking
The most homesick I’ve been I think. Its hard to say why really. A tiring day, maybe, or my headache, dealing with a few of the more annoying of my groupmates, or perhaps its just about that time. I feel a bit disillusioned somehow. In some sense it’s the feeling that I’m not ‘seeing the real India’ but talking to my group and walking from one tourist site to another. But its not just that. I mean, I am living with a ‘real’ Indian lady, walking the same bazaars Indians shop at, and dealing with the same poverty.
But in coming here for such an extended period of time, I somehow felt I could fit-in more. I’m not exactly what I was looking for—maybe a sense of true understanding of what its like to live here or be Indian or simply walk down the street and understand and be at ease with all that’s going on. But the longer I stay, I instead feel more and more my connection to my own home. When you first travel, you tend to miss the creature comforts and the straight familiarity and ease of home. The hot showers, your own bed, your own car, your own streets. And I do miss those, believe me (esp. when I step out of my bucket shower into the 50 degree room without heating!)
But what has depressed me is the realization that I’m dealing fine with the lack of creature comforts. It’s the growing certainty that perhaps I can never care about this place or these people as much those of the Western land, even if I were to stay here for years. Its too foreign. Maybe this is just the language barrier speaking. If I really believed I could somehow accomplish conversational Hindi I might feel more at home.
On to more exciting things. Today we again went up to the Amber Fort. My 3rd time up which I justified by the elephant ride, but by the time we got up and got the cars and saw the elephants loading up, I decided to cut my losses and spend as little money as possible. Some of us just walked alongside the giant painted beasts rather than ride them. I pet one’s nose as well. Otherwise, little was new aside from wandering a bit more extensively around Jaguar Fort and marveling at its view.
After we returned, I picked my salwar from the sikh shop. Unfortunately while the design is just as I wanted, I think the tailored waist is a little off and lays funny. Which I will have to through the painful process of going back to him and asking him to fix it. Sigh. I also had the most embarrassing experience. When I went to try it on in the shop on top of my shirt it was rather snug (naturally, its tailored to fit not over another shirt). But as I went to pull it off, both shirts came up past my bra! Oh dear. The man was gentlemanly as simply assisted me in helping to take it off, but the embarrassment pains.
We are actually invited officially to a wedding of one of the other girl’s families. Apparently it’s a love match between two castes—highly scandalous—so less people are coming than standard and we are all invited. We get to eat at everything. The ceremony is to take place at 7:00. Naturally, we are advised not to arrive at 8:30 if we want to be sure not miss anything.
Snapshot: Sidewalks aren’t for Walking
They are for many things, certainly. They are put to full use for the efficient placement of fruit stands, for trash dumpsters, for small temples, for dog-naps, for urinating, for sweeping off, or for general loitering. What they are not for is the pathway of the pedestrian. In a country where there are far less vehicles to a person as in the US, sidewalks simply aren’t designed for walking. Instead, the walkers of world make their way on the edge of the street, a designated lane of traffic as much as the rest.
I’ve been told that in wealthy Indian society, walking is simply not done. Those who can afford it will never choose to walk if they can get a ride in some fashion. In fact, choosing to ‘go for a walk’ is likely to cause confusion from your acquaintances and multiple rickshawvalas who are entirely unconvinced that you, as a rich angrezi, should prefer to walk if an amicable price can offered. This is likely the explanation for this bizarre design habit. As with most public amenities (all things, who are we kidding) if its isn’t a priority for the wealthy it probably isn’t gonna happen, even if many millions of Indians must walk the dangerous streets every day to get where they need to go. As a side note, it’s a good thing that there’s cricket, futbol, classical dance, and yoga because no one (middle class) takes their 14,000 steps a day around here for exercise.

republic day
Our first weekend on the program and also Republic Day. Cheers to a Democratic India! Well, yesterday began alright, it was our first ‘class excursion’ meaning we took a truck around Jaipur to see city palace and went up for a short period to Amber Fort (the old fortified city in the hills just outside Jaipur). I bought batteries for my camera and like a nervous fool agreed to Rp. 150 (to my credit down from 300 and less than another kid, Zander, who paid 200) even though I KNEW 6 batteries were worth only 120. Grr. I need to work on having the nerve to bargain fully. I got left behind by the group buying the batteries (they went on from the sun dial area to the palace) and nearly gave Mitji (one of our directors) a heart attack in the process. I also almost got fined Rp. 500 for stupidly taking a picture in the city palace armory. Fortunately, they let me just delete the picture and wallow in disgust at stupid rules.
Well, Amber palace was fun if only because Aarthi, Meghan, and I ‘got lost’ through the upper and maze-like back stories of the palace. The view of the hills was just spectacular. We decided we definitely have to play sardines or capture the flag when we come back again on Sunday.
Unfortunately, the day went downhill from there. I got extremely frustrated with Sunita by the end of it (tho hopefully this didn’t show) starting with her telling me I can’t work at the computer desk and ending with us leaving an interesting –but unintelligible—theater performance about the unifranchised people of India at the JKK (a sort of performing and studio art center)
The frustration began with our decision to stop at the two internet cafes on the way home. Both were absolutely horrible. I spent 10 minutes waiting for the thing to try and attach a word document…and waited..and waited. It never worked and put my frustration level through the roof. Fortunately, that story has a happy ending because today we went toward raja park and found another place quite close to the school with a fast connection, clean computers, skype connection, and a guy who could make change! Its gonna be our internet place from now on.
We went om 2 more productive errands: picked up snack food to horde from Reliance Fresh and bought for myself a complete salwar camise for 540 (for those of you who don’t know, this is a traditional women’s daily wear—its like loose pants and a top that looks like a knee length dress with side slits-- mine is blue with glass bits and a gold leaf design and edging), specified tailoring and all. It was a no-bargain store, but the owner was a sikh and I think the stuff is high quality, so I’m hoping I wasn’t ripped off in that whole affair. Now we are simply waiting and pining (or maybe that’s just me) for seeing Aamir Khan.

To Gandhiji
To Gandhiji.
It’s the anniversary of Gandhi’s death, and the event is observed by 2 minutes of silence at 11. AM. It’s a nice gesture but as we stood in silence I heard the honks and street noises and thus was not under the illusion that the whole country stops in place to observe the moment.
I am in fact sick. Its ironic really, not a single stomach problem since I’ve been here, but 2 colds under my belt already. Cross you fingers that it doesn’t get worse.
Today was a bit warmer, so we are holding out that the weather is at last thawing and will remain a pleasant temperature for some time. We had our second development class, and we have started to go over the history and theories of international development. An interesting subject taught by an elderly lady professor who manages to be both adorable and stately at the same time.
Emma and I had our own way of celebrating the non-violence Guru: preparing a non-indian meal. We decided to cook spaghetti (we’re both Itallian) for Sunita-ji to show what the West has to offer. Pasta or noodles of any sort is invariably served with a dollup of ketchup in this country-a horrible adaption of the marinera sauce (though, I think Sunita is quite familiar with spaghetti already, having visiting the US and Australia on numerous occasions). We were successful able to buy all the necessary ingredients except for basil and Oregano. Basil we were able to luckily substitute a but the oregano was nowhere to be found. For all its spices, Indian is completely missing out on one of my top five. Hopefully, the sauce will service anyway. Should we make garlic butter roti as well?
1/31/08
Today was relatively unique. First of all because my cold has reached the disgusting I-have-phlem-up-the-gazoo stage. Second, because I had American pasta, American coffee, and sat in a starbucks like coffeeshop. Third, because we went to Renuji’s (Sunita’s niece-in-law) English class.
Renuji, who we have met several times when she comes to visit Auntiji, speaks the proper lyrical English of the highly educated Indian and is an absolute sweetheart. She had previously invited us to come to one of her classes and speak to the students in English, and today we went. The whole experience was overwhelming. Emma was placed in one room and I another, each filled with maybe 20 university and graduate students. Some spoke fluently, others very hesitantly, and all of them were staring at me and asking questions from all quarters. Simple questions like “do you like Titanic?” and impossible ones like “what are the differences between India and the US.”
One elder lady student even invited us to her house afterwards. The wife of a Jaipur minister, their home was right across from the grand ministerial building. We drank tea and ate sweets and laughed through halting conversation as the three grandchildren alternately stared and laughed at us on the other side of the room. It was nice to see two more Indian homes, one moderate, and Renuji’s absolutely grand.
After a quick dinner of pasta with Sunita (which I think at least amused if not impressed her) we went out to a totally Americanized coffeeshop with Auntiji, Renuji and her husband. For all the chai I am having these days, having my classic earl grey, black, was such a treat I couldn’t stop smiling.
Tomorrow we prepare for our first weekend excursion: Bundi, a much smaller town off the tourist-beaten track about 5 hours away by train. Lets hope for the best on the journey and for the love of peat hope my cold is better.

Haveli Holidays
/08
So our weekend excursion to Bundi is over Overall, a beautiful success. On our day in the town we got up and waited leisurely in the sun for mama to get in the kitchen and make chai and then—individual—incredibly good masala dosai (look it up if you don’t know) for the four of us and our fellow travelers: the british couple, their german lady friend, a younger Itallian couple, and later an Australian gal. They are on extended travels and have been to Indian at least once before.
Next we headed up to this towns version of maharaja’s palace and fort. We skipped past the part that cost money (as recommended by the brits) and headed up the cobbled hill the ladies section of the palace. Here was a brilliant garden perched above the lilac-blue buildings of Bundi and a palace filled with grand paintings of kings, Krishna and courtship. A friendly little Indian shows us the highlights of the place and hands us a stick to fend off the monkeys as we head further up to the fort itself. We have the entire upper complex to ourselves, which was rather surreal.
Afterwards, we went to a restaurant on the edge of the old washing tank/lake, which was garbage-filled but an interesting view all the same. We had ‘rajastani pizza’ which means the bread was covered with a large mix of vegetables and fruits including pineapple, nuts, grapes, and apparently live fruit weavels. Greeeat. Although this ruined the pizza for me, it made me gratefully once more for my companions who took the whole thing in stride unlike many Americans who would throw a fit. We shrugged it off and went on a walk of the town.
Wandering the busy, but lower key, streets of Bundi we spot a tourish bureau sign on a fence. Curious we open the gate and step into another century. Suddenly isolated from the street, we have walked into the Queen’s stepwell. This is a giant deep well led down by carved stone steps. The place has its own mysterious aura, no doubt helped by the echoes of the cooing pigeons off the old walls.
We returned to sit on the RN Haveli’s roof and listen to an Scottish dude with dreds practice on his didgery doo. The sunset and we waited for an amazing dinner chatting with our fellow travelers about do’s and don’ts in India. I even got to have hot bucket shower before retreating to bed. The next days return journey had its own set of perks from incredibly cheap, deep-friend and delicious train station food and discovered a new favorite snack: parley-g’s a super cheap cookie pack recommended among the do’s.
Less fortunate was a highly unpleasant bus ride in which a creepy guy sat next to me on the bus and whether for perverted reasons or exhaustion reasons kept leaning into me, putting his arm over my seat and otherwise making body contact even after I repeatedly pushed him over. Yeck! On the bright side, my anger helped us procure a particularly good ‘shaw fare back to the train station.
written by  Drie on February 3, 2008 from Jaipur, India

