They Do It in India, They Do It in Japan

No, my blog did not just take a leap to NC-17 rated material. Sorry, all my perv readers out there (hopefully none of you...). I am not referring to "IT" in the sense that giggly 5th graders in Sex-Ed often do. I am referring to a cultural practice which, though it may sound nice in theory, is something I am SO thankful we don't do in the US of A. The practice to which I am referring is that of wearing different shoes indoors and outdoors.

Changing shoes when you enter a building from outside sounds like a good idea, as previously mentioned, in theory. It seems that it would prevent floors from getting contaminated with the filth tracked in from outside. However, the nitty-gritties of the practice are what disgust me and convince me of the repulsion resulting from it.

Two words, ladies and gents: loaner shoes. Yes, if you do not have your indoor shoes with you when you enter a building requiring the removal of your outdoor shoes, you need to BORROW the designated guest indoor shoes provided by the establishment. I cannot even fathom the number of strains of fungi hanging out inside of those loaner shoes. I mean, depending on the visitor traffic of the place, there could be hundreds of pairs of feet sliding in and out of those things DAILY. That includes the feet of extremely unhygienic people who shower a maximum of once a week. I'm sorry, but shockingly I would rather soil the holy floors of a building than put my foot where those feet have been. Gross.

NO! Not the LOANER SHOES!!

Akshardham

Okay, the story chronicling my visit to the most georgeous temple of my life somehow managed to earn a mistakenly-long stay on the back burner to the point it almost fell through the cracks entirely. Normally I try not to backtrack so far in my blog world, but such an indescribable experience, which I am, ironically, about to attempt to describe.

The fact that Akshardham temple was built only 13 years ago made me a bit unsure if it was worth a visit, as it did not lay beneath the shroud of history that surrounds other sites. However, just one Google image search accompanied with constant insistence from other volunteers that we "MUST go there" convinced my group and I to make an afternoon trip. I am so glad we did.

It was a bit pathetic how horribly upset we all were that cameras and phones were banned on the temple grounds. Of course, as we are young people in a technology-addicted generation, the thought of a few hours without our devices horrified us, so we decided to sneak two phones in. One friend took my phone and tried to hide it in his large pockets, and my other friend stuck her phone down her bra. How intense of a pat down could it possibly be? Pretty intense, as it turns out- I felt rather violated but at least at security checks in India they let women receive their pat downs behind a curtain. The lady not only squeezed both boobs but also firmly cupped my butt. When I told this to the girl behind me, the one who stuck her phone in her bra, she immediately turned around and made the long trek to the parking lot to leave it in our cab driver's car to avoid its confiscation.

Here's a little side note- the cab drivers who take people to Akshardam always wait for their passengers while they visit the temple and then take them home. Most people don't realize until arrival that any electronics are not allowed inside, meaning they leave their precious belongings in the cab. How easy would it be for those cab drivers to hustle their passengers?? They could easily screw them over by driving away with all of their expensive, electronic belongings and make a year's worth of money by selling them on the black market. I am truly amazed that has not happened yet.

No photo can capture the beauty of this place

So after my two friends returned their phones to the cab, we were permitted entry. There was a description right as you pass through the gates with information on what there is to do and see on the temple grounds. The sign indicated that there was a boat ride, which made me giddy like a kid at Disneyland for the first time. It was a bit of a let down, however; a more boring version of the Small World ride but, thankfully, without the obnoxious song that sears itself permanently into your mind. A more appropriate name for the boat ride would be the "Boastful Boat Ride" as there were entire stretches of "land" that the boat passed by (think of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, for visualization's sake) where the narrator would inform us how the Indian people discovered gravity LONG before Newton, they were making airplanes thousands of years ago, had advanced medicine and surgeries prior to anyone else, and knew the world was round right from the start of their civilization. The list of their extensive bragging during the boat ride goes on and on; those alone were enough to irritate me and likely all other foreign visitors to the temple. The narrator could have saved a lot of time by just saying Indians and their ancestors are better and smarter than everyone else.

In addition to the boat ride, there was a somewhat creepy animatronic exhibit portraying scenes from the life of Lord Swaminarayan, the central figure in a modern branch of Hinduism called Swaminarayan Hinduism. For the sake of not having to type that horribly long name over and over, I will just call him "the Swami." So before we entered the first room telling about his life, we were told to be seated for a short presentation. Basically, the recorded dialogue explained how long it took to make the temple and how many people worked on it. Then it asked us a philosophical question that it clearly did not actually want an answer to since it gave us zero response time. The question was, "how many craftsmen does it take to create a life?" and the answer that came seconds later was "just one. You craft your own life." So, I guess the big takeaway there is that our lives are what we make them.

The exhibit involved moving from room to room throughout a building to learn of the life of the Swami. Each room was filled with the kind of creepy, far-too-realistic animatronics which I could easily imagine killing me in my sleep. Their movements were way too authentic with blinking and head nodding and some even stood up and sat down. That's the stuff of horror movies right there. Okay, quick summary of his life (look him up if you want more detail). The Swami was born in 1781 and died in 1830. He first proved his powers when he saw fishermen with dead fish in their nets. He brought the fish back to life and demanded that the fishermen never harm another living creature. When he was fairly young he ran away to study yoga, mastered it, settled down in some village, and gained a bunch of followers with whom he did philanthropic deeds the rest of his life.

At least we have proof that we were there... 

I don't care that Akshardham is not old- actually, it is certainly a modern marvel. It was built by about 10,000 architects and artists in five years and I don't even want to know how much it cost. The architecture is easily some of the most beautiful my eyes have beheld- detailed animals adorning every wall, golden statues inside the main temple (which also smells a bit like feet, since you have to remove your shoes prior to entry), paintings of the Swami... everything was immaculate. Of course, as I mentioned early, none of us had our cameras which truly pained us the whole time. Every single time we turned our heads we saw another beautiful, photo-worthy image. There was one area where they took a picture of you in front of the temple, but that just wasn't quite the same.

