Pilgrims and INDIANS

There wasn’t a football game on TV, nor was there pumpkin pie or even turkey, but this Thanksgiving goes down in the books as one of my best ever. Just like our Puritan predecessors, we Americans celebrated surviving a season in strange new land, with lots of help from people we call Indians. On the brink of my departure from India, it was great to have an excuse to think about the things I’m grateful for and be with people I love.

I’m not sure if turkeys exist in India, so we decided to go with an equally American classic - mac n’ cheese - for our centerpiece dish. We coughed up some rupees for good (and, in India, very rare) farm cheese, and it was really worth it. Mashed potatoes were, of course, on the menu. We rounded out the meal with sweet potatoes, several varieties of roasted vegetables and cabbage salad. And what’s Thanksgiving without dessert? Luckily, the best apple in the world is baked right in Varanasi (who would have guessed?). Add in vanilla ice cream, chocolate cake, homemade peanut butter cookies and chocolates, and we had ourselves quite the feast.

We spent the afternoon cooking. After so many months, it felt great to be back in a kitchen again - peeling and chopping vegetables, sauteing and frying and mashing. Even washing dishes was pretty fun. Guests starting arriving around 7pm - professor Nawal Krishna, Australian friend Michelle, American friend Daniella, Nandini Majumdar and Ankur and Anupriya, children of the gatekeeper here at Nirman - and at 8 we all ate a lovely, gigantic, candlelit meal together. We told our friends about Thanksgiving and went around in a circle to say the things we were thankful for. Even in India, some things are so familiar - that comfy, overstuffed feeling of a bellyful of mashed potatoes and the happiness that comes from sharing a big meal with people you care about. 

Katie in the kitchen.

CHEESE.

Dinner by candlelight.

Mac n' cheese - the star of the show.

My delicious dinner. 

Head to the hills

We spent last week in Mussoorie, a town high in the foothills of the Himalayas. After months of horrendous heat and humidity, the cool mountain air was a dream - and the view of the snowcapped Himalayas, always just in sight beyond the foothills, wasn’t too bad either. We stayed in a drafty, musty, wonderful old guesthouse, and spent the week tramping around the hills, exploring the town and greatly enjoying wearing sweaters. 

Founded in 1825 as a British mountain outpost, Mussoorie quickly became a popular retreat as the Brits - who refused to remove their starched uniforms and multiple petticoats - fled to the mountains to beat the heat. Signs saying “No Indians or Dogs” were common in the downtown during British rule, but Indians like later-prime-minister Jawaharlal Nehru bucked the system, regularly visiting the town despite the fines and ostracism. Luckily, Mussoorie seems to have overcome this unsettling history - the tourists today are almost entirely Indian and the town is a popular getaway for overheated Delhi-ites. 

Our week in Mussoorie was fabulous. One day, we hiked to the mountaintop home of Mr. Everest (yup, that Everest) and a funny old resort called the "Cloud House," where we sipped chai atop the mountain. Another day we hiked to a hilltop town where we found - surprisingly enough - delicious homemade peanut butter. We visited a Tibetan Buddhist community and temple (very cool) as well as a waterfall (also cool, but maybe not worth being stuck in a two-hour traffic jam behind an overturned truck on a mountain road). After traveling many Indian cities, I can say that Mussoorie is far superior in terms of monkeys and streets dogs. Every night, we put on as many clothes as we possibly could and snuggled together under wool blankets. 

On the school’s dollar, we also ate well. Eating lots of Tibetan food (noodle soups! momos!) was a highlight for me, but the best of all was the “Chic-choc.” After five months of significant chocolate deficit, this brownie covered in ice cream and Oreo bits and chocolate chips and hot fudge REALLY hit the spot. 

We left Mussoorie the day before our train home, and headed to Rishikesh, a town on the Ganga River at the base of the mountains, where we went WHITE WATER RAFTING! (Yes, I needed to use all-capitals and an exclamation point, because that’s how awesome it was.) We splashed and paddled through the rapids of the Ganga, even jumping out to take a holy dip at a calm point in the river. It felt great to wash my sins away. Definitely one of the coolest things I’ve done in India. 