Bundi Advenures
Bundi Adventures
Snapshot: Sleeping with mice for a Starbucks chai
We are now in Bundi! This is a much smaller town (around pop.100,000) several hours south of Jaipur. Getting there was a grand time. We had bought train tickets earlier in the week (rp340) and arrived at the train station in a tiny rickshaw (tiny b/c we took the small guy’s offer of 35 after much barter). This meant 4 of us and weekend bags were crammed into the little vehicle with a tiny muslim man and his dignified white beard. The driver was so excited that his rickshaw was able to pull us all the way to the station he let a whoohoo which we repeated in cacophony.
Getting on the train turned out to be less enjoyable. We knew we were on a sleeper car, a type of car that usually has the names of the passengers posted outside by the door. But our tickets said we were in SE2…well there were many S#’s but no SE’s. It wasn’t S2 so we resorted to walking u and down the platform asking everyone imaginable by pointing at our ticket and looking thoroughly confused (which we were). In response we got about 10 conflicting pointed directions. After walking back and forth several times and dwindling our extra time down 10 minutes before departure, we spotted our names on one of the only cars we had not already checked. Oh well. Off to Kota. The ride took about 5 hours.
We arrived around 9 at night and walked from the station into the street to find a reasonably priced rickshaw (rp. 30) to the bus station. This turned out to be a deserted alley with old buses in it but we were quickly ushered onto the bus Bundi Bundi! A man on the bus befriended us when we got confused about ticket prices (rp. 20) and thought he would be a friend for the rest of the ride. He even got us a reasonably priced rickshaw to our Haveli (old house converted to hotel) and wanted to meet up the next day. Polite no thanks.
The RN Haveli which we had picked out of our guidebook turned out to be a delightful 20 year old home with painted walls and the typical Indian layout of two floors and a central courtyard. The place is lauded (among tourists at least) for being an entirely female run business, notably by ‘Mama’ a proud old fat lady who introduces us to her ‘daughter-in-law’ and son who turn out to be an older British couple staying for a couple days. We sooned joined by some affectionate puppies off the street who play with our backpacks while mama ineffectually attempts to chalo them out.
We have two small doubles. The beds—and rooms—look a bit suspect in cleanliness, the bathroom is a tiny combined western/squaty potty that flushes only intermittently and we can hear the mice squeaking to keep the floor company in the dark. But Mama gives delicious ginger chai and an extra blanket for the cold night the place has character. This for the equivalent of what I would pay for a cup of chai in the US (150 rupees or $3 per night!).
written by  Drie on February 2, 2008 from Jaipur, India

From cows to camels
Bikaneri, India
There is probably far too much for me to possibly cover since my last entry. On Wednesday we left on a class trip to Shekawati, a slightly more rural and desert area north of Jaipur. This area has several independent and largely similarly sized villages—an unusual design in an area of feudal societies usually dominated by a single large urban center with fort and palace etc, surrounded by rural land.
The area has very cool terrain as you get nearer the Thar Desert. Odd trees on which the local people depend are in great numbers stripped of their leaves and are left to dot the barren hilly landscape knobbly and apparently out of a Dr. Seuss novel. More entertaining still though was that we stayed in a 5-star resort for the occasion. Guess how many times I’ve done that in my travels up to this point?
Yeah, well, it was rather incredible taking a hot shower rather than the bucket bathes that have become the common fare. It was a good thing too, because on Friday Betsey, Sarah, Teresa and I took off for Bikaner, a town even further in the desert expanses soon to take a camel safari.
The whole safari is possibly too lengthy to explain in detail. But there are several main points I’d like to get across for reference in case any of you every embark upon a similar campaign. First, camels are spectacular creatures, which after seeing one’s tongue I am absolutely convinced originally came from an alien planet before landing here and imitating the llama. They walk with elegant pride, head and neck raised high in the air. They make the strangest noises, including my favorite, a form of greeting offered to other camles that involves bellowing and gathering spit while sticking a bulb-shaped purple tongue out the side of their mouthes. They are also possibly the most unaccommodating and lackadaisical domestic creature I’ve ever encountered. They are led from a hole in their nose attached to a rope. If the rope was released they would simply stop, whether away from their camel buddies or not. And for all my horse-riding expertise I doubt I could have made the thing move an inch from astride it. Nonetheless, all our camels were anointed with names for our memory and gave a marvelous ride. So thank you Earla, Patrick (AKA Rackshad by night), Bo Jangles (named for the bells hanging from neck, nose and bony ankles), and most of all Bacchus largest and most ornery of all.
It was fascinating to see the rural side of India in which 80% of the population lives. We walked past tiny villages with only walking (or camlel) roads in or out and grass-made huts ensconced in walls of cow dung. I don’t think I’ve ever really witnessed that kind of ruralism before.
Another tip: if you go on a camel safari get guides like ours. We had four men, one who spoke English and taught us card tricks, and all of whom Indian and waiting on four gals head in foot including cooking spectacular alu gobi. He knew European slang and called Teresa Mother. Remind me to teach you my new favorite card game pairs.
Lastly, what they say about the Thar is true. It seems quite possible to get heat stroke by day and frostbite by night. We were crammed in a tiny tent together with large (camel-smelling) blankets, sleeping bags, and wearing everything we owned. I think my water was on the verge of freezing. Ah, but the stars are certainly not over exaggerated!
The ride home involved another train adventure. Sarah got into conversation with several Indian men with a tad of English who asked questions about what we thought of the nuclear deal between the US and India and told us that in fact all Muslim countries are terrorists. I made the blunder of admitted I did at times drink a little with my family. They told me we could be family and poured out of Aquafina bottles what turned out to be an especially appalling mix of vodka and water. If you thought refusing alcohol at college parties was hard trying refusing it to three staring Indian men on the train next to you. We arrived late, tired and freezing but I had a treat in store. Crazy host mom auntieji is gone for the next couple days, so party at our house! Just kidding…sort of.
Somewhere in the crazy weekend between camel farts, vodka, and arriving at 1:30 in the morning, I had to write a book report, translate hindi sentences, and read for History. Has anyone ever told you that study abroad involves doing, like, homework?
written by  Drie on February 13, 2008 from Bikaneri, India

Trains ar the Ticket
Udaipur, India
Back to the grind from another weekend adventure.
Snapshot: Trains are the Ticket
People tell you that if you come to India you have to take the trains. That’s totally true from an interest, economic, and in my case, obsession standpoint. The trains are awesome. I admit to always having enjoyed cross-country travel, though usually in the back seat of a family van. And every train I have taken in this country—I think its five now—has been an enjoyable and generally fascinating experience.
Of course, in telling you I have enjoyed the trains here, I have to specify class, because here there are no less than six distinctions of class and probably many more. There’s first class, second class sleeper A/C, second class sleeper non-A/C, second class, general class reserve, and general class. This runs the gamut of having your own pimped out private compartment to making a rush for your space on the wooden benches. For me, this choice has dwindled to various separations of second class on superfast, express, or non-express trains. Most of my journeys have been on second class non-A/C which essentially mean I ride in a car with about 6-10 compartments of 8 assigned seats.
Six seats are on one side, and 2 on the other. In an ingenious scheme, three people can face each other on each side with a fixed bunk above them, while the back-cushion of the bottom seat flips up so that each of the three people on each side can sleep (on the left) while a similar midsection slides down to make a bottom bunk( on the right). Especially if I’m on the top bunk, I feel like I’m in my own little fort, in the form of those I created in childhood. While the non-A/C class offers no bedding, virtually everything else you could possibly need is to be found on the train including but not all inclusive, fans (that double function for me as shoe-holders), water bottle holders on each level, a set of hooks, a wall-pocket, a mini-table, music in the form the pro-longed whistle of the train and the combined snoring of a multitude of sleeping men. Each car has a Western Style bathroom in addition to the Indian one. The former does not provide toilet but this is probably a good thing as I am relatively sure that what waste is dumped down goes nowhere but onto the tracks.
If the train doesn’t have it, the train station will. There are specially waiting rooms and even a budge-in-line right for women. There is scrumptions fried food offered never above 15 rp not to mention steaming cups of chai for the go and little packets of crackers (or should I say glucose cookies) called Parli-G’s if fat-induced heart problems are not in your future.
I actually had two such spectacular 12 hour overnight train rides this weekend, going to and from Udaipur. The 6 of us took the whole compartment and it was a spectacular time. The rest of the weekend doesn’t get quite as good reviews. Udaipur is nice, if tourist-filled city, with a beautiful lake and fantastic shopping. But while it seems to contain all the bits of ‘classic’ India (a fort, a temple, a city palace, old havelis, etc.) smashed into a small area, none of these sites made it to top of favorites in their category.
My slight displeasure was compounded by spending too much money including a ring and a miniature painting as well as other items which will remain unnamed as they are gifts for some of you fine folks. This as well as the fact that as nearly the whole class came and frictions grew between my ‘core-four’ as well as the rest of the group in the planning and execution of activities. This culminated in our attempt at ‘going out’ at night looking for a bar or club. The place we had in mind turned out to cost in excess of 330 rp a drink. And the men we asked wanted to take us to a disco-club in their car halfway across the city. What did we do? We sat around in the street in the dark discussing and disagreeing and keeping on of our number ( already a little drunk) from getting the car with our new friends… hmmm. Instead my group just went back to the hotel and watched Octopussy on the roof. This most horrible of Bond films was filmed right there in the city and included such sites as we went to see including the city palace on the lake shore, the city palace hotel in the Pichola Lake (and $500 per night), Monsoon fort perched a top a distant hill, and the palace on Jagmandir Island (known for having inspired Shah Jihan’s Taj and sheltering British women and children during the 1857 Sepoy rebellion/1st war of independence).
Also notable from our weekend of excess, we rented bikes for the day and rode out searching for the other 2 lakes of the city but finding only one. Exhaustion came on as people repeatedly gave conflicting advice that sent up dirt hills, down windy roads, and urban development. This particular adventure was a lot of fun.
The weekend can’t have been too much of flop with lots of good restaurant and street food (including chitorri, samosa, and breaded stuffed hot peppers), bikes with gears, and warmer weather.
written by  Drie on February 20, 2008 from Udaipur, India