When we returned to the cab, the driver was still there along with our valuables. What a relief!

Inside the temple

How I Love Airports

I am currently in the middle of eating my feelings in the form of a delicious veg curry from an airport restaurant. I am shoveling down this food alone under artificial blue lighting in a desperate attempt to bury my anger that sprouted from such an awful airport experience. To all of my readers who will be entering the Delhi airport in the near future, please do everything in your power to check in prior to your arrival so you have a boarding pass. If you don't because your airline specifically noted that you needed to be at the airport to do so (like mine did) they will not let you through the doors. Basically, make sure you have a print out of some sort of proof that you have a flight with your name matching my passport. I had my itinerary but it did not have my name on it, so I was out of luck.

Thank the Lord that Chris was with me- if he hadnt been there to talk to someone inside the airport about getting me a boarding pass, I would most likely still be sitting out there, glaring angrily at the guard intent on keeping me out. Finally, after poor Chris got me a pass, I was allowed inside by the evil man. If I had seen the machine  gun at his side from the get-go, I may not have been so mean to him.

I seriously felt like I was dealing with the doorman at Oz. I guess my boarding pass was the horse of a different color. So I finally stepped through the doors to part two of my horrendous airport experience. At the check-in counter, the woman assisting me told me it was fine to bring my carry-on bag onto the plane since it was not overweight. However, almost immediately after saying so, she informed me that my bag was too long to fit in the overhead compartment. I threw a fit that would rival a three year old's, rooting myself to the spot and refusing to backdown. Eventually, despite my bellowing in an inappropriately loud voice my concerns about the airline losing my precious luggage, I conceded with the white flag of surrender held high. I got down on my hands and knees and dug out the items I could simply not bear to part with. This included, of course, my saree, gifts for friends and family, and my plane reading material. The little airline witch then informed me that I could go buy a handcrafted Indian bag to put my things in. In an act of defiance, I rejected this suggestion and, looking ridiculous, tried to juggle all of my items in my arms as I waddled over to the passport check and security. 

I quickly pegged the surly customs agent hell-bent on making things difficult for anyone who dare hand over his or her passport. Thankfully, my airport nightmare began to improve when I got to the somewhat attractive customs agent who flashed me a suggestive grin which I was all too eager to return if it meant quick passage to security. I have seen airports worldwide with over-the-top security measures but this one in India takes the cake. So, at your check-in gate, the agent assisting you was supposed to provide you with a tag for all of your carry on luggage. Many of them neglected to do so, making the security agents very surly and getting angry at the tagless passengers who had no idea what was going on. My bags somehow do not incur their wrath despite their lack of tags, but when I got to the gate to board the plane, the tag issue reared its ugly head again and the agent almost didn't let me on the plane. Man, some mysterious force truly wanted to keep me in India. I wish it had succeeded.

New Student

Yesterday while teaching our afternoon class we had a visitor. Generally, the English lesson begins outside, weather permitting, where the boys read quietly from books about animals donated by my Australian friend Fiona. Just a quick side note before I relieve you from the accumulated suspense regarding the identity of our visitor- Australian books are about animals I have never heard of in my entire life. It seems odd teaching kids about creatures whose names I cannot even pronounce. Echidna? Sugar Glider? Kookaburra? Bowerbird? Seriously? I think the author was making those up. Well, at least the kids will be well-versed in zoological terms from Down Under.

Anyhow, we were reading about the Sugar Glider's latest shenanigans and noticed a shy girl standing beside a tree at a distance eagerly listening to the story. We invited her to come join the class, and the look of pure joy that washed over her young face made me feel warm and gooey inside, like the center of a jalapeño popper fresh out of the oven. Okay, not the best imagery there, but you get the point. This Indian girl, Sunita, quickly became the most eager of the students. She loves learning and soaks information up like an overly-absorbent sponge. Not one of those pathetic little kitchen sponges, but one of those gigantic ones you use to wash your car (for those of you who still do so yourselves). Her enthusiasm for seemingly mundane English exercises is refreshing, and the fact that she is so happy to listen and take in everything I say makes me feel like I am actually making an impact.

We found out that she has already taken a decent amount of classes and that she should move up to a higher level, but she seemed hesitant as she truly enjoys spending time with us. Every time I smile at her or call her name she sits there and beams; it is truly rewarding. Her positive behavior almost makes up for the atrocious behavior of the little boys. The bribe technique seems to be losing its novelty and they are back to their obnoxious selves. The Monster's Inc. stickers don't motivate them like they once did, so perhaps the new reward should be candy or some other sugary treat. I'm not sure I want to see them on a sugar high, however; they bounce off the walls without fructose flowing through their energetic bodies.

Today, I Jumped off A Cliff

Okay, if you want to get technical, I scuffled off of a very steep incline because my crippling fear prevented my legs from running to what appeared to be my death. The lack of information regarding paragliding that we received is laughable- the only instruction I heard from my paragliding pilot was "run!" Whenever I voiced a concern, such as "hm, my harness feels loose..." or "how do we land?" he merely mumbled "yes" or "no," as he hardly spoke a word of English.

I knew that paragliding in Bir was one of those "must do" things, since the area is known for running off of gorgeous mountains and sailing through the sky. So we waited for a day in which the weather was ideal- sun shining against azure blue, sparse, gentle, cotton-ball clouds floating along peacefully. We could not have asked for a better day than today to fly. Well, we could have, but that would just be getting picky and demanding. At 9:30, we all boarded a van to make the long trek up to the take-off site. Around 10 in the morning, the steep grade beside our vehicle and the sheer altitude of our location began to elevate my heart rate and make me thankful that I made a will prior to arriving in India, The picturesque view awaiting us at the top calmed me once more, until they began to strap me in and I watched the others running until the wind caught them.

