The Last Resort

After a beautiful three hour drive from Kathmandu we arrived at The Last Resort which is situated on the top of a gorge 12km from Tibet. After checking into our very cool safari tents we headed out for a hike up into the stunning hillsides. The hike was beautiful and we met the cutest kids on the way. We stopped off at a local house on the way down to try some homemade “beer” which tasted like a combination of stomach acid, corn, charcoal and dirt. After the hike we went to the sauna where I set my new sauna record of 40 consecutive minutes, exiting right before I thought my body would melt.

The next day we got up early to jump off a 450+ foot high bridge that spans a tropical gorge with the wild Bhote Kosi river raging below. Bungy was available at the resort but I wanted to try The Swing (http://www.bungynepal.com/swing.htm), something I had never seen before. This is the highest canyon swing in the world and the thought of jumping off the bridge both thrilled and terrified me, which is why I knew I had to do it. The canyon swing involves being attached to a rope that spans the canyon and is located about 90m in front of the bridge; once you jump off the platform you freefall for about 8 seconds before the rope attached to your waist pulls tight against the other rope and you begin to swing at 150km per hour through the gorge.

There were about 25 people signed up to jump and as I waited for my turn to jump I became incredibly nervous; at one point while watching someone else jump my knees became so weak that I had to sit down. If I had to name one fear it would be of extreme heights, which is exactly where I found myself standing on the bridge. One man who had signed up for bungy stood on the platform and then suddenly backed out. My stomach turned. I said a prayer for Meg, Kirsten and I and resolved to just do it. My heart was fluttering while the harness was put on me and I tried to focus on breathing. Finally they called my name; it was time to jump.

As I walked to the platform I started to feel very calm and I was ready. The crew member reviewed what I was to do; hold the rope with both hands and take a hop off the platform. He began to count; one…...two…...and I jumped! The only sound I could make was a guttural “Ohhhh!” I fell so fast that the wind rushed into my lungs making it impossible for me to make a noise. It was such a strange feeling to be in such a long freefall; it was enough time to formulate thoughts like “What did I just do?!” and “I change my mind!!” This is when I began to kick my legs. Then the rope pulled taut and I began to swing at such an incredible speed above the gushing water. As I swung I looked back up at the bridge amazed at what I had just done. I let go of the rope and relaxed my body to enjoy the swing. It was fantastic! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C7urCnDRDXY) The rest of the day was really low key compared to jumping off a bridge; I read my book and thought to myself several times “you jumped off a 450 foot high bridge this morning!”

The next morning was our last day at The Last Resort. We had a great breakfast and packed up our stuff to head out to the river where we would begin our rafting trip. I had never rafted before and I was nervous that I would fall out of the boat. My fear was in vain and I had a fantastic time navigating the smoky turquoise water. While being tossed around the rapids I screamed more in shock of the icy water than out of fear. We stopped on the bank of the river for a picnic lunch before heading back into the freezing water for the final push down the river. The guides directed us to a large rock on the bank of the river where we were able to jump and fall twenty feet before being plunged into the frigid water. It was a great trip and I am looking forward to my next rafting experience.

Our time at The Last Resort was amazing and I hope I can return in the future to try the bungy!

Lighting a path...

When I entered one of my 8th standard classes this week the students were poring over yellow cards that the teachers had handed out. I asked my co-teacher what they were and she told me that the students had received their result cards from September exams. “Are they happy?” I asked her. She gave me a smile that said neither yes nor no. “In this class 10 students have passed.” This is a class of 64 students. Confused, I asked “You mean passed their English exams?” This would make sense to me because this is one of the lowest classes; most of the students come from very rural areas and have received poor English training prior to entering Madhi High School. “No,” she replied “ten is the number of students who have passed all subjects.” I was floored. Here I am trying to teach English, and they aren’t even able to pass exams in Gujarati or Hindi, their native language. “These students have a difficult time learning” she added. I had suspected just that and now it was made evident.