Packing it away
I went jogging this morning(that means I got up at 7:15!) and of course proceeded to buy a samosa on the way back...but that’s beside the point. Along the way I saw Indian woman jogger for the first time! It was so gratifying; we made eye contact, she smiled and gave a brief thumbs up and though the exchange was less than a second the moment of complete understanding across cultures as two women will remain in my memory for a long time. Its women like this that are going to have the strength to change India.
I know I have been writing less and less and that’s generally because there is less that is interesting to talk about. So much so, and school being as basic and uninspiring as it is, has become a major frustration. Except for hindi where I am making progress though with painful results when attempting to speak, its very difficult to sit through class. But that is all nearly over now. I will be leaving to start my internship in Jodhpur with GRAVIS on Wednesday. This will mean six weeks of a whole new set of experiences! There are four other people from the program working with this NGO though on different projects, so I won’t be alone. i hopefully will be working with their water sustainability practices program out in teh villages. Until then, we are finishing up, writing papers, taking tests, and otherwise wrapping what we haven’t really learned anyway.
I started packing and am all set to go to rural living 101. Unfortunately, I may not have internet access much of the time, so you al you Best Beloved may not get so many blogs from me. I'm sure you will endure tolerably enough.
written by  Drie on February 28, 2008 from Jaipur, India

oh MAXSA
The following is a copy of a assignment I have submitted for MAXSA class (aka Maximizing Study Abroad), a course in which we reflect and share our interactions with our host culture and which I take very seriously:
Dear Tara,
A triumph in the process of Coping with my host Culture. You see I have for some time felt I like I am not getting enough exercise or able to physically express myself in a comfortable and acceptable manner. In India it is not acceptable for women to wear workout garb common to the US eg shorts and tank top. Additionally, taking a walk is not generally understood and it is highly unusual for a woman to jog. All these taboos have made it extremely difficult for me to integrate my usual physical routines into the cultural context.
Initially I became highly frustrated with Indian culture and values. I said “so sexist, that women can’t even jog!(evaluative inference type)” and “this is why they are all fat isn’t? (interpretive inference type).” But these inferences did nothing for preventing belly fat from encroaching. We used to D-I-E model of inference making to find a productive solution.
I am thrilled to report that my roommate and I, with the help of the model, have come up with an effective coping technique that allows my physical expression and increases my cultural integration. This technique is Dance Workout Bollywood! We get into our ‘inappropriate’ workout outfits in our room. Then we turn on a video of a hopping music number of our favorite new Bollywood film (from rental walla) and do the dance of Sharuk Khan, Aamir Khan and Aishwary Rai. Now we are engaging in daily exercise and engaging in the local cultural expression all at once. The D-I-E model of inference has helped me so much. Thank you MAXSA!

on the streets
My first weekend spent here in Jaipur. As whenever I suddenly have much free time, I feel antsy like I should be out doing something…But I really can think of to do useful now is study or read. Hmm..
Special musing/bitching for the day: are Indians friendly people? I just can’t say that Indians are particularly friendly. Of course all my musings here are blatant generalizations. A billion people cannot be all friendly or unfriendly. But in general I don’t find Indians to be especially kind, accepting or hospitable. In fact many--at least to me--are rude, deceitful, cold or disdainful. Of course, much of the ill-will I gather towards them comes from a disgust of how men in the street tend to treat me, which is a sort of an unfair basis of evaluation. Maybe their friendly to each other, maybe I’d be more welcomed if I wasn’t a woman doing what is socially unacceptable for a woman to do. But, on the other hand, this kind of behavior makes it damn hard for me to trust or experience goodwill toward many people. Treatment I’ve gotten on the street includes-- “hello! Hello!” “Come here!” “Why don’t like Indians…talk to me!” “Hello! Fuck me! Sex me, sex me!” “Schhhhh schhhh!” You say bug off and it goads them on into following and badgering you. There’s also the charming feature of kids throwing rocks or bopping me on the head, even groping me. People lie, heckle and badger us. They stare blatantly, often-ludely, at you. Its hard to speak to any local man without suspecting ill intentions. There are exceptions. Mitaji is possibly the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. Rimaji is stately and kind. Renuji and her husband were generous, helpful and welcoming. But these have been the exceptions.
There are unique and positive sides of the general character sketch too. Indians tend to be forward, outgoing, honest, funny, audacious, even charming. They are proud of their culture and have strong values—there’s something positive about characteristic even if I don’t agree with the values. But while this makes them a people fascinating to me, they haven’t become dear to me.
On Friday I returned from the Internet and was invited to play Housie. I watched Dil Chahta Hai in the evening—even more spectacular than I remember. On Saturday, after an awkward lunch with Sunita, I went to old city with Aarthi to shop. I bought another kurta top and a silk scarf. Aarthi bought ship-load of jewelry. It was very interesting walking around with a person of Indian descent and seeing how it did and did not change how were treated. Aarthi speaks a little Hindi though not fluently, and she looks Indian but touristy (and traveling with a white person). Bargaining dynamics shifted subtlety; people were pushier talking to her but less blatantly rude.
We finished off the day with a Dominoes pizza dinner with Alisha and a MacDonalds Sunday to top it off. What a fantastic fast-food American dinner. Had a couple pleasant moments with Sunitaji when I returned and began to watch Lakshya until Emma returned late in the evening.
Today, I have lazed about, writing my paper, listening to Dil music and watching the rest of Lakshya. Then we all watched Lakshya together in Auntiji’s room. Turned out to be a very intense and actually quite good war movie. Was it a bonding experience? Almost.

homesick or hoppin town?
The days are dwindling, there are only 6 weeks left and just 3 weeks of travel time. Oh my god, I can’t go home for more than a month and a half? It’s a very conflicting feeling, the way time moves while abroad, and it switches daily if not from minute to minute. The feeling is worse since my roommate is currently going through a severe bout of homesickness.
I guess I will attempt to write my only little Maximizing Study abroad lesson here: Coping with Homesickness. It’s a tough thing, because when you’re in such a foreign place for so long you are bound to miss home, everything about it really. Besides friends and family, you may miss stupid shit that you would never even notice at home (for me this includes wooden floors, the smell of stir fry, ticking old clocks).
Yet this is your study abroad experience. You’ve been looking forward to this for years. Why waste it missing home? Then you get mad at yourself and are determined to suck it up and enjoy yourself. Why are you being weak?
My one bit of advice to myself and others is to avoid feeling the necessity of ‘getting over it.’ Acknowledge that you are homesick, that its not a particularly pleasant feeling. Also acknowledge that you’re not going to be getting home anytime soon. You might as well keep trying having a good time. This doesn’t necessary mean shaking off the homesickness, only working around it, despite it.
In any case, I do continue to enjoy the experience. Tomorrow I’m going to be completely uncharacteristic and get all excited about clothes…gonna spend a lot of money on clothes! That’s right. I’m getting a dress made for myself to my own design and I’m super excited about it. The reason of course can go back to our old globalization lessons. Labor here is just ridiculously cheap. The cost here is the cost of the cloth, the cost of the labor is last minute addition of a small percentage of the price. Go figure. In this case, literally what might cost rp. 100 would cost $100. It’s astounding really.
Sunita bought us skirts as going away presents, and boy was it unexpected! We bought another thank you gift of teacups but never thought she might be buying us something at the same time. Its one of those moments that I’m convinced she’s just a crabby old woman actually lonely and in need of company. If I were Anne of Green Gables she would be completely transformed by now.
written by  Drie on March 1, 2008 from Jaipur, India

India.. the jokes she pulls
I’ve neglected to say what I’ve been actually doing this weekend. On Friday our class Field trip was to go see Tare Zamee Par. It’s a Bollywood movie with a very predictable plot but very moving and, since Aamir Khan is in it, well done. Then Sarah and I went off to crossword where we bought my cheap movies and books, and then ate ridiculously priced but fantastic western food and almost didn’t have enough money to pay when they couldn’t run Sarah’s card.
Yesterday I had my second Saturday off and as last week went shopping. This time I bought myself pearl earrings and some teacups as our thank you gift to Sunita. We spent the evening in the other girl’s room where mosquitoes have found a way in and were infesting.
Today we went for our dresses and learned we hadn’t enough time left to have them be made. However, we were impressed by the men in the shop and will likely go back during our week back in Jaipur.
The real exciting (and enraging) clincher of the weekend though was the best joke pulled over by India yet. Just when you think you've got everything down and know a place, India reveals are peculiar sense of humour. After a semester of asking, searching, questing and yearning, we found wireless internet, two days before leaving here. Where was it? In City Pulse mall, located literally just down the block. That’s right free wireless Internet located in a quiet, temperature-controlled, apple-pie stocked café. If I have felt such bitterness before, it’s difficult to remember. In fact, I’m sending this very blog from that wireless internet. Ugh!
written by  Drie on March 2, 2008 from Jaipur, India

here there be monsters
Jodhpur, India
3/6
I have arrived at the internship site, a small village called Jenu-Gagadi an hour and a half Jodhpur that will be home for the next six weeks. Don't try to find it on a map cause it aint anywhere labeled. I have never lived rural-aside from camping or at my cabin- like this before. It’s a shocking difference from ‘overlack’ of Jaipur. While Jaipur is overpopulated and overburdened and lacking infrastructure, Gagadi is just lacking. Situated in the Thar desert, here water and consequently food, money, and other luxuries are all scarce.
The five of us American’s are put up in simply built round concrete structures with a tiny bathroom. Each room has three wood beds (two for sleeping, one for everything else), 4 in-wall shelf, two tiny barred windows, 3 wall hooks, and 1 (thank god!) ceiling fan . The tiny bathroom (maybe 4x5) is equipped with a squatty toilet, a tiny sink, a bucket for washing and a beat up mirror. We are also given two lizards (now christened Fellow, and Buddy), a spider, and a wasp, the latter, which we decided to evict.
But much of the lack here is a pleasant shock. From the noisy honking and polluted bustle of Jaipur we are now given evenings disturbed only the by the wind rustling through the tree bean pods. A hundred thousand stars are visible above at night. In the day our sight is filled with orange blossoming trees, young green wheat fields and village women entering through the sandstone outer barrier to retrieve water in the silver canteens on their heads.
We will have English-speaking Indraniji, who accompanied us from the Jodhpur office, here for one more day after which we will have only one contact who speaks any English. All other communication must take place in either Hindi or Marabati (the local dialect). But everyone is very friendly including two children of one of the staff, brother and sister both around 10 years old. The two hang about waiting to entertained and willing to teach us hindi and marabati at will. They both seem incredibly bright, picking up on Uno, origami, knitting, mandolin and whatever else we teach them with surprising agility and very little common language to get explanations. Do Westerners learn to excel in only one kind of learning? Does book learning inhibit or ability to learn other types of things as easily?
Our first day here began with a 7:30 prayer period which included some chanting mostly to Ram I believe, followed by a reading of Gandhi-ji’s autobiography. Afterward we did the customary 15 minutes of physical work, this time using the classic Indian sweepers to clear fallen leaves out of the main garden area and moving them to the compost. This was followed by the now familiar chai and a breakfast of parantha (a thick flat bread) and chutney (a sauce made of raw vegetables and spices). We then met with the staff to discuss what we might actually do here, a subject until on which we were left in the dark. I would say things are now twighlight. We know that today is to be a rest day along with Sundays, that the day after tomorrow is the international women’s day and we will be part of the rally, and that we will be shadowing them on their work in the villages, and other projects may present themselves once we have done this.
The rest of the day we were left to our devices. So we read, lazed, boiled drinking water, lazed, taught the children Uno, lazed, showered and napped. After a 4 oclock tea we walked into the hills of the desert to watch the sunset. I watched as the other girls learned to dance from several the young Indian ladies and then we all watched the older ladies cook chapatti in the kitchen. We were warned that such ‘down’ days would likely occur. Besides, it happens that today is a holiday and even much the staff is off.
The greatest challenge of this very different lifestyle is going to be the heat. By midday the inside of the our darkened and thickwalled rooms were 31 C while in the sun it is over 35 C. They night cools down. But they tell us that March is cool, and that April will be far worse. By then lazing in the middle of the day may be a necessity for me even if there is work to be done.
So what is there to be done? From the literature I am learning about GRAVIS (Gramin Vikas Vigyan Samiti meaning Rural Science and Technology Organization) and their water resources projects. Essentially GRAVIS aims at helping villagers recover traditional methods of water capture that were lost when government water projects came in and provided water access that is no longer sufficient or efficient. Old simple methods are revised with newer technology. For instance, they are building tankhas which are really giant stone tanks halfway buried in the earth and able to catch water and drain it of silt. If filled by the monsoon (unlikely) the full tank could give drinking water for a family for a full 9 months.
I’m torn between complete satisfaction--who doesn’t want laze about all day and sit in the evening watching the stars in and listening to whistling of the trees?—and living 6 weeks in these conditions with virtually no contact with the outside world, rare doses of fruit, only batteries for my steripin and boiling to get drinking water.
written by  Drie on March 6, 2008 from Jodhpur, India