When my pilot told me to run, my legs turned to jello. I closed my eyes and pretended I was running on solid ground until I felt nothing beneath my feet. Once airborne, I felt instantly calm. The sheer beauty surrounding me cancelled out the natural fear associated with sitting on a little camp-chair like thing at such a high altitude. The most terrifying, but also most fun part of the flight was when my pilot asked if I wanted to do "aerobatics" and I said "oh, that sounds scary..." and before I could ponder the scenario and consent (I like to think before making decisions while airborne 5,000 feet in the air) he said "ok, I begin now." Before I knew it, we were corkscrewing down to Earth and my stomach flew into my throat, causing a wave of nausea to wash over me.

Thankfully, the air stunts did not last long, and a few moments later, we were ready to touch down. My landing was not exactly elegant; I landed awkwardly on my ankle. Forty dollars well spent, I would say. The most comical aspect of the day is that they did not make us sign a waiver. I'm pretty positive my travel insurance does not cover paragliding mishaps. All of the volunteers were happy to have done it, even Maree who overcame her fear and eventually stopped crying once airborne. She admitted having second thoughts, but the van ditched us after dropping us off at the top of the mountain leaving only one easy way to get back down. The experience bonded our volunteer family even tighter, if that is possible.

My New Respect for Teachers

After volunteering in a nursing home in Costa Rica, I had my fill of the elderly and cleaning their wounds. Therefore, I signed up to do childcare here in Bir, India. I expected to be changing diapers but it turns out they don't even wear them but rather just take care of their business in the grass. I expected a room full of needy, crying infants but it turns out that toddlers here are more independent than feminist business women. They rejected almost all of my attempts to play. I felt very slighted. Since the childcare project had more than enough volunteers with three people and the two Tibetan employees looking after only 8 kids, I switched to teaching English. If I had known what I was about to get into, I may not have done so.

The little boys in my class are a rambunctious bunch ranging in age from 6 to 12 and not even remotely in the same educational level. Maree and I can barely handle them all. The first day teaching them proved so trying that it almost deterred me from future volunteering altogether. I walked into the run down classroom and was greeted by a whirlwind of little boys screaming, fighting, and running amok. The first day, we spent the entire second part of the day trying to teach them about six words: happy, sad, upset, angry, surprised and tired. After seemingly countless exercises designed to beat this tiny number of words into their memories, I asked one of the boys, Tenzin, to read the word U-P-S-E-T and he enthusiastically shouted "HAPPY!" I wanted to slug him. Happy? Are you serious? In what universe is that even remotely close?

Needless to say, I was discouraged by the time 3 o' clock rolled around. Maree and I commiserated about how we felt we would never get through to them. Then, she came up with a brilliant idea- bribe them. Leave it to a seasoned teacher to come up with such a sneaky plan! The system is so simple I never thought it would work. We listed their names on the board and every time they went above and beyond and demonstrated exceptional behavior, they earned a star next to their name. The student with the most stars at the end of the day earned one Monster's Inc. sticker. Of course, they tried to cheat our system of corruption by going behind our backs and drawing their own star next to their name. Nice try, boys.

Yet after just one lesson, Norbu, Tenzin, Rinchan, Lacchu, Phurpa, Krishna and Ram transformed from uncontrollable gremlins to quiet cherubs. I really had no idea that one measly Monsters Inc sticker was such a powerful incentive. They also went mental for our lesson plan that involved reading them a book, teaching them some vocab from the story and then doing exercises revolving around the words. Now that we have an infallible lesson plan, I am confident that the remaining classes will go smoothly. It will take some getting used to being called "ma'am" all the time. I have definitely started to fall for the sweet little munchkins. The amount of work they do is certainly admirable- from the get go they are expected to learn Tibetan, Hindi and English.

One comical thing about these little Buddhist boys is that they have no problem beating the crap out of each other, but when it comes to the smallest insect they treat it with more compassion than Mother Theresa. At one point, a little lady bug landed on Norbu's hand and it momentarily looked like he was going to smash it and I almost cried out "no, don't kill it!" before remembering that Buddhist's won't kill anything. Instead, he cupped it with both hands, gingerly walked over to the window, and set it free.

As if a day of teaching crazy Tibetan boys English weren't enough, we go to converse with monks at another monastery in the evening. The first day, a little monk not older than 10 scampered through the door and sat next to me. It turned out he was a flirtatious little Don Juan, asking me to be his girlfriend and marry him. I told him that unless he forks over a solid gold ring with a diamond inlay, there was no chance. I wonder if anyone has clued him into the fact that since he is a monk, he is never getting married.

So anyway, that is my routine here. It is going to be hard to leave these little kiddos at the end of next week, I have to say they certainly earned a permanent residence in my heart.

Bir (it's Pronounced BEER)

Bir, the little Tibetan colony in Northern India, did not welcome me with open arms. Instead, it welcomed me with folded arms and a turned up nose in the form of pouring rain, thick mud, and bitter cold temperatures making me yearn for the Delhi heat. The first day we remained cooped up inside due to the inclement weather and did not get to see the town nor get a view of the seductive Himalayas. It was an especially depressing greeting after such a drawn out journey to get here. After the bus ride, we still had to take an hour trip to pick up a volunteer at the airport only to find out her flight was cancelled due to inclement weather. Therefore, we had to turn around and head back two hours to the home stay. No one was particularly chatty and good-humored that day.

However, the next day the sun made up for its extended absence from the sky by brilliantly shining in a shimmering azure sky. I woke up to a bright day casting light on the seemingly thousands of prayer flags rippling in the gentle breeze. I saw, on that second day, what people meant when they compared Bir to Heaven.