That night we stayed in Hardiwar, a pilgrimage city nearby. We spent the day wander the ghats amongst hundreds of pilgrims. Taking advantage of the non-terribly-polluted water, I stepped into the river to wash my face. That evening we hopped back on a 24-hour train, home to Varanasi for our last two weeks. 

Hello, Himalayas!

Coolest monkeys in India.

Ben spinning prayer wheels at the Tibetan Buddhist temple.

Delicious roasted street corn.

Not a bad view, Mr. Everest.

The Chic-Choc rocked my socks off.

Pilgrims bathing in the Ganga in Hardiwar.

Ode to my Flip-flops

You cost me less than two dollars, yet served me so well

Through cow shit and trash piles, I never once fell.

You traveled across India, by rail and by air

Somehow all the travel caused no wear and tear. 

Remember that hike in Orissa one day?

O’er hilltop, through jungle -  you led the way. 

On so many journeys through Indian streets,

I never once worried for the safety of my feets. 

But for one short moment I let you out of my sight,

And you fell victim to a naughty dog’s bite. 

I gasped when I saw you, torn and bitten apart. 

It was as if the dog’s tooth had punctured my heart. 

You made it halfway ‘round the world, but you won’t make it back

 You withstood so much, but not that final attack. 

Oh Old Navy flip-flops, you’ve been steady and true. 

For a buck ninety-nine, that’s one hell of a shoe. 

My poor, defeated flip-flops. 

Happy Diwali from Guria!

I love holidays in India because, for all the ways that they are different than anything I’ve ever seen, the feelings of excitement and celebration are incredibly familiar. Step out onto the street on an Indian holiday and you can feel something special in the air. Women are dressed in fancy new saris, decorations are strung across the streets, vendors set up street stalls to sell idol figurines and candles - add a few evergreen trees and nix the Hindu gods, and it wouldn’t feel that different than Christmas. And, of course, nothing is more familiar than the excitement of children during a big holiday - which is why I was so glad to be invited to the Diwali celebration at the Guria children’s center. 

Guria is a Varanasi-based NGO that I’ve become familiar with in the past few months. They work to prevent human trafficking and forced prostitution. In addition to the investigative and legal work that they do (founder Ajeet spent 9 months undercover in the red light district of Allahbad, gathering information about underage prostitution and police corruption. Total badass.), Guria also tries to prevent second generation prostitution through their non-formal education center. Located in the red light district of Varanasi, the center provides after school programming and meals for the children of prostitutes, giving them support (emotional as well as financial) so that they can stay in school and have futures that don’t lead towards prostitution. It’s a wonderful organization, run by incredibly dedicated individuals Ajeet and Manju. I heard about Guria in conversation, and spent a few afternoons at the children’s center. The kids are cheerful and outgoing, and love any bit of attention they can get. I found it really rewarding to go, and was more impressed with Guria each time I went. 

Celebrated in the days surrounding November 5, Diwali - the festival of lights - is perhaps the biggest holiday of the year. The kids, normally quite energetic and eager for attention, were on a whole new level. They shrieked with Diwali excitement, hugged us and hung on us, sang Bollywood songs and demanded their photos to be taken. They’d been divided into two teams in a decorations contest, and the kids dragged us by the hand to show off their creations. After we casted our votes in the decorations contest, we all headed to the roof for a fireworks show. The kids loved the explosions and lights, and I did too - although the equation of explosives + many small children + small rooftop space seemed a bit precarious to me. But that’s India for you. 

Overall, it was the best way I would have wanted to experience an Indian Diwali. Check out Guria’s website (http://www.guriaindia.org/) and keep them in mind during your holiday season. And, of course, HAPPY DIWALI!

Ben with a friend. 

Decorations. 

Miah and Maya

Me and my man Talib.

Rooftop lights. 

Fireworks!

In awe of fireworks.

36 Hours in Kolkata

Last weekend we took a group trip to Kolkata - the “city of joy,” the headquarters of Mother Theresa’s ministries and former British capital of India. 

The best train in India (so we’d been told) whizzed us overnight to Kolkata and we arrived around noon on Saturday, a bit wrinkled and smelly, but excited to be in a new place. After a long and hot battle through the horrendous traffic, we arrived at our swanky hotel (gotta love school-sponsored trips) and made a beeline for the delicious lunch buffet. 