In heaven...with cobras
Jodhpur, India
3/7
Another day of inactivity followed the first. This time the excitement of the day was a 20 minutes football game following a 15 minute ride of terror on the back of a motorcycle through the sand. How do the two relate, you ask? Well you see, the football required a trip into the central part of Gagadi to get blown up and went along on that trip, not for the futbol or for the chance to ride on the terrifying back-of-motorcycle ride through the sand, but for the only 3 pieces of fruit within a 30 mile radius. We get great food here, but virtually nothing fresh and no fruit. We saw a giant spider I thought looked like a brown recluse (special interest to Ann) and either a rat snake or cobra...all right in our lving quarters which we have dubbed the gravvi fort (insert french accent). The evening featured a power outage and thus especially dark meal and another hour staring up into the stars and Dillan playing mandolin for entertainment.
Today was our first day of activity and it involved going to a nearby town to host rally for International Women’s day. We had glued signs and tied sticks to that morning and the night before and now we took them with us on the march through town. This was followed by several speeches including an impromptu one by Sarah after they told us one of us must speak on the occasion relating to women’s rights. We got see the GRAVIS run hospital for lunch before heading back.
Perhaps even more memorable than this rally and the over-filled jeep ride home was the morning run. We have determined to make this our new habit and thus I woke up at 6:00 to run through the silent desert while the sun rose over the horizon. Giri-ji insists that someone must go with us, so like the dogs that tag along, he runs loyally beside us the whole way. If I could continue to do this, it would be a new era of Dana actually choosing to rise early. Of course, it isn’t really by choice since the heat drives me to it.
As a special note to you all, these blogs will only appear once a week at the very most since it is only when we make the trip into jodhpur on Sundays that there is even the chance of internet access. Cell phone access is pretty sketchy too. We don’t get the Hindustan Times here, let alone imported copies of the The New York Times. It seems I may spend the next 6 weeks largely isolated from the world. Well it’s an experience let me say.
written by  Drie on March 7, 2008 from Jodhpur, India

tea cups make the heart grow fonder
The legendary heat of India is beginning to rear its ugly head. And just as most places don’t have heat, most don’t have air conditioning, which changes the meaning of what is to be hot compared to the US. They say that this is just warm weather. Sunita warns us that it will no doubt get hot, but this isn’t hot yet. Oh boy.
Today we gave presentations about what we learned in international development of the environment. Unfortunately, I am learning more from reading the news and personal observation than what I learned in class. Oh boy.
Add to this the fact that my after-program travel plans may be partially shot by the fact that Nepal is slowing descending into chaos. There have been assignations, riots, strikes, and food shortages. And yet I am still tempted to go. Its Nepal! Oh boy.
On a positive note, Emma and I had picked up a present of teacups as a going away thank you present for our very crotchety auntie-ji. One of the teacups broke on the way home, so we ended up giving her five instead of six. When we gave them to her today, she actually seemed pleased at the choice of present. But she still expressed that she was put out by the uneven number. Then a miracle of coincidence—one of my favorite themes! She found a cup that was part of another broken set. The cup had the same painted design as the one’s we had bought! It was virtually the same except for having a gold ring around this edge. I don’t think I have ever seen Sunita quite so delighted.
In general our time with her has been far more pleasant and familial in the last few days. Why is it that things always improve when you are about to leave? Perhaps it is the preparation to leave itself. Oh boy.
written by  Drie on March 4, 2008 from Jaipur, India

A Jewelers Dream
Jodhpur, India
Day 6…
We got sick and went mad. Actually partially true… Dillan had stomach trouble in the morning, while Amy and I went jogging again. But in the afternoon illness—fever and stomach—hit Sarah and I and we were probably a little delirious. We watched Rang De Basante (famous Bollywood film), which was interesting after having seen the Legend of Bhagat Singh since it essentially parallels that story, and then two episodes of Heroes. Then we laughed to tears about the ridiculousness of our situation.
Earlier in the day we had gone for a little while to attend a training session offered by GRAVIS for a new health initiative being tested by the government. Of course, the proceedings were conducted in Marabati and Dillan (still sick) wasn’t there which meant we hadn’t a chance in hell of understanding what was going on. We felt like a distraction more than attendees as all the women stopped paying attention to Giriji lecturing up front in favor of staring at us. The situation then progressed to what has become a usual pattern in these types of situations. Women—or children or men it matters little—wearing brightly colored outfits and veils over their eyes crowd about us and begin asking questions we haven’t a clue how to answer (or understand). They are much more touchy than any American would be comfortable with and have even lifted our shirts several times, or mildly slapped to try to get our attention. This generally digresses into them pointing to our stomachs or breasts as a way of asking whether we have children or are married. When it is explained that we are not, they laugh heartily. They then point to their jewelry and our very jewelry-less earlobes…and wrists and noses and fingers and ankles and toes and upper arms.
Why don’t you have jewelry? You don’t have jewelry? Do you even have earholes? Yes. Do you even have nose holes? No. Laugh heartily. Such short hair. Yes. Why? It’s hot here. Laugh heartily. No children? No. No husband? Why? We’re students. Blank stare.
After only twenty minutes of these situations, we are generally too exhausted to continue and have to retreat back to our fort and hide our shameful earlobes.
written by  Drie on March 10, 2008 from Jodhpur, India

City is the key word
Day 4…
Our day in the city. We spent four hours riding on a bus for 5 hours of time in Jodhpur. I think it may on be 50 kilometers to Jodhpur but the many stops and poor roads make it a long and bumpy trip, though the ticket is only about 25 cents. And it was worth it; I got my fill of food that is neither cabbage nor potato and internet and bought fruit enough to make it through the week.
Snapshot: the rural bus
Riding the bus is in itself a fascinating experience. In this rural setting it felt like the bus was the bloodline of people’s lives. A single bus goes each direction out from the city and bounces its way down rougher and rougher roads as it goes out to all the tiny villages where the people depend on its arrival. One or two people stand along the side of the road, raise their hand and the bus stops. On the way out I sat next to a woman with a baby that could not have been older than 9 months. (I thought it was cute until I had to smell baby poo for a couple hours.) Virtually all the women travel with one if not two or five of their children. On the way back it was clearly mostly men returning home from work in the city. Among the interactions involved were various plastic bags of vegetables and fruit being passed in the window without other discussion or interaction involved. Its clear this happened every day, or at least at a set time with pre-arranged agreements for place, time and price. In another little village the driver simply threw out a bag of medicine and tobacco to an old man by the side of the road. They didn’t even stop the bus.
Out the window we saw sandstone mines, hard ground cut down brick by brick, fields of pepper plants, roaming goats, and isolated buildings made of sandstone and dung and dried grass. The area seems so barren and remote that’s its strange to see so many people emerging from its sandy reaches. But the Thar is the most populated desert in the world, and the people their lives here happily or not by the grace of single bus arriving daily.
It feels strange going to the city for the same reasons as the locals. We didn’t go sightsee anything. We took the long trek into town for errands. This commonality made me feel even more divided from these people. I am trying to live here for 6 weeks, always with expectation of getting back to civilization at the end. Yet, 80% of Indians live this way. A majority of the people in the world live more like this than any urban lifestyle I have ever experienced. It’s a different world really.
We came back to hang out with the children, basically about 4 girls, Lela, Puja, Umcha, ? and one boy, Rao, who follow us about alternatively speaking to us freeheartedly or patiently teaching us words in Hindi or Marabati. Then, as is now our routine we sat in our whicker changes in the common room’ listening to Dillan mandolin away or talking on random subjects, most often of all the ridiculous things we plan to do while here or when we get home. When the power randomly goes out, throwing us into the darkness ( a regular occurrence) we listen to the wind whistling through the seed pods and comprehending really being here.