Bir and Delhi are polar opposites. Delhi bustles busily at all hours in a state of mass chaos whereas Bir follows a slower calmer schedule. Also, its people are almost entirely refugees from Tibet and thus the religion is almost completely Buddhist. As many of the volunteers here before me said, Bir is not India, it is Tibet. During our orientation, we learned all about the Tibetan situation. We learned that 129 monks, many of them under 25, committed self-immolation (setting themselves on fire) within the last fews years in an act of protest against the Chinese control of Tibet. They know that they could never challenge such a powerful country as China, and therefore are not seeking independence but rather autonomy. Until today, they could not even be recognized as Indian citizens even if they were born here. Now, at least, they can apply for passports if they are over 25.

What a heartbreaking story. Misplaced people forced out of their native land and not properly embraced by another country. At least here in Bir, they have the ability to conserve their impressive culture and to speak their native tongue.

Despite my not-so-warm welcome, I feel at peace here. Every day after volunteering, we do yoga on the roof of the home stay and it is the most relaxing hour of the day. During the night, we help teach the monks English. The days go by at a spitfire pace, and I'm loving every minute of it.

The Most Exciting Trip of My Life

Quiz time! What is better than a 12 hour flight? If you said "a 12-hour bus ride," then DING DING DING we have a winner! Sorry, there is not a prize, because this is a blog and there is no way for me to actually know if anyone guessed that correctly. Plus, the answer was meant to be sarcastic anyhow. Yes, the bus ride from Delhi to Dharamsala lasted a good 12 hours at least, and the journey was not without incident and included a sci-fi, superhero, Bollywood romantic movie, a dodgy roadside food stop, an illegal bus, and a nice delay due to getting stuck in the mud.

So the trip had a rocky start when we arrived at the pickup location and, guess what, there was no bus. The men at the alleged stop told our driver that there was a new spot where we needed to go, and our driver later explained that this was because technically, the bus we were taking was owned by a private company and not the government and therefore illegal. Nice. I love sketchy situations like that. So the stop moves every few days so that the police can't track them down. The new stop was under a bridge near mosquito-infested puddles and on an entrance to a highway and looked like the kind of place where drug deals occur on the regular. If not for the presence of our Indian driver, I would have feared for my life, especially when I began to fear the the bus was not coming after we waited for almost an hour. We were passed by cows showing us their less attractive ends as they ate papaya scraps, and lots of people walking around for God knows what purpose on a highway entrance.

By the time I boarded the bus, I was already cranky. At least it was a fancy Volvo with reclining seats and a blanket. Woo hoo, that's what I call ritzy... and even better, we were lucky enough to have a movie! The plot was a mix between a Marvel comic film and Contagion, that weird movie about a mysterious and deadly disease that started killing everyone. Oh, and then there were dance numbers and a completely unrelated love story. At one point we even thought they changed the movie but then the superhero came back. Later as we described the film to our Tibetan ride from the bus stop and he instantly perked up and said "yes, that is Krish!" so apparently it is a popular franchise here. Cultural differences...

Indians must have bladders of steel. After our first stop about an hour into the journey at a creepy rest stop area in the middle of nowhere with urinals outside along a wall, we did not have a single bathroom break. Thank God the first stop had Western toilets. Comically enough, any time we have encountered lines in the ladies' room they are for the squat toilets and the Western ones are open. Basically, I had to pee like a racehorse by the time we reached Dharamsala. Too much info? Probably.

Don't worry, it gets better. I finally fell into a fitful sleep for a few hours and then heard an ominous noise come from the bus that sounded like the driver couldn't get it into gear. I instantly feared the worst- we were stuck and the bus broke down and we would be waiting on the side of the road in a sketchy village in India with no way to get to our destination. Really optimistic, I know. Jim told me to take a positivity pill. It was not that bad in reality- the bus just got stuck in the mud. Of course, none of the cars stopped to help- instead they created a makeshift path by off-roading around us pathetic stranded passengers. Eventually, after pushing and trying to dig the bus out proved useless, he driver tied the front of our bus to another bus which pulled it out of the muck and set us on our way. My first comment to the others was "well, maybe one day I will find this funny." I am still waiting for that day, even though you are all probably laughing hysterically at my misfortune.

We finally arrived, and I was not exactly in good humor. I am thrilled to be flying back.

Elephants, Monkeys and Camels, Oh My!

Yesterday we saw an elephant just chilling on the side of the road. Normally a pachyderm alongside a highway would cause me to do a double take, but nothing surprises me here anymore. Just before the elephant sighting, we saw our first few camels on this trip as well as pigs. I have yet to see a stray cat amongst the countless dogs.

Here's a tip for anyone traveling to India anytime in the future- if a monkey jumps on your car, don't take it's picture. It's handler, someone who has taken it from the wild and trained it for this purpose is right behind and ready to harass you for money. And by harass I mean actually open the window and reach inside while yelling "money, money!" Now, if you're lucky like us, you will have a native with you ready to tell them off on Hindi.

Hindi is a fantastic language. Aside from their extensive alphabet and number system that gives a unique name to every single number up to 99, there are only two conjugations for the present verb "to be." I thanked a man from whom I bought a souvenir in Hindi in an attempt to be cultural and not some snotty American expecting everyone to speak English, and the plan backfired and he told me just to say "thank you." That's what I get for trying to be diverse...

I find it ironic that photos were not permitted of the most beautiful marvels of architecture I have ever visited. A couple of other volunteers and I naively thought we could sneak in our smartphones to act as cameras, but it turns out the Akshardham Temple security rivals that of the strictest airports. As is the norm here, there were separate entry lines for ladies and gents, and the lady checking to see if we tried to sneak things in was very grabby- we all felt quite violated. She would have made a terrifying TSA agent.

I have a LOT to say about the temple, enough to make up an entire post, so that one is coming later.