We’d met our program director’s cousin, Rahul, on a previous trip to Lucknow. He lives in Kolkata, so he had promised to show us around when we came. His secretary picked us up at the hotel after our lunch, and took us to one of the Mother Theresa centers - an orphanage and home for disabled children. Seeing the sick kids was really intense and sad, but I was thoroughly impressed by the Mother Theresa center - it was colorful and filled with light, obviously a place with a lot of love. 

We next went to what we had been told was afternoon tea with Rahul’s boss. It turned out to be some sort of planned cross-cultural discussion. We found ourselves in a small room at a posh restaurant with about eight older Indian men and a few women, being grilled about philosophy and economics and religion and differences between the United States and India. We were all quite bewildered. I still don’t know exactly what the premise of this meeting was or who we met, but it was definitely makes my “top ten most awkward experience of India” list. 

Then, to New Market, an area of outdoor and indoor shops. We bartered for earrings and clothing, ate thoroughly unsatisfactory soft-serve ice cream and enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the open-air market.  That night, we went with Rahul and his family to his private club. We danced to Bollywood music, enjoyed free refreshments and rubbed elbows with Kolkata’s elite. 

The next morning we went to Victoria Memorial, an impressive monument to the British domination of India. A plaque inside, bearing a message from Queen Victoria promising Indian citizens freedom and equality as citizens of the British Empire, was especially ironic. We then went to the planetarium, which just wasn’t quite as cool as I was hoping. Alas. 

After a delicious Bengali lunch - giant prawns were a highlight - we freshened up at the hotel and  then went to Park Street, a shopping area of Kolkata. The best part was definitely Flury’s - a confectionary and pastry shop. I hadn’t tasted anything quite like that croissant in a while! Of course, we ran a bit late and were a bit frazzled as we rushed back to the hotel and on to the train station - only to find, of course, that our train was two hours late. After a few rounds of euchre and III, we boarded a train and awoke the next morning in Varanasi. 

Bumper to bumper...

The outside of the Mother Theresa Center (no pictures were allowed inside...)

New Market.

Victoria Memorial.

The magic of Flury's.

October travels!

On October 3, our long awaited, much anticipated two-week travel break began. Cathy, Ben and Cameron and I hopped on an overnight train and set off for 14 days of adventure, mishaps and delicious eats. 

Our first stop was Delhi, for the Commonwealth Games. They’re basically like the Olympics, but only including the 50-some nations of the British Commonwealth and featuring the gentlemanly kinds of sports you’d expect under Her Majesty’s rule. It’s sort of a bizarre concept, actually - let’s take the Brits and everyone they’ve screwed over throughout history, and make them play each other in sports. It was a jolly good time for us, though - we saw netball, badminton, squash and boxing. England creamed Barbados in netball, Malaysia narrowly beat North Ireland in a close round of badminton. I won a bet with Cathy about a badminton match (Singapore beat Jamaica, obviously) and now get to slap her as hard as I can at a time of my choosing. Squash was really interesting to watch, and boxing was exciting.  And despite what we’d been hearing ever since we arrived in India - that Delhi was completely unprepared for the Games, that they’d be disorganized and choatic - everything was pretty nice. Between buses and subway passes, we easily got around the city for three days. The buildings built for the Games were beautiful and eco-friendly. 

Next, we flew to the southern city of Chennai to spend three days on beach playing ultimate frisbee. We joined the Delhi team, who welcomed us amongst them and taught me a lot about frisbee (who knew that strategy was involved?). The tournament was a lot of fun - our team did pretty well, and jumping right into the ocean after a game felt glorious. We spent our free time wandering the beach area, eating delicious fish curry and hanging out with the frisbee team. One of the days we rented a car with a driver and went to Pondicherry, a city built by the French. We wandered through neighborhoods that seemed like they should be in Europe, not India, and had a lovely swim in the ocean. On the way, we stopped in Mahabalipuram, where we saw huge stone-cut Hindu temples. 

We left Chennai by train, splitting up into twos as we’d only been able to get two tickets in the air-conditioned class and two tickets in sleeper car. I rode sleeper car, which was quite the India experience. The car was packed to the brim: every bench filled, passengers dangling from the upper bunks and filling the floors. A breeze kept things cool when we were moving, but the car became sweltering on our frequent stops. The man sitting next to us mostly wanted to discuss his hatred for Muslims. Needless to say, after 22 hours Ben and I were very ready get off the train in Orissa. 