Back in the desert
Day 5….
We’ve resorted to spearing snakes and rats in the desert, while Dillan has fallen ill. Kidding about the former, serious about the latter. We continue to wait around for something to happen. Yesterday Giriji returned 2 days later than he said from visiting his family. Since he’s the only English speaker and the Field Center leader it was a relief to have him back, especially since he is our jogging partner in the early morning, this for the second time!
The cabin fever is really getting to me. Although our interactions with the families and workers here are priceless; I won’t forget sitting having my hands done with mahandi (like henna)
mahandi on our hands from GRAVIS girl
and helping to milk a goat so that chai can be made on the spot, or playing soccer outside the compound walls in the desert Fields.
village hut at sunset
But Field visits that actually encompass doing something, in fact any kind of work beside the 15 minutes ‘mutual work’ in the mode of Gandhi each morning, is likely to few rare.
Yesterday, we locked the outside doors of fort gravis and laid out in shorts and Then I did some drawing. Then I sat and stared. How long can I do this before going mad? Tom Hanks did it for two years but I don’t have the benefit of needing to do work for survival or Wilson to talk to.
No Wilson, but there are dogs. They discourage me from petting the three friendly (and relatively clean) compound dogs, though I do it anyway. I discourage them from having me hold their babies. This is a tough task considering there are babies and small children everywhere, staring curiously with charcoal decorated eyes, yelling tata! and checking my face for nonexistent jewelry. I have never interacted with children so much in my life. Rao and Umchko continue visit us daily and attempt to teach us Hindi words. If only I were in the Matrix and could upload a language things might be much easier around here.

madness descends
Day 6…
We got sick and went mad. Actually partially true… Dillan had stomach trouble in the morning, while Amy and I went jogging again. But in the afternoon illness—fever and stomach—hit Sarah and I and we were probably a little delirious. We watched Rang De Basante (famous Bollywood film), which was interesting after having seen the Legend of Bhagat Singh since it essentially parallels that story, and then two episodes of Heroes. Then we laughed to tears about the ridiculousness of our situation.
Earlier in the day we had gone for a little while to attend a training session offered by GRAVIS for a new health initiative being tested by the government. Of course, the proceedings were conducted in Marabati and Dillan (still sick) wasn’t there which meant we hadn’t a chance in hell of understanding what was going on. We felt like a distraction more than attendees as all the women stopped paying attention to Giriji lecturing up front in favor of staring at us. The situation then progressed to what has become a usual pattern in these types of situations. Women—or children or men it matters little—wearing brightly colored outfits and veils over their eyes crowd about us and begin asking questions we haven’t a clue how to answer (or understand). They are much more touchy than any American would be comfortable with and have even lifted our shirts several times, or mildly slapped to try to get our attention. This generally digresses into them pointing to our stomachs or breasts as a way of asking whether we have children or are married. When it is explained that we are not, they laugh heartily. They then point to their jewelry and our very jewelry-less earlobes…and wrists and noses and fingers and ankles and toes and upper arms.
Why don’t you have jewelry? You don’t have jewelry? Do you even have earholes? Yes. Do you even have nose holes? No. Laugh heartily. Such short hair. Yes. Why? It’s hot here. Laugh heartily. No children? No. No husband? Why? We’re students. Blank stare.
After only twenty minutes of these situations, we are generally too exhausted to continue and have to retreat back to our fort and hide our shameful earlobes.

raining desert
Day 7…first full week completed. We woke to the very peculiar sensation of humidity and the sound of pattering rain and thunder. It was raining! Off-season and in the middle of the desert it was cloudy and raining. I can’t explain how bizarre it felt under the circumstances.
But even more bizarre than rain in the desert was this: we did something. Let me repeat that, we did something. Giriji came over midmorning and announced that the jeeps were coming today (to drop off people for training) and that they would take us to Jelu (a village nearby) where several GRAVIS projects are in process.
So we hopped in the back of a jeep with Arunji and we were off. Well, actually we were told we would leave and be back before lunch, while it ended up being we ate lunch and then left: a classic example of Indian timing. But then we were off. We went into Jelu and to a little building with several posters, some books and a bag of USA millet. This was the information center where GRAVIS has a representative and where people can come and look up things from moon cycles, animal care, to home delivery care and AIDS.
Next we drove a bit more and stopped at a woman’s house. They told us she was in a self-help group. She had had a shop. Now she didn’t have it, she might again in the future. She made pots. Her husband worked in the mine. They had financial troubles. GRAVIS had helped. They had to close shop… GRAVIS would help. The story was very confusing even after Dillan asked a number of questions in Hindi.
We went further out and saw a small rock dam and the agricultural area behind it. It seems the agricultural water projects are designed to prevent water from running off too fast. A man came over, greeted us, and invited us to tea at their home. This was composed of several buildings, three for the goats, and one for the humans. As we waited for the tea, awkwardly making conversation, Arunji told them how I was a ‘painter’ bahut accha hai. This bit of gossip arose from him seeing several of the sketches I had drawn in boredom in ‘fort gravi.’ The result was the very sweet man with a gigantic bushy mustache asking me to draw a flower…on their wall. Yep, they pointed to empty blank white walls, and told me to draw a flower on it. Then a stub of a pencil was produced and so I drew it, adding a signature for good measure.
Dillan with villager and a plow
The whole excursion was not so much a field visit as a field tour, and took maybe two hours. It was fun, but then we came back and had no purpose again. Began watching Heroes episodes on my computer to keep entertained.

beyond madness
We’ve lost our sense of humor. In India this is as good as a death sentence for the experience. Living here is much like living in a beautiful prison, a prison with friendly but unintelligible prison guards. Sarah has been reading excerpts of the prisoner of war camp experience at Dreden in world war two, as Kurt Vonnegut detailed it in Slaughter House Five. We are drawing similarities between the conditions, our behavior and emotional degradation to that of the soldiers. The same frustration, the dissatisfaction and ill-health from the same few foods at every meal (here it is roti, cabbage, potato, and dal), the same torpor. Inactivity, you see, leads to indolence. We sleep more and more, eat and bathe less. We laze about and half-heartedly attempt to brush off the flies. And this only after eight days! Inactivity combined with no purpose is deadly.
We called Rimaji today asking for out. Our goal: a move to the GRAVIS office within the bustle of the city of Jodhpur. Perhaps a place with proper resources will at least allow us to do research, have some project while allowing movement about a city and food diversity. Cross you fingers!

next edition
So all you waiting with baited breath...things are better now. We figured out a project and more importantly spent three days in the city. But back to the wilderness again for the week because we ben to a town (for dad's benefit).
So to found out how this all occured your gonna have to wait with baited breath (or no bait is ok too).
For those at Will Rice, YEAH SWEEP!!!! I wish I were there to cheer you on.

can you take the heat
Snapshot: Can you take the heat?
I think we are finally coming to understand what is Indian heat. The last couple days each prove hotter than the last. Mornings remain cool, a tribute of the desert that when the sun disappears the sand releases the heat with only a quick farewell. But once the sun returns at 7:30 AM the temperature jumps and the earth begins to gather heat again. By the time late afternoon slides by the temperature outside has been reaching 104° F (about 33° C) in the shade. While our carefully sun-deprived and thick-walled rooms slowly climb into the 90’s° F.
It has become our habit to be active from 6:30 AM until an 1 or 2 PM after which we retreat into our darkened rooms, turn on the fan (if the electricity is blessing us) and lay about, slow movements taking precedence. In this kind of heat sluggish motion becomes necessary, and everything obeys this edict except the flies who take advantage of their prey’s lethargy it make their own living. I do this until I can stand it no longer and take a bucket shower with the blessedly cool ground water. Sweat-free skin and wet hair lower my temperature for at least an hour. If you can make it until six the worst is over as the sun begins to sink over the dunes and the wind sweeps in. By ten in the evening the temperature is pleasant and the rooms have given up most of the horrible stored up energy stuff as well. You can move about at normal speed once more. Until the sun rises the again… I’m beginning to the merits of nocturnal living.
On the GRAVIS front there is little to report. We called Rima yesterday to come to right understanding about the situation but she refused to remove us until GRAVIS stated outright that they had no projects for us. This is unlikely to happen, and meanwhile the main office has obviously been pressured enough to instruct the field staff here to take us on field visits as much as possible. This means we have taken two field tours in two days. Today we even had forewarning and a bit of an explanation before leaving: Giriji explained GRAVIS’ self-help groups and how they operate! Although this is an appreciated improvement I think the overall situation is taking a large toll on the other girls, especially as the language gap between Dillan (usually our only interpreter) and the rest of us grows. I find Dillan and I have come to an understanding and my own hindi is improving enough that I don’t have to ask interpretation of every sentence. Unfortunately, if two of my companions go mad, it won’t be long before I follow suite.
Having lost much of my blinding anger with the coming the intense heat, I’m still stuck with horribly confounding decision of what to do. Should we throw a fit and insisting on leaving (despite having done that a little bit already)? Should we wait it out and go on a weeklong vacation without other alterations? Could we survive the latter choice? Should I merely take off and travel with my dad? Shall I view this as a learning experience or a horrible waste of my precious time abroad?

Holi festival
Sanpshot: Holi Smoke!
The Hindu holiday Holi is this weekend. It’s the second biggest (if your interested the first is Dewalli) holiday in India and celebrates the coming of Spring (the mean Spring taken with a grain of salt since it could more accurately mean the coming of blinding-heat season). A encyclopedia will tell that Holi celebrated with the throwing of powdered colors in the street. But I can tell you now that, in addition this one day celebration, Holi shares with Christmas a season. Everyone takes off work for several days and goes home to their family and friends. The week before is an upbeat with preparation for big day.
At Gagari there is one peculiar custom we learned about. Before Holi the people here collect panfulls of cow dung, mix it with sand, and redo their floors made of the stuff. Today, having already collected the shit, we will be able to witness the smearing of the stuff onto the hardened shit below.
sita smears cow poo on her patio
Last night was another festivity in which we felt more inclined to partake. A special dinner was given: we got the more expensive vegetable of peas along with potato and cabbage, yoghurt curry, and store-bought mithai (a milk and honey based sweet) instead of the homemade molasses bits. Afterward, our GRAVIS fieldworkers gathered in the community room with a zylophone-keyboard, baby-cymbols, and a drum. As the power came on and off they played Indian tunes sang, and watched as the little girl Puja, age five, outdanced in the circle.
While I copiously avoided dancing too much, the whole night was definitely improved by the presence of Prem, another blessing of Holi- his mom Shanti lives here. I had also got the pleasure of hitting balls cricket style, bowled by him. When one hit threw it over the fence, he simply leaped over it to fetch, grinning that darling grin. On that score Rao also astonished with his acrobatics by climbing a wall using a tiny water pipe to fetch the ball that went onto the roof.