Orphanage Romance

Move over, little orphan Annie! The true story I am about to recite chronicling the life of one of the employees of the volunteer organization here puts her rags to riches tale to shame. So, when we girls found out about his recent marriage, we of course cooed and wanted to know more, in particular if his marriage was arranged (as 70% still are here) or if if was, as they say, a "love marriage." When he said it was a love marriage, we were even more intrigued. Rightfully so, it turns out, as it truly is the kind of great love story and feel good story that Hollywood goes nuts for.

So after a rough upbringing, he ran away at the age of 10 to a hotel where he lived and worked as a dishwasher. One of the guests, who he refers to as one of his heroes, brought him to an orphanage where he met his wife, who had been there since age six. The orphanage happened to be one at which volunteers from this organization used to work, which is how he got his job. So, he and his wife grew up together in the orphanage and when they were 21, he asked her if she loved him and said that if she did, they should get married. He said she took a bit to think it over but then said yes. Now they are married happily and he says he is extremely happy with his life, and it shows. When people have lived through such trying experiences and can still be consistently joyful and kind, it really puts our lives into perspective.

I plan to turn this into a screenplay that will cause moviegoers worldwide to bawl or at least tear up. I mean, it would be an instant blockbuster and possibly a Best Picture winner- two orphans grow up together, fall in love, get married and live happily ever after. It could also potentially be a Disney movie with sequels and original music.

...Or it could be a Bollywood movie. For anyone who hasn't seen one, they are lengthy productions with intermissions and always have at least one colorful song and dance number. Bollywood films are fun but there is no rhyme or reason as to what they deem appropriate and what is too scandalous. For example, it was apparently acceptable to show a bra from a distance and on an exotic dancer, but a close up of a bra that someone was holding was blurred out like a criminal's face in police shows. The lead character drank until she was fairly sloshed, danced and partied, and tongue-kissed a random older Italian man. Sensitive readers may need to skip over this next scandalous bit- Rani, the lead female, shared a hostel in Amsterdam with THREE other MEN! What a slut.

Thankfully, despite being in Hindi, the plot was easier to follow than a snail moving in a straight line through molasses. Random English phrases were sprinkled among the dialogue as well, with seemingly no rhyme or reason like whenever they said "I love you." The songs were entertaining, most of the jokes were apparent even in Hindi, and it was a good story of female empowerment. I highly recommend "Queen."

Be in My Photo, Miss!

My senses were so overwhelmed today by so much stimulation that, like a sponge that absorbed its capacity in water, they lost their ability to fully comprehend their surroundings. The sights, the smells and the sounds... Culinary aromas like cumin and curry wafted in the air, intermingling with unpleasant odors both recognized and unfamiliar to my olfactory glands. My retinas took in sights of desperation in the form of ragged people and homeless animals but also excitement and beauty represented by extravagant colors splashed on clothes and other items for sale. I saw a goat scampering on a balcony, pondered about the taste of a strange food resembling an orange rubber pretzel, almost got run over by tuk-tuks and motorcycles, wrinkled my nose at the scent of urine wafting along the air and tried to tune out the incessant honks of every tone emanating from every vehicle.

In other news, we got henna last night. Both my arms are now stained in an intricate design and will remain so for a couple of weeks.

I felt like a Hollywood celebrity hassled by paparazzi all day when being asked repeatedly to be in photos by Indians. It was fine the first few times, but eventually I just wanted to shout that there would be no more photos and to call my agent. It was sweet when it clearly made someone's day, but not so sweet when they would swarm around us snapping photos like we were some freak show act and not even ask. At one point, a couple literally handed their baby to my blonde friend and snapped her picture. Seriously?? What if they handed their child to a kidnapper? Not good parenting, people! So, I will be appearing in numerous Facebook photos of Indians, and perhaps a framed shot or two on a mantle, depending on how the pictures came out.

I don't think I will ever get used to the gawking, ogling and staring. The fascination with my skin color by the locals here is unfathomable to me. We made the mistake of wandering over to a group of kids playing some game after our curiosities were piqued only to turn and walk the other way once they saw us and came running out of sheer fascination. I am just glad I'm not blonde; they view the golden hair of my volunteer friend as an irresistible beacon. The men especially want photos with her at all times and in various poses, shaking hands a particular favorite.

Delhi Redefines Traffic

Being one of the few Americans in my volunteer group has made me extremely irritated that the USA cannot get with the picture and switch to the metric system. Temperatures have come up a surprising amount in conversation and trying to convert Fahrenheit to Celsius in my mind is more complex than a 9x9 Rubik's cube (if those exist). I feel like people are speaking Chinese when they mention kilometers, meters or kilos.

On an actually-related-to-my-travels note, today I experienced Indian traffic at its prime, and it puts to shame the traffic of the most congested cities in the United States and made San Jose, Costa Rica driving look tranquil. Before today, I had not been in the thick of traffic here since yesterday was a holiday and Sunday was... well, a Sunday. Essentially, everyone is laying on their horns at all times so there is a never-ending beep invading your ear canals. There is an eclectic combination of cows, bikes (both standard and motor), pedestrians, tuk tuks, rickshaws and cars following an unwritten set of traffic rules. There are generally no speed limits and hardly any traffic lights. Initially, I thought the insanity on the roads meant awful drivers, but the lack of accidents among such chaos made me realize that they are actually incredibly skilled. Indian drivers would laugh in the face of those complaining about Los Angeles traffic.

Today was our sightseeing tour of Old Delhi, which included stops at Qutub Minar, Humayun's tomb, and the Baha'i Lotus Temple. Qutab Minar is a world heritage site comprised of a victory tower built by the Moguls, a cemetery and a partially-built mosque. Humayun was apparently a big shot Mogul leader with a rather impressive palace housing his remains and the remains of others. That guy truly knew how to select an ostentatious burial place.