Orissa is a state on the eastern coast of India. Its mountains and beaches draw Indian tourists, but not many foreigners go there. We hadn’t planned out this part of the trip, but ended up hearing about some hot springs in a mountain village called Taptapani. We arrived late at night to a funny little resort called the Panthanivas, in Taptapani, and were amazed the next morning by the view the darkness had hidden: lush, green, rolling mountains. We spent three days hiking through the hills, swimming in creeks, bathing in the hot springs, reading, playing cards and annoying the restaurant manager by our mere presence. One day we walked up to a small village, where we got a lot of stares (I’m sure white people have rarely, if ever, been there), played with a super cute baby and ate a wonderful meal. 

And then it was time to go home. In Bhubaneswar, Orissa, we celebrated Cam’s 20th birthday with cake, movies watched in an AC hotel room and a great meal at a dingy little bar we came to love. The next morning we got on a train (thankfully, I rode AC car this time) and arrived back in good old Varanasi. 

North Ireland and Malaysia engaged in fierce combat. 

A temple in Mahabalipuram.

The only group shot.

Vendors by the ocean in Chennai. 

Pondicherry.

Sleeper car. 

A village in Orissa.

The view from our room in Taptani.

Train ride home. 

Pink Pangea post

A few weeks ago, I was contacted by Pink Pangea, a women's travel website, and asked to write a piece about my experiences. It should be up on the website, www.pinkpangea.com, pretty soon. Here's what I wrote:

Spending five months studying abroad in Varanasi, India seemed like a great idea when I filled out my application, tucked into my couch at home with a hot cup of tea. But when I arrived in Varanasi seven months later, I wasn’t so sure. The city was overwhelming - hot and dirty and crowded and chaotic. Every time I went out, I was met with the weight of the humidity, the smells of garbage, the exhaust fumes that filled my pores and lungs. People on the streets stared at me, made comments and snapped pictures of me with their cell phones, making me feel like an animal at the zoo. The electricity went out for up to twenty hours a day, sometimes leaving me stranded without a fan on unbearably hot nights. I got food poisoning. I got sunstroke. Spending nearly half a year in Varanasi seemed unimaginable. 

Twelve weeks later, I can say without a doubt that I’m glad to be here and wouldn’t have picked anywhere else to spend my college study abroad. It’s certainly been challenging, but I’ve learned a lot and feel a sense of home here. I’ve learned to navigate the city and haggle for fair prices with rickshaw drivers. I’ve spent time with Indian families and made friends my own age.  I’ve come to understand the order in the disorder, and see a beauty in the chaos. 

Daily life here has forced me to be aware of my gender more than ever before, which has been often difficult but also empowering. When I walk down the street, men stare and make inappropriate comments. People ask me why, as a young woman, I would travel to a foreign country without my family - or why I would even venture out into the city alone. The most frustrating thing is the very palpable feeling I often get that the men I encounter don’t really respect me - don’t necessarily consider my opinion valid or my requests legitimate. 

Though it can be really grinding to often feel this way, I’ve realized how much more assertive and confident I’ve become in the past twelve weeks. I insist that waiters acknowledge me. I argue with rickshaw drivers until I get the correct price. I continue to go out by myself in the city. I’ve realized that speaking up is more important than being polite, that I can be independent and self-assured even within a culture that doesn’t expect me to be. I think this will be one of the greatest things I gain from my time here. 

My advice to women traveling in India, and especially Varanasi, is this: dress appropriately, with shoulders, cleavage and upper legs covered. Modify your appearance, but never your attitude. Be firm with those you meet, speak confidently and always walk tall. 

Rainy afternoon

Empty, rainy streets. 

Goats taking cover from the rain. 

A new friend

Veggies!

After two months of days that rarely dipped below the 90s F, the weather seems to be changing. The monsoon season is ending, and I'm told it will give way to the best time of year in India - winter (and by winter, I mean days around 70 degrees F). That being said, the monsoon season is going out with a vengeance. It's been pouring the last few days! Though the weather was keeping most people inside the other day, I was itching to get out. Aided by my trusty umbrella, I ended up going for a three hour walk. Here are a few photos:

Lookin' good.