Holi cow! (last pun I promise)
Holi Holiday,
What a holiday! I told you about preparation for the big event in the country. Preparation in the city was a bit more active and a bit less productive. Two days before the big day, the street bizaars were chalk full of stands selling heaps of colored powder in bags, small water-gun shooters (with coca-cola stickers and hot bollywood actors on them), as well as little bundles of ripe wheat (I think it represents fertility of spring). Many people apparently couldn't wait to start using all this stuff and so we began seeing men with bright pink faces, cows with bright pink splashes, and kids with bright pink everything long befiore the official events should begin.
We also got hit with water balloons on the way back from dinner a whole day in advance. Friendly people on the street told us we had best stay inside on the big day or we would "look like monkeys." If by this they meant dangerous, then I agree. It seems that kids and women do most of their playing the day before because on Holi day the men drink home-brewed alcohol, opium lassis, and feel that even their normal restraint towards women (not much to begin with) doesn't apply for the festival.
The night before Holi revealed loud Holi-themed pop songs being blasted from god knows were and constant drumming. The morning was rather less exciting than we thought (judging from our safe haven on the top of our hotel roof). But by miday things were picking up and we decided we could risk 'playing holi' right outside the hotel with hotel staff.
And it actually went better than we thought. WE got completely powdered by the hotel owner's little girl (cute) and politely powdered by the hotel staff (sweet) for a whole minute or so before guys from across street came over and the thing progressed to a grope fest (not so swell). We stepped back inside after that.
I think I looked less like a monkey and more like a rainbow raccoon. When I took down my hair the crusted stuff allowed it to defy gravity and I looked like rainbow cavewoman. Pictures are soon to come.
holi looks
amy holi face
robin holi faced (and eared)
Our group shower, in colored clothes and all, was equally fun even if it did involve scrubbing off much of my skin.
Happy holi to you all and easter too!! (for those whom it applies)

Krishna manifests himself in mysterious ways...there's a pool involved
Snapshot: the road from hell to heaven has a pool at the end
Hello all,
I am glad to report that my Indian adventure has turned rather from a sordid affair to summer breeze. I am now established at the blind school: my new NGO internship begins. And while the school itself has no projects planned for us, it does have the resources for us to create our own. So we are. Sarah and I will be working to establish a penpal exchange between blind students in the US and the blind students here at Netraheen Vikas Sansthan school. One teacher there speaks English; a young woman named Vaneja. I declare my first real Indian friend in her, as she chats, and is delighted to go out, and show us the best places to shop, eat and be entertained, often taking us there in her car! Even more spectacular, we are able to discuss with her in great depth regarding life, the universe and everything (sorry, just read so long and thanks for all the fish). I find her life fascinating: she is a middle class Indian that has declared her choice to work and intention not to marry. If only you understood how unusual this is!
Today, Vaneja drove us out to a hearing impaired school run by an NGO. Both these schools are really quite impressive with sound teaching techniques, polite and honest children, and maintained facilities. The hearing impaired school has a sound-proof room and a computer program that uses visual images to help the children know what kind of sound they speaking into the recorder.
Afterward we went over to her friend’s house where we were served our third complimentary meal of the day, second complimentary tea, and shown pictures of the family and learned about the importance of ‘exams,’ which are taking place right now and essentially determine a persons future career. Afterward, Vaneja took us to india’s equivalent of Target. Glorious—food, clothes, toiletries, furniture and appliances all in one place.
Just to add to the irony of my journey from hell’s alley to Jodhpur’s rich neighborhoods on a Indian bus, we decided to get a month long pass to use a fancy hotel’s pool within walking distance of our guest home. So now each afternoon we walk over in our sticky hot state, dive into the pool and work out in the cold water as long we like. We even have another adorable friend in the pool attendant, Surat, who loves us because I swim better than average and we speak tora tora Hindi. Today he told us we are like his little sisters and gave us two goggles to borrow because he noticed our eyes were getting red. After a swim we take real showers in the hotel bathroom. And the final cherry on top is that the pool is always empty but for ourselves and Surat and must be cleaned and freshened at least once a day! If India could deliver me a few cooler nights or an air conditioner my life would be one sweet gulab jamun.
I think perhaps that the plane of existence between a poor rural Indian villager and me is just too great a divide to bridge and I should be satisfied with the more real relationships I can realistically establish with wealthy, modern Indians. Within days I am establish more meaningful relationships than I could ever hope to in a place like Gagari. It’s a very unromantic view of the human condition, but perhaps one I can deal with.

weekly schedule in India...when youre a glutin
hello,
Welcome to my weekly schedule highlights:
Monday: First day back at 'work.' Send off a few emails and take a few administrative details into account. Sit in the one air conditioned room in the blind school and discuss dating habits in US and India with our Indian friend. Then its off to the swimming pool.
Tuesdays: After a swim in the pool we buy glasses of sugar cane juice. It is freshly squeezed in front of us by running giant sticks of sugarcane through an arcaic mechanical press, generally aided by a man pushing the cane through on one side and another pulling on the other.
Wednesday: After a relaxing swim we go to the sweets shop and buy a kilo of gulab jamun, rasgula, laddoo, milk and nut based sweets soaked in honey..mmmm. They pack them all up neatly in unique sweets-boxes. Sometimes a bag of mitri too, a tasty cracker like snack. Ask me about it some time and I will take you to town (if you live in Houston that is)
Thursday: First go swimming then knitting/crocheting time. Both yarn and needles are super cheap here. So we create all sorts things that would kill me from heat exhaustion if I attempted to wear them here.
Friday: After an afternoon swim or alternatively a lassi. We sit in plastic chairs and wait as a dozen carrots are run through blender and I am served a macanya lassi...the contents of which are entirely unknown to me. WE then go to dinner with our mates in for the weekend from gagari. If they aren't around we go to a bollywood movie.
Weekend: the world is our stage (after the daily swim of course).
Somewhere in there we also go site-seeing and shopping with our friend Vaneja and shrink away in a puddle of our own sweat.
Did I mention its hot here?

it aint about lucky charms
snapshot: Its India auspicious
Below I have compiled a very incomplete list of the many auspicions and inauspicions here in the jewel of the crown.
-Coal eyeliner on babies wards off the evil eye and the ill-will of those jealous of their beauty and vitality. Worth the charcoal irritation...not sure?
-The bride's henna that is smeared or faded will lead to a unfullfilling marriage. Yep, its the henna not the fact that they havent met the guy before.
- if money is waved around the bride-groom's head and then thrown onto the ground it will suck up all the ill-will directed against them.
-Eatting only cold food on the Thanda festival will keep Jupiter happy and prevent from getting the measles
-Drinking liquid with your meal will cause indigestion...I think its worth it
-Eating a popsicle will give you a cold...even in 105 degree heat
-A truck that keeps a black fuzzy ball on the back on its bumper will ward off the evil eye on the road. Whether it does equally well for the bus speeding the other way is unclear.
-No fruit at night or your stomach will be upset. 15 gulab jamun? A ok.
-A god idol will get hot and therefore angry, but dousing it in soy oil will keep him cool. I think that would make me hotter...
-Don't cut hair on Tuesdays. This one is definitely observed, I couldnt find a salon open on that day.
-A woman who gives money to the blind will marry a very handsome man
-yoghurt will counteract the ill effects of ghee
-cow dung is a disinfectant
-the color indigo is a natural bug repellent
and my personal favorite
- eating off the lid of pan will prevent you from ever getting married
Cheers!
written by  Drie on April 1, 2008 from Jodhpur, India

its raining sand...unfortunately, not men
Another week has flown by in the life of yours truly. And I’m very excited to report that in that time I saw my first desert dust storm. It began with the very unusual presence of dark clouds—actually any clouds—in the sky. They loomed over us for a while. The sky turned a strange yellowish color and the temperature dropped appreciatively to the 80’s. Then an hour or so later just as we were about to leave to go out to dinner the power went out and the wind swept in. Walking out on to the street, we could see that we could see nothing and an outing was out of the question. The street lights were out, and the air was thick with a swirling dust so dark it seemed like smoke. The sounds, however, filled the absence. The crashing of metal ware and other objects falling, children screaming or laughing, and the bustle of bodies in the whistling wind filled the darkened the air. We were forced to retreat back inside and secure the windows.
As we waited it out in flickering candle light, continued crashing came from our kitchen and echoed from the houses around us. By the time the dust had diminished it was positively chilly outside and it had begun to rain. And then it poured rain for the first time in three months.
Sadly, I hadn’t seen the giant wall of dust rolling in because we are surrounded by buildings. However, from other people’s accounts that was exactly how it was, pulled directly off the screen of Grapes of Wrath or Hidalgo. They call these sudden evening dust storms andi around here and apparently they are fairly common for the next month. They actually happen less often than in the past because agriculture is greening the desert and changing the ecosystem. Still, every few days the evening clouds roll in and you know to get where you are going pretty quick. It’s especially intimidating because, as we understand it, the city actually turns off the power during these storms so as to prevent fallen wires—having broken loose from their poorly secured binds above--from producing shocking accidents. Walking about India at night is scary enough. Walking about with no power and no visibility and the electric excitement of a storm in the air is positively terrifying.
It has also been a rather educational week regarding middle class Indian life. Vaneja and a few of our other new friends have begun to tell us about the many scandals that are constantly happening around them. Some of these scandals would have been nothing to us: a boy and girl spotted sitting together in a coffee shop. While others would prove equally problematic for us: the married boss having an affair with his much younger associate. In our comparative discussions, I’m often shocked to find that Vaneja, and virtually everyone else, has the impression that in America all these behaviors were quite normal. She understood that perhaps 90% of Americans had divorced and then remarried. When she told us about the scandal involving this married man, she laughed and said she supposed affairs were quite normal in the US. We told her that, really, affairs were still quite frowned upon and scandalous in our country. Boys and girls can hold hands as much as they want, but wedding vows still mean something.
Another annoying mis-impression most Indians seem to have about American culture is that family is of no value. Having heard that extended families rarely live together, they seem to have extended this to understand that we don’t care about family at all. Since my family is perhaps one of the most important things in my life, I often feel compelled object to this misinterpretation. But even after explaining that in fact I very much love, respect, and value my family, most Indians seem entirely unconvinced that my obligation is even remotely close their own.
Its fascinating to realize that certain differences are so great between these cultures that I could never understand the Indian point of view: a particular rajput tradition requires that the bride must always carry her shoes on her head in the presence of her mother-in-law. While other aspects of life are really the same: attempting to maintain professional behavior in the workplace when personal relationships exist.
Miss you all and hope your school year is coming to a satisfying close.
PS. It’s a continuing debate because Indians use the phrase all the time. What is your ‘good name’? Is it your first name, your whole name, or your Christian name?
written by  Drie on April 4, 2008 from Jodhpur, India

accident smaccident
Time races by, and our very pointless but fun (while not in the car) mid-internship return to Jaipur has come and gone. We spent 13 hours in a miserably hot and uncomfortable jeep for 32 hours in Jaipur, but we got to meet up with everyone from the program, catch up, and hear their stories of NGO life.
My impression is that everyone has dealt with issues of the same theme in their internships from complete confusion about expectations and purpose, to down time, to translation issues and project mishaps. However, no one was left in quite so absurd a position as we at Gagari, whether by chance or their NGO’s organizational ability or structure. A few people even had very legitimate projects to work on for most of the time. Shocker I know.
On an interesting side note, the remaining Gagari gang say they are happier, apparently partly because they (like us) have adjusted their expectations but more because the girls have fallen in love with Prem (very fine looking Indian driver with a purple scarf…and two children), Dillan creepily with 16 year old Lela. Strange.
I am ultimately very grateful that at least I was able to see and live the village life (even if I still regret the particular conditions of my time there) because it was a truly learning experience and far more memorable than at the blind school (even if I do love sweet blind children, Vaneja, and serious pool time).
The level of suppression of basic wants here continues to astound me. No one ‘goes out.’ The two times we were out past 11 PM turned out to be right disasters coming home, with a) drunk and angry rickshaw drivers and B) locked gates or packs of roving dogs. Its inappropriate to dance, drink, sing, kiss, date, hold hands, or otherwise let loose in public places and technically not in the homes. I hate to say it, but perhaps men here are so obnoxious—Sarah and I have new ‘friends’ in the boys that sit and call down to us from a school roof on our walk home each day—because there is no outlet whatsoever for them within normal societal bounds. Sigh.
As a last note: got into my first rickshaw accident. It was inevitable. And no worries, it wasn’t serious. Luckily, cars travel much slower here even if much more chaotically.
written by  Drie on April 9, 2008 from Jodhpur, India