The lotus temple, a recent architectural marvel representing a squished Sydney opera house. As you can see in my photo, the lotus temple resembles a blooming flower and the opera house an already-bloomed flower. Not sure that such a detailed description was necessary, but whatever. I am tired, cut me some slack. If I am to contract a foot fungus on this trip, it will be from my trip to the temple where shoe removal prior to entry was required. Even after reading the information pamphlet about the Baha'i religion, I am still confused about what it is. However, we were informed that the temple is a place for people of all faiths to pray or worship or meditate.

When we returned from a day of sweating and walking barefoot, I craved a bucket shower (no, I am not joking even slightly). My ranting and raving about my newfound love bucket showers has surely driven everyone I'm around insane. See, before discovering the wonder of the bucket shower I had three options: not shower, get singed by three sharp streams of water shooting from the shower head, or freeze and stick my head under the faucet. Yet the bucket, oh the magical bucket, allows you to concoct the perfect water temperature and use exactly the amount you want. I may continue the bucket showers upon my return.

Happy Holi!

Today I found out how an Easter egg feels. I was dyed every color of the rainbow with powders, balloons filled with tinted water, paints and silly string until finally, at the end of the festivities, I looked like a Smurf who threw a white shirt in a load of colors. March 17h was Holi day, a grand celebration throughout India. The day represents so many things and is associated with so many legends that even natives are not sure how to describe it to foreigners. The legend told to us volunteers was the legend of Harika and Prahlad.

According to About.com...
The Legend of Holika
Holi is also associated with the Puranic story of Holika, the sister of demon-king Hiranyakashipu. The demon-king punished his son, Prahlad in a variety of ways to denounce Lord Narayana. He failed in all his attempts. Finally, he asked his sister Holika to take Prahlad in her lap and enter a blazing fire. Holika had a boon to remain unburned even inside fire. Holika did her brother's bidding. However, Holika's boon ended by this act of supreme sin against the Lord's devotee and was burnt to ashes. But Prahlad came out unharmed.

There is a more detailed version of the story here:
http://www.holifestival.org/legend-holika-prahlad.html

It is also a time to celebrate the coming of spring and to be thankful for what we have. Also, apparently, a time to pour buckets of freezing water with dye on poor, unsuspecting American girls. These dyes do not wash out easily, that's for sure- hours of scrubbing at my skin left me about one shade of blue lighter but the pink spots on my arm making me look as though I've come down with a mutant form of the chicken pox are still perfectly in tact.

Aside from tie-dying each other, we also had orientation today. We received a brief story of India and a lesson of Hindi language. After signing waivers, we were also told horror stories of volunteers being kicked out for having crazy anger attacks for not being fed ice cream and pizza and for smuggling marijuana into the country. People are insane. The only thing that would set off such ire in me would be if they DID feed us ice cream and pizza. I will take authentic chana masala any day!

Castes, Kids, and Dengue

When I arrived and was waiting for the other volunteers at the airport, the volunteer coordinator pointed to a mosquito that had landed on my suitcase and said "you have to watch out for those." I told him that I knew all about Malaria but was almost willing to risk it because I felt so awful on the prevention meds, which is a great irony because it means that I am getting sick from preventing getting sick. Much to my dismay, he shook his head and said "no, not Malaria-dengue." Dengue fever! My arch nemesis from Costa Rica! The unpreventable, untreatable illness that makes your bones ache for days! Just another ailment to add to my list of what I could catch out here. Food poisoning or GI upset of some sort is a given. However, the mother-daughter volunteers from San Francisco (the mom is almost 70, WHAT? I had BETTER be doing stuff like that when I am 70) insist that a tablespoon of whiskey every night does the trick warding off GI disruptors.

I want all of you to stop reading this for a moment and, before you resume, go take a nice shower with water that is not so hot it singes your skin and not so cold it turns your lips purple. I want you to enjoy it so I can enjoy it vicariously through you and forget about the one I just experienced. I sound like such an American girl whining about something so mundane, but so be it. I know that about two posts ago I predicted that I would be unable to shower this whole trip, so i should consider it a treat that I got to at all. But this was the kind of shower that made me rather go without. Turning the heat knob one millimeter the wrong way made for unbearably hot or cold water, and the shower head emitted three measly streams of H2O. Yeah, I will opt out the next few days.

I am trying to observe the caste system with no judgement, but it is really hard to watch people get treated like dirt because of a societal hierarchy. The maids at my host family looked terrified when I spoke to them and introduced myself with a smile. No one acknowledges them at all. These people whose life roles were determined at birth go about their jobs as maids and cooks and nannies and simply accept it as their fate. They expect no contact from anyone else. It is a system that, to me, seems so backwards.

The stray dogs are also a pathetic sight. They lay docile in unbelievable numbers and hardly even move their heads as cars and people approach. Flies circle their heads and bugs line their patchy fur. It was heartbreaking to see a puppy in such a state. The begging children are also difficult to behold. I had been warned not to give any money to a single kid because doing so would cause a wasp-like swarm of more, but I did not realize to what extent these kids get up "in your grill" (as rappers say). We would be standing around in the open market and these kids would infiltrate our circle, tug on our clothes and poke us in an attempt to extract money. Such desperation is so hard to see.

People are also fascinated by our whiteness. When we stopped at a gas station en route to our home stay, three guys came up to us wanting their photos with us. People stop and say hello to us and wave all the time. Speaking of my new home stay, below is a picture of my room. There are 6 beds crammed along the wall and I believe 12 of us staying here now. There is a brit now living in Calgary, the couple from New Zealand, a nurse from Boston, an electrician from New Jersey, a young man from Canada, the mother-daughter from San Francisco, and a guy from Bangladesh who everyone thinks is Indian.

In India!