Ben and Cam showing off their new 'dos. 

Chasing trains

We went to Lucknow this weekend.

We - the 5 K College kids, Taylor and Alex from the University of Chicago, program director Nita Kumar and her daughter Irfana - were a bit late heading off to the train station (not helped by me forgetting my passport at the last minute) and then got stuck in horrendous traffic, so we arrived at the station at the exact time our train was supposed to leave. “RUN!” we were told, and run we did - despite the fact that we had no idea where we were going. We arrived breathless at one platform, only to realize that it was the wrong one, then took off again and finally found the correct train just in time to jump on as it was pulling away.

The train was nice - air-conditioned, with squishy stacked bed-benches. We brought lots of crunchy, packaged snacks and happened to be sitting close to the two CUTEST babies in the world, both of which helped passed the time. Somewhere around 10pm we pulled into Lucknow.

Some highlights from Lucknow:

“The Residency,” ruins of a British fort that was attacked by Indians in 1857. The Indians put up a good fight, but were ultimately defeated.

Barra Imambara, a building where Muslims gather on the anniversary of Muhammed’s grandson’s martyrdom. The upper floors of the building was a labyrinth of narrow stone tunnels - tremendously fun and pretty confusing.

Our hotel room, which had fluffy white beds and working air-conditioning. Living the good life!

Eating delicious meals, both at the hotel’s rooftop restaurant and at Nita’s mother’s home the following night. After gorging myself on mutton kebabs, chicken, channa masala (chickpeas) and lentil patties, my protein deficit has been fulfilled. I’m now prepared to handle another 7 weeks of potato sandwiches.

Visiting a fair-trade shop. A little pricey, but I got beautiful kurtis and cards!

Our train on the way home was significantly less comfortable than our first train. Our lovely beds were replaced by upright chairs, and the weak air-conditioning went off every time the train stop - which happened often, for long periods of time, in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. The other disappointment was that water was not available for purchase on this train, which was a significant concern for me. After several hours, I decided that I was going to find some water - goddamnit! - and eventually figured out that we were about to stop at a station where I could buy some. Katie, Ben, our new friend Ritz and I got off at the station and located water, but as we were buying it we saw that the train had begun moving! We sprinted through the station and eventually hopped onto the closest car we could reach - Ben, Ritz and I in one car, and Katie in a car in front of us. We rode for a while - the nighttime breeze making the coach car surprisingly pleasant - until the train slowed to another inexplicable stop in the middle of a rice paddy. Climbing down from the train to switch cars, I misjudged the height and fell, landing on my knee. It immediately began throbbing, but nevermind that - the train was moving again! Again, we ran after it and managed to jump onto the correct car. Back in 3rd class AC, we passed three hours reading and talking, and arrived in Varanasi only an hour behind schedule. My knee is a bit swollen and bruised. There are two small cuts, which I’m hoping will turn into scars. A small price to pay for such adventures.

Trains are great.

Pictures: Sign outside Barra Imambara. A view of a mosque. Our group on the rooftop of Barra Imambara. The Residency. Our new friend on the train to Lucknow.

Here's one for Ben's mom!

Benji on August 12, with his ice cream cake. Happy 21st birthday, Ben!

MONSOON!

Today started out as a scorcher. After a fifteen minute walk this morning, I had completely soaked through my clothes in sweat. The heat and humidity had been building for days, and there didn't seem to be any sign that they'd relent. Then, around 3pm, the sky clouded over and the rain came pouring down. It's the biggest rain we've had yet, and the cool water felt heavenly. Cathy, Ben and I went outside and ran around the grounds of Nirman in the downpour (wearing clothes that were ready for a good wash). Kids giggled and pointed at us from their classroom windows; the cooks clearly thought we were crazy. Right after the rains began, the kids were let out of school. They jumped and screamed and laughed and splashed, unable to contain their giddiness. The cool air felt delicious, the raindrops made happy little plunking noises and the excitement was contagious. I can see why Indians love the monsoon season!

A few sights around Varanasi

Pictures: A street near Assi Ghat. My Hindi homework - scriptwriting feels like learning a secret language. Katie eating Domino's pizza with Ronald McDonald at the Mall in Varanasi - what a weird evening. TRASH, so much trash. Cows on Assi Ghat, next to the Ganga River.