now thats what I call a bureacrat
So the last 24 hours have possibly been the most trying since arriving here (excluding the time at Gagari village of course!).
Let's begin this way. We discovered we have basement. Yep, that wasn't bad it was thrilling because its approximately 15 degrees cooler down there at all points in time. So Sarah and I picked up our mattresses and moved em down to our swank new accomodations.
our basement abode
the steps to the our guesthouse basement
The good times however were not to last. I started feeling rather poor that night and by the time I went to sleep I was shivering furiously and extremely achey. Sarah assured that me it was in fact still above 80 F in the basement so I deduced (sorry been reading Sherlock Holmes) that I had fever of the highest order. I hoofed it back upstairs and collapsed on the couch for half the night where for once 91 degrees was a blessing.
The next morning I almost blacked out from dizziness, lack of breath and pounding in my head, while attempting to climb the stairs again, and decided I had better stay in for the day. I stumbled back downstairs and blacked out on my bed. I'm still feeling extremely week 24 hours later. So, you know all the symptoms. Bets on whether its malaria or not?
Five hours of sleeping later I decided I could handle a quick trip to the train station to reserve tickets for Mt. Abu (a hill station we are very excited to reach). This, however, turned out to be an entirely unpleasant hour and a half lesson on unsuccessful bureaucracies. To begin with, the reservation office was very allusive. After wandering aimlessly and constantly asking direction we walked out the train station and down a narrow road past residential neighborhoods, with passing Indians nodding and telling us "sita sita" (meaning go straight, straight) we finally reached an entirely separate building... and that's when the real frustration began.
We sat in line for at least 45 minutes but with only two costumers ahead of us. At first we thought an old woman in the front was holding up the line. But when our turn finally came it became very clear that it wasn't the 90 year old but the over-paid dick bureaucrat sitting in his airconditioned cubicle that was the problem. The man moved with the jolting speed of a sloth, conducted a friend's business while we stood waiting, and when the first train we asked for was full tried to pawn us off to another line until the blessed woman behind us castigated him in Hindi. He then proceeded to not read our form right, have us spell out our names twice (even though it was spelled in clear bold letters on our form). Then he left for a while. When he came back he was carrying another role of ticket paper. He didn't immediatly put it on though, favoring a chat with his friend next door for a minute or two. By the time I finally had my ticket in hand I had sweat a bucket.
If this wasn't a lesson in what complete job security, over pay, and no evaluation of work quality does to a bureaucracy I don't know what it. I've been repeatedly told that to get a government job here means you are SET. Its virtually impossible to get fired, it pays better than most, and there is good retirement payment. Not to mention that it is generally accepted that most government workers are expected to do virtually nothing. Whooeey. I will never complain about the school registrar again!
Aww well, I guess every day can't be a laze by the pool, but I could really just use a bowl of chicken pho, sushi, and real raised wheat bread to make things better.
Cheers

now thats what I call a bureacrat
So the last 24 hours have possibly been the most trying since arriving here (excluding the time at Gagari village, of course!).
Let's begin this way. We discovered we have a basement. That wasn't bad, it was thrilling because its approximately 15 degrees cooler down there at all points in time. So Sarah and I picked up our mattresses and moved 'em down to our swank new accomodations.
The good times however were not to last. I started feeling rather poor that night and by the time I went to sleep I was shivering furiously and felt extremely achey. Sarah assured that it was in fact still above 80 F in the basement so I deduced (sorry, been reading Sherlock Holmes) that I had fever of the highest order. I hoofed it back upstairs and collapsed on the couch for half the night where for once 91 degrees was a blessing. The next morning I almost blacked out from dizziness, lack of breath and pounding in my head, while attempting to climb the stairs again, and decided I had better stay in for the day. I stumbled back downstairs and collapsed on my bed and blacked out. I'm still feeling extremely week 24 hours later. So, you know all the symptoms. Bets on whether its malaria or not? We'll find out in a couple days if the fever returns or not.
Five hours of sleeping later I decided I could handle a quick trip to the train station to reserve tickets for Mt. Abu (a hill station we are very excited to reach). This, however, turned out to be an entirely unpleasant hour and a half lesson on unsuccessful bureaucracies. To begin with, the reservation office was very allusive. After wandering aimlessly and constantly asking direction we walked OUT of the train station and down a narrow road of apparent residential nature, with passing Indians nodding and telling us "sita sita" (meaning go straight, straight) until we finally reached an entirely separate building called the reservation office... and that's when the real frustration began.
We sat in line for at least 45 minutes but with only two costumers ahead of us. At first we thought an old woman in the front was holding up the line. But when our turn finally came it became very clear that it wasn't the 90 year old but the over-paid dick bureaucrat sitting in his air conditioned cubicle making time slow down. The man moved with the jolting speed of sloth, conducted a friend's business while we stood waiting, and when the first train we asked for was full tried to pawn us off to another line until the blessed woman behind us castigated him in Hindi. He then proceeded to not read our form right, have us spell out our names twice (even though it was spelled in clear bold letters on our form). Then he left for a while. When he came back he was carrying another role of ticket paper. He didn't immediatly put it on though, favoring a chat with his friend next door for a minute or two. Finally he digned to pring the ticket. He stared about my 500 ruppee bill for a good 10 seconds longer than necessary to determine its authenticity then signed three times on the ticket in the slowest possible manner. When we finally got the ticket I had sweated about a bucket.
If this wasn't a lesson in what complete job security, over pay, and no evaluation of work quality does to a bureaucracy I don't know what is. I've been repeatedly told that to get a government job here means you are SET. Its virtually impossible to get fired, it pays better than most, and there is good retirement payment. Not to mention that it is generally accepted that most government workers are expected to do virtually nothing. Whooeey. I will never complain about the school registrar again!
Aww well, I guess every day can't be a laze by the pool, but I could really just use a bowl of chicken pho, sushi, and real raised wheat bread to make things better.
Cheers

between a rock and a hard place
Abu Road, India
Time flies in the heat. After a very trying train journey I’m back in Jaipur for my final week of ‘classes.’ Before that, we spent a wondrous three days in our personal retreat of mount Abu. The most fun thing about the place (besides the cooler temperature and mountain beauty) was the fact that it was chalk full of Indians, Indian tourists that is. Mt. Abu is less visited by foreign tourists because of its out of the way location, but functions as a giant resort getaway for Indians. It was highly enjoyable to be just another one of the crowd of tourists, treated differently only when people wanted to take pictures of us with their babies.
We had an incredibly characteristic experience of India when we climbed to Sunset point to, surprise, surprise, see sunset. It wasn’t even a remotely relaxing or romantic experience though, since several hundred other Indian tourists were making the same treck. The whole thing was like a festival, with men selling corn on the cob, blackberry cups, horseback rides and cart rides. (Rickshaws aren’t allowed on the mountain so the absence is filled by horse wallas and wallas with ‘helicopters’--as they told us--which are essentially shopping cards with little wooden seats inside for two people and are then pushed by some poor old guy up the hill.) At the top of the hill, we all bustled to find appropriate seating followed by a very noisy sunset experience and then a mass exodus back down the hill. It’s the Indian way.
By far my most favorite experience of the resort weekend was our half-day trek into the hills. On the way we saw the old dam built by the British and which still supplies the whole town with its water. We were told we would be given a chance to go caving on this venture as well. Caving, it turned out, involved squeezing along on my belly under a boulder for approximately two minutes. Yep, pretty much crawled under a rock. Literally. I guess I should have known it wasn’t the best idea when our guide told us he would meet us on the other side…
We were accompanied on the hike by a young Canadian named Curtis who entertained the way with stories of festivals in the US I’ve never heard of, including the rainbow fest which occurs each year in a changing and unnamed national park (so authorities can’t prepare to stop it from occurring) and apparently involves a very large hand-holding circle in valleys and excessive ooohming.
The last leg of the trek involved a 750-step climb down to see the guy muksh (or cow face) spring fountain and hindu temples. Speaking of leg, it was my legs crying out in pain for the next few days. And to think I used to do 750 steps on the step machine back in Houston without too much problem.
On Thursday, Betsey and I will be off on our final journey. We will take an air-conditioned train (I know, air conditioned, isn’t it exciting, and that’s class 3 AC for those who are interested) to Varanasi for a few days--you know, to the see the dead people. From there it will be on to Darjeeling. I’m torn which is better…loads of good tea or views of the Himalayas. Hmmm. I guess I’ll found out soon enough.
written by  Drie on April 23, 2008 from Abu Road, India

traveling by lonesome rail
Varanasi, India
Well, its my first day traveling on my own. Originally there weren't supposed to be any of those but long kept plans went to pot when my travel companion Betsey got a very tenacious fever that she couldn't seem to shake. So the day before we were to leave I treked out to the train station to make every possible attempt to change our tickets a day later or two. Unfortunately its summer break in India and every one goes home, which means no free seats anywhere.
Finally, it came down to me taking off all by lonesome while Betsey stayed back to recover in the comfort of air conditioning and and a few friends still around till the group flight. Vague plans were established to meet up again in Darjeeling in 3 or so days.
So here I am, all by my lonesome. I wanted to know what it was like to travel alone. Here's the lowdown (at least for me). Its not as scary as you might think but its not as exciting either. For me traveling alone tends to involved greater stress and less to laugh about.
The interesting thing about traveling alone is that you are more susceptible to bad behavior and more often the recipient of people's kindness. Crooks and touts target you (which I avoided thanks to my intellegence and logic and...) kindness from other travelers does too.
Well, enough cognition, let me tell you that I made to Delhi safely by wonderfully air conditioned bus and then booked it to my friend/acquintance, Nick's, house where I was leaving my extra bag for the remainder of the journey. Then I as off again to the Delhi train station (the biggest and most hectic I've ever seen). I ate at a little tiny joint with two tables, greasy food and no other white folks (or women). But it was good enough and no one stared.
The train was absolutely pleasant (class 3AC for you those you are curious) and my car had a nice international feel. With me were a yound Indian man, an elderly business man, two Japanese girls, and another American expat who I ultimately learned was named Dana! The train was on record time as well...only half an hour late.
written by  Drie on April 25, 2008 from Varanasi, India