A nine-foot cattle prod couldn't wake me from this dream. I am in India, the apartment in which I am staying emanates the aroma of an Indian restaurant, the people are warm and welcoming, I woke up to the sound of chanting, and best of all, I survived the flight. I might add that I am a fantastic seat neighbor. Only once in 14 hours did I obnoxiously have to evict the two people beside me in order to use the bathroom.

The flight went well aside from some unwelcome turbulence. I watched a grand total of six movies: Rushmore, Adult Children of Divorce (a hilarious comedy that I had never heard of and was completely underrated), Philomena, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and The Book Thief. I had planned to write a bunch of blogs but my exhaustion, both mentally and physically, prevented me from doing so.

My flight arrived over an hour early, meaning I had to wait a significant amount of time to be picked up. I simply stood in the waiting area, absorbed the sights, and noted the thick air that smelled like a campfire. After the worker from the organization arrived, we had to wait another hour or so for two more volunteers to land. This instantly put me in that mindset of "oh dang, I actually have to TALK to this person an get to know him? UGH!".

We became fast friends. He is a vibrant Nepalese man in his early twenties who came here to study three years ago. We struck up a conversation that ranged from our different countries' religious beliefs to arranged marriages to the aps on our iPhones. He expressed to me that he had no idea how Americans do not give all credit to God, and told me that arranged marriages are still quite common. I asked him if he wants his own family and he looked shocked and asked if anyone doesn't.

I am currently one of three volunteers staying in one of the organization's employees apartments. The other two are a couple from New Zealand who just arrived from a volunteering stint in Bali. They have been married for 35 years and are now spending a year volunteering and traveling. How fantastic is that?

I found out that I am lucky enough to be here during the Indian festval of Holi tomorrow. From the way it has been described, it is like a giant game of paintball. I guess I will find out...

Um, That's MY Seat!

So the fact that I splurged on a keyboard for my iPad just so I can blog about my journey truly shows my level of dedication to my readers. You all better be appreciative. However, there really is no way for you to express your sentiments of gratitude since this whole blogging thing is so one-sided. I honestly feel while I write these that I am writing for no one. So it turns out that it is extremely over-the-top complex to use an apostrophe on this keyboard, so do not expect too many contractions.

Okay, this first story about my trip to India is a mundane little anecdote, but it kicked off my first flight by setting me in an irritated mood. So, I picked window seats for both legs of this trip (do trips have other appendages too?) because being stuck in the middle seat of the middle row on a 14 hour trip sounds like my idea of what Hell. So for Denver to Newark, my seat assignment was 24A, and from Newark to Delhi it is 26A. I mixed them up in my head so I got all snug in 26A only to be disturbed about 10 minutes later by a little gnat of a woman telling me that I was in HER seat. I may be imagining this, but she even stuck out her hip and raised an eyebrow upon sharing this gem of information with me.

The thing that really rubbed me the wrong way about this whole situation was that we were BOTH traveling alone, so who the hell cares who sits in 24A and who sits in 26A? It would be a completely different scenario if it were a mother trying to sit with her child or something. The next thing that angered me was that me designated seat, 24A, which was her option since I accidentally stole her seat, is CLOSER to the door anyway!

I am trying to have a positive attitude about this upcoming 14-hour flight. It is inevitable, so I may as well try and enjoy it, so I am looking at it this way: they have about 10 movies available that I yearned to see in theaters but did not get a chance to. Heck, I just got done watching August: Osage Country (I have not figured out how to use italics on the iPad, sorry grammar police) and will have the opportunity to watch about 5 more movies for the low, low price of... oh yeah, my plane ticket. But I will also get free wine, and that cannot hurt (wow, I wanted to write "cant" so badly there...dang keyboard...).

Though they did not even offer peanuts, I am pretty happy about United offering free movies on flights under four hours. Most airlines do not do that anymore. I mean, what the heck do those other companies expect their passengers to do? Read a book? WHATT? United also has Grammar Girl available to listen to! Awesome! Well, for grammar nerds like me anyhow. One other thing I like about United is their safety video. Basically, the over-enthusiastic narrator should just point out that we are all screwed if we go down. For every scenario, it should play out like this: "In the event of a water landing, chances you will make it are slim to none" or "in the event of any other kind of landing, you will most likely be incinerated by the fire and possible explosion caused by the crash." Wow, looks like my positive attitude has dissipated there... sorry, I will try and rekindle it.

I did enjoy the expressions on the faces of the actors in that video. The girl showing us how to put on our life jackets in the event of the water landing in which we would likely perish had a huge grin on her face implying she was about to go on another hot date with the promising man she met on Match.com. Yeah, not the best acting job. If she knew she was about to plunge into the icy ocean and get devoured by sharks, I think her expression would be a bit different. Unless she just popped some anti-anxiety meds.

See? All of this fantastic free time has enabled me to do so much already, and it has only been about two hours. Just imagine the long, ranting blogs that will await you after my flight to Delhi! The pics below: Denver sky, New York, and the barely visible Statue of Liberty.

What Smells?

I am about to take my final shower for the next 17 days. Yes, you read that correctly. I figured what the heck, I may as well fully embrace a grimy lifestyle and take my lack of hygiene to a new level. That, and my host family does not own a shower. At least they have that flushing toilet I mentioned a few posts back. It's going to be just like the time I first saw Psycho and couldn't bring myself to shower for a week. I am bringing mass amounts of dry shampoo and deodorant in the hopes of fooling everyone. I'm not sure it will work so well...

One thing is for sure- I will never enjoy a shower as much as I will when I take one after 17 days. I really shouldn't complain considering my friend in the Peace Corps went five months without a shower.  I'm sure showering will be one of many things I miss from here after I leave in a few hours. My bed is another thing, as I will be roughing it Boy Scout style in a sleeping bag on the floor. So maybe add "sleep" to the list of things I will miss.