thank god their holy men not women..otherwise we'd have a whole bunch of commemorative dug holes
Varanasi, India
After a day in Varanasi, I headed out to the nearby other holy city of Sarnath. Sarnath is where the Buddha gave his first speech/sermon/insight (whatever you call it).
As befits all holi...whoops holy... men, that spot in a Deer Park is now commemorated by a stupa: a giant pile of stones shaped into a phalic symbol. Supposedly the inside also contains something of the Buddha within. Maybe its a hair or a tooth, I'm not really clear on that point.
In any case, I'm afraid to say that the Buddhist idea of a holy sight appeals to me more. Here there are giant trees and quiet spaces, compared to the dirt and crowded bathing spots back on the Ganges.
After a walk around the Deer Park I retreated two a restaurant where I bought and downed a 2 liter bottle of water in less than an hour. I guess that's what walking in 105 F does to you.
I rickshawed it back to Varanasi to pick up my baggage stored in the train station there and rickshawed again to ANOTHER train station out of town to my next stop DARJEELING!
written by  Drie on April 27, 2008 from Varanasi, India

a reunion day
Darjiling, India
After nearly missing the train last night--I made it due to the small kindness of other travelers I was talking about as a British couple I'd approached briefly found me and led me to the train platform-- I got on the overnight (3AC) to NJP a station in Siliguri a town below Darjeeling.
There, I wandered about briefly until I figured out to find a share-jeep that would take me at last into the hills of the Himalayas. I got help again getthing there from a Scotsman who'd spent the last 9 monthes studying in monastries in Nepal.
After a beautiful, winding and cramped jeep ride up the hill for a few hours, I made it to my last major destination: the fine tea capital of the world. I can't gush enough about the quaintness of this old British hill station. This might as well be a different country. The people here look like Chinese in sarees. And indeed, they are mostly Nepali in origin and there's a movement to have their own Nepali speaking state called Ghorkaland. While here, we've seen a number of protest marches to that effect.
Right after arrival, my lone travels came to an end. I walked to a nearby hotel discussed earlier and met up with friends who had just arrived as well, easy as cake. Reunited with Meghan, Colleen, Emily, Erin, and Betsey (who flew in an hour later) we ate some tibetan food--namely momos which are fantastic little dumplings-- and reveled in the sweet cool air and beautiful sights of the green hills.
written by  Drie on April 28, 2008 from Darjiling, India

tea for me..
Darjiling, India
A sweet day in Darjeeling. Morning at the botanic gardens (lunch of momos), afternoon at the zoo (the highest in the world). We saw gorgeous orchids and red pandas at each respectively.
Then there was 4 oçlock high tea at the Windsor hotel. I spent 7 dollars for a cup of tea and crumpets but I got to a Victorian British woman in an old Victorian tea room right out of Pride and Prejudice so perhaps it was worth it.
Let me re-emphasize that Darjeeling is not part of the India I have come to know. Things here are beautiful, quiet, basically clean, and there are no lewd stares or even much attention from Nepali-speaking locals. There aren't even and any rickshaws--they can't cope with these hills-- so no honking and we walk everywhere...on SIDEWALKS. Wow, if that aint different I don't know what is. I forgot to mention the small bakeries everywhere.
No Everest sightings in the cloudy distance yet, but I'm holding out hope.
written by  Drie on April 29, 2008 from Darjiling, India

quality
Darjiling, India
A few more days in the quaintest of towns. Several fantastic days (and one not so fantastic day) with quality group meals, and lots of walking about. We all decided to visit one of the more 'quality' tea plantations recommended to us by local tea experts so we headed out one early morning. Turns out quality equals very far away and hard to get to. We began walking down a road...and kept walking all the way down the winding path into a deep valley for some 4 hours. The views were beautiful and the company good, which made it worth it even though when we finally got there the factory was closed and we had to get a tour of the empty place.
The trip back up turned into quite a humorous debacle. Not thinking things through, we had not confirmed that there was a way back OUT of the valley that didn't not involve walking back up the same hill for 10 hours. But after several cars refused to give us a lift and about 20 minutes of uphill battling we were starting to realize the danger of incomplete planning. Luckily (as I was confident of the whole time, though not most of the girls) we were picked up by a taxi for just 20 ruppees a head. phew. A very relieved trip back was followed by some tasty momos and quality cup of Darj tea.
written by  Drie on May 5, 2008 from Darjiling, India

quality
A few more days in the quaintest of towns. Several fantastic day (and one not so fantastic day) with quality group meals, and lots of walking about. We all decided to visit one of the more 'quality' tea plantations recommended to us by local tea experts so we headed out one early morning. Turns out quality equals every far away and hard to get to. We began walking down a road...and kept walking all down the winding path into a deep valley for some 4 hours. The views were beautiful and the company good, which made it worth it even though when we finally got there the factory was closed and we had to get a tour of the empty place. We did learn the process of tea making though, which is rather fascinating. Fist comes drying, then comes rolling/crushing, then there's fermentation, followed by more drying, sorting by leaf size and type, packaging, and finally testing for quality.
The trip back up turned into quite a humorous debacle. Not thinking things through, we had not confirmed that there was a way back OUT of the valley that didn't not involve walking back up the same hill for 10 hours. But after several cars refused to give us a lift and about 20 minutes of uphill battling we were starting to realize the danger of incomplete planning. Luckily (as I was confident of the whole time, though not most of the girls) we were picked up by a taxi for just 20 ruppees a head. phew. A very relieved trip back was followed by some tasty momos and quality cup of Darj tea.
written by  Drie on May 1, 2008 from Darjiling, India

the highest peaks
Many of the girls moved on today, but Betsey, Teresa and I have stuck it out another day. We had planned to get up before dawn (4 AM) to take a jeep to viewing point called Tiger hill. When I woke at 5:07 there wasn't time for the jeep but we viewed Sunrise right from our own porch and it was spectacular on an unusually unclouded day.
Enough so that ,peaking out the clouds on the edge of grey, was a whiter crest, the tip top of Khangchendzonga--the 4th tallest peak in the world and the highest mountain in India. We decided that a trip to the top of the hill might be worth it even now. So we went, and it clouded over more, but the way back down brought us a thousand prayer flags and two fantastic monastries to view. At one of the latter I was able to spin prayer wheels, fulfilling a long held child's fantasy from my parent's stories of Nepal.
We came back for a breakfast of Nepali bread (a slightly leavened round bread) with jam and honey and some rockin mashed potatoes. That was followed by an afternoon nap.
To top off a day of monastry viewing, Teresa and I walked the town (munching on coal-cooked corn with lemon) until we reached the Bhudia Busty, a gompa perched on the side of a hill facing the hidden crest of Everest.
written by  Drie on May 2, 2008 from Darjiling, India

the last ventures
Kalimpang, India
My final few days were spent in a town called Kalimpong. Lacking the romantic heights of Darjeeling (its in fact several thousand feet lower in altitude), this cute town makes up for it with wonderful nurseries and Tibetan shops (both are wholesale centers for the larger region). Kalimpong is also unique, according to all guide literature, for its cheese (yep real cheese, not paneer) and lollipops (more like milk tootsie rolls).
We went searching for all these things, and found them (in some cases after much walking).
One especially spectacular find was a beautiful hotel up the hills with its own planted grounds. Stretching onto the side of a hill and with the feel of a cloud forest, we wandered amongst orchids, lilies, honey suckle and a thousand other flowers I couldn't name. The hotel had cute little cottages amongst the plants and overgrown bouganvillea. My Bible (ie lonely planet) informs me that these are $60 a night. When I come back for the honeymoon I'll stay here.
On these sightseeing ventures we were accompanied by Teresa's aunt who is in the Navy and flew in to visit her. It was interesting trying for the first time to introduce India to someone new and come to conclusions about our experiences. It was more difficult to do this than I had thought and I sort of dread having to try and answer questions about my experience once I get home.
written by  Drie on May 5, 2008 from Kalimpang, India

one last trick
Denver, United States
India pulled her final joke on me flying from Bagdogra back to Delhi. Waiting in the airport for my plane to get in I started to feel chilled and exhausted. As I hunched over in my plane seat--regretting that Indian airlines don't provide blankets like their trains do--I knew I must have a fever. And stumbling into my hotel seeking the best air conditioned room they had, I knew it must be a bad one.
After checking in, I collapsed onto my gratefully clean and airconditioned bed, and went into a semi-delirious sleep, forgetting until later to check my temperature (it would hold steady around 103.5 for the whole night) or take any medicine. I rose once around 9 PM to stumble into the hotel restaurant to buy a water bottle.
As morning rolled around, I realized I had some 12 hours until I had to be at the international airport and a fever that was still making me woozy. With little money left (I wanted to leave the country dead even), little minutes left on my phone left, a heavy bag, and 100 degree weather outside, I called Nick (a family friend who had stored my extra bag for the last couple weeks) and begged to crash at his apartment for the day. And that's what I did.
Arriving on a rickshaw that didnt give me change because I lacked the energy to insist on it, I collapsed onto a friendly expat's mattress for the next 5 hours. In the end the fever broke and I had time for one last dinner and swimming pool visit with Nick and his roomate before heading out.
But what a last day in the country. Oh, India what a bitch you can be. Oh, well. In the end, I got to the airport and THIRTY hours later (filled with a few BA red wines and the first real sandwich in monthes) I arrived back in sunny Colorado. Here I am, four days later, back home. And not a cow in sight.
written by  Drie on May 14, 2008 from Denver, United States

The Jaipur hills from Monkey temple

Carved wood haveli

Shekawati mustard flowers on a farm

reekaji and Teresa on the farm swings

shekwati fun by the fire

I'm quen of the world and queens stepwell

queens stepwell splendor

Sarah in queens stepwell

Mama's garden

at Mama's haveli with betsey, sarah, and emma

ladies in the wind at teh taj

our beautiful 5 star resort

taj fountain

muslim temple in Taj complex ceiling w/bee hive

taj through entrance gate

uh duh

Haveli wall

Haveli painting

Haveli

chitrisala garden

Chitrisala ceiling paintings

airport

Queen's Stepwell

Sunita's family tree

our bed at homestay

MSID staff (mita up front, rugooji on the far right)

our bathroom in the homestay

Sunita's mim-shrine in our room

Dominique the domineering french hindi teacher

our plastic lunch tiffins

class, Rima and Rakshad in their rare teaching moments

Cafe at City Pulse mall (where there was wireless internet!)

shivam guesthouse manager gets holied

shivam guesthouse staff holied out

Alex the englishment gets holied by Luki

sarah the holi monster

amy holi face

robin holi faced (and eared)

holi looks

Sardwar Market entrance in the old city

cool old-fashioned locks in teh market

water tank

holi's eve festival

holi's even festival

umaid garden

holi's eve on the streets

Sita and baby

Jodhpur fort

sarah in traditional rajastani dress

sarah sari-ing

sarah saried

saried and confused

saried and horribly made up

Sarah in a sari

my kitchen in the guesthouse

my new room in jodhpur, if only it wasnt always 90 degrees i'd love it

my new living room in Jodhpur, if the chairs look comfortable you would be incorrect

one of those 10,000 lassis I consumed

after our second bout of holi-ing

the holi monster

rajastani dress up time

sarah is so stately in her traditional dress

getting the coal put on under my eyes...scary!

sarah and Vaneja

tucking in the rajastani overskirt into the underskirt

pool again