However, the things I discover about myself and about another culture will far outweigh my desire to be among the comforts of home. I can't wait to take in the colors, the cuisine and even the chaos. I'm excited to meet new people and remember why it is that I have such an inextinguishable addiction to travel. 

Behold: the last photo of me fresh out of the shower and actually clean. Don't get used to it.

Malaria or Malaria Meds?

After experiencing every single listed side effect for my malaria prevention medication, I'm about ready to chuck them down the garbage disposal, throw caution to the wind, and potentially contract malaria. Here are your options, let's see what you all would choose.

Malarone (malaria prevention drug) Side Effects:
-Dizziness
-Nausea
-Vomiting
-Coughing
-Diarrhea
-Loss of appetite
-Headaches
-Mouth sores
-Stomach pain
-Weakness

Malaria Side Effects:
-Vomiting
-Fever
-Headache
-Chills
-Sweating

Hm... the second list looks a heck of a lot shorter to me. Especially since I am one of the lucky ones who is experiencing not only one but all BUT one side effect of that drug. This morning I was so dizzy I felt drunk, so nauseous I can barely keep liquids down and my appetite has flown the coop. I'm so desperate to get something in me that I have resorted to drinking those juices that I downed during my juice cleanse. Just the smell of the oatmeal Craisin and white chocolate chip cookies I just made at work is making me want to hurl. Heck, even just writing the name of those cookies has the same effect.

The other bizarre side effect not listed on the package but that many online claim they have experienced is strange, unpleasant dreams. I definitely can attest that I had a horrific nightmare last night, thought whether or not it was related to the Malarone is indeterminable. We will see what my mind concocts tonight.

When push comes to shove, the thought of this little creeper depicted below is enough to make me want to keep dealing with the meds. If it were cute like giardia, I wouldn't be so opposed.

Aww, look at this lil' cutie!

No thanks. 

Fear of Flying

Despite how much I do it, I am still beyond terrified of plane travel. The slightest bump and I instantly panic and brace myself for the end as my life flashes before my eyes like an emotional graduation slideshow. My aerospace engineers have tried to explain turbulence to me in "simple" terms (or, at least what they consider to be simple terms...). They have equated it to driving over a pothole. I've looked up online how planes fly. The unnatural idea that a gigantic metal vessel can physically fly through the air still completely unnerves me. I always try to remember the words of a former seat neighbor of mine when he tried to calm me down during a turbulent flight: "do you think the pilot WANTS the plane to crash?? No!" Such words of wisdom. It's not like turbulence is a harmless thing, either. In the news about a month ago there was a story about a United flight that experienced such intense turbulence that a woman was thrown from her seat and cracked the ceiling with her head. What??

This may as well be written in Chinese

Let's be honest, dying in a plane crash would have to be the worst way to go. The pre-death anxiety and the long, drawn out process of falling from such an altitude could probably induce a heart attack (at least things would end that way before hitting the ground). Dying next to strangers would make the whole thing exponentially worse- at least if you were traveling with friends and family you would be dying in good company and could commiserate about all the things you wish you'd done in your life that was cut way too short, or make any confessions that were plaguing your conscience. Although you would probably become fast friends with a stranger beside you if you both knew it was the end.

It doesn't help that a Malaysia Airlines plane went missing a few days ago, carrying 239 passengers and crew all assumed to be dead unless other evidence presents itself, making it the deadliest crash in 13 years. What positive news to read right before embarking on a 16 hour flight to India! I mean, this plane DISAPPEARED. No trace! That's not only terrifying, but creepy as well. The only thing that would make a plane crash worse would be if it were caused by some sort of foul play like terrorists or alien abductions. I don't want my life to end in some sort of Amelia Earhart, Bermuda triangle scenario leaving everyone wondering about my death and causing investigative reporters to make a 60 Minutes special about the lost United Airlines flight to New Delhi in 2014.

So, T-minus four days until I leave, and this is my larges apprehension once I leave. Only once I have made it from the gate in the USA to the gate in New Dehli will I heave a sigh of relief. 

Western Toilets

Last week, I received an e-mail containing the specifics of my upcoming volunteer placement in the Northern Indian village of Bir. The first thing that struck me was the emphasis placed on the fact that I would be in a home with a Western-style, FLUSHING toilet. This fell under the most pertinent information category, which concerned me. What must the volunteer organization think of us pathetic, privileged foreigners going there to volunteer? That we would expect a flushing toilet? I've seen Slumdog Millionaire. I know people squat over holes in the ground in other parts of the world. The most crucial item in my bag is a multitude of toilet paper rolls (that are not typically used by Indians), so I was basically planning on roughing it hygienically. I kind of figured the part about being provided three meals a day would have been a bit higher on the priority list. Or, the bit about being in walking distance of a healthcare facility. In my world, these all top "flushing toilet."

My number one priority while traveling

Aside from the flushing toilet news, I also discovered that I will be at one of two projects: either teaching 13 children under age 3, or 17 children between the ages of 4 and 6. Wow. This will take my babysitting experience to a whole new level. Plus, in the evenings, I can help teach English to monks. Not sure that it will be my forte, but hey, I'll take a stab at it. I am open to anything at this point, que sera sera! Staying in Bir will be a grounding experience for sure as it is such a tiny, off-the-beaten-path village in Northern India. I also hope to find it a welcome contrast after sightseeing in Delhi, a chaotic city of people crammed together.

As anyone who is even slightly acquainted with me knows, I have this everlasting, passionate love and obsession with Indian food. It is so intense a love that after my last bite of an Indian dish, I instantly crave another. I think I may actually die and go to Heaven with my first bite of authentic Indian food while on authentic Indian soil (well, probably concrete since my first bite will be in a city). That would make for an interesting obituary at least. Another possible event that will cause me to die and go to Heaven is practicing yoga in India. Definitely a huge check mark on the bucket list. Only one week to go!