I went on with class as usual but I couldn’t stop thinking about it; 10 out of 64! The common belief of the Indian teachers is that the students in C, D, and E classes are backwards and dull. To me that is unacceptable. These students are not dull, even though their test scores may tell a different story. If anything, these students are the victims of an education system gone bad; the cracks in the system have widened and more and more students are falling through them. I know my students are smart and capable; they just haven’t been given a chance.

The students must take the result cards home to show their parents, who must then sign the card in multiple areas so the school knows they are informed of their child’s progress. As the students handed them back to the co-teacher she scanned the cards to make sure all the signatures were there. On some of the cards there was no signature. Instead, there was a thumbprint; a sign of an illiterate parent. I was surprised at the number of thumbprints on the cards and I mentioned this to my co-teacher. “Many parents are farmers, they have no need to read, and therefore they cannot help with homework.” Again, I felt another blow.

This cycle of illiteracy has been spinning in some families for generations and it may continue to spin unless something is done to stop it. I have no illusions that in ten months I can overhaul the system, but I do know that I can make a difference, even if it is only one student at a time. What I hope is that I can slow the spinning down enough to give these students a chance to grasp something, to learn something that can pull them out of cycle and hopefully not only change their lives, but also the lives of their children.

On the wall of my room I have a small card with a quote by Buddha: “Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” It reminds me of something my students in China told me; A teacher is like a candle; they burn themselves to give light to others.

I want to be their candle.

Delusional in Delhi

On September 17th I returned from my trip to Delhi, and I couldn’t have been happier to be back in my tiny village. There were some highlights, but the trip to Delhi was mostly riddled with frustrations, difficulties, sicknesses and scams. Let me tell you my tale…

Our trip began on the Paschim Express, train number 2925 to Delhi. We left at 4pm on September 10th and arrived in Delhi on September 11th at 10am. The craziness of Delhi hit us as soon as we stepped off the train and didn’t let up until we boarded our train home 6 days later. Rain had descended on Delhi the day we arrived and the city was coated in a grimy film.

Delhi is a patchwork quilt of humanity and the vast disparity of economic status and social class collide in the bustling city of 12.8 million people. Delhi’s wide variety of people can be attributed to the turmoil of Partition when it became a refuge for many who were displaced during that period of history. The majority of people living in Delhi are not native to the city, one of the largest groups being the descendants of refugees from Punjab. In Delhi you can find the privileged and the disadvantaged, the over indulged and the ignored, the obese and the starving. The city was such a dizzying array of sights and smells that I often felt bombarded and over stimulated. If you aren’t prepared, Delhi will consume you; it sucks you in and spits you out.

Our first concern was finding a place to stay. The New Delhi Train Station is located in an area of Delhi know as Paharganj which is regarded by Delhilites as being a breeding ground for seedy activities, especially when night falls. Main Bazaar, across from the train station, is the heart of Paharganj and was where we headed to find a hotel. We price shopped several places and finally settled for a 400rupee ($8.50)a night room complete with cockroaches, no hot water, and a broken toilet. Home sweet home.

After showering and unpacking we hit the streets in search of a tourist office to plan some trips, a decision we would later regret. We ended up at a travel agency located in Connaught Place, a landmark shopping district laid out in concentric circles in the heart of New Delhi.I was skeptical of this agency but went along with the other girls. We booked three tours, our first being a day trip to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. The Agra tour was booked for the next morning and we were scheduled to be met in the lobby of our hotel at 6:15am. The other two tours were a day tour of Delhi and a day trip to Jaipur. After painfully handing over our hard earned rupees we headed to Café Coffee Day for a cup of real coffee before heading back to Main Bazaar to get ready for a night on the town.

Two other teachers from our foundation were also in Delhi and we arranged to meet at an upscale lounge called Q’ba in Connaught Place. After a drink we determined that we needed to find a more economically feasible place to enjoy ourselves and so we jumped into rickshaws and headed out to the Defense Colony, an area developed during the British rule. On the way we passed the New Friendship Colony and a sign that said “New Friendship Club (members only).” It seemed a little oxy-moronic to me, but that’s Delhi.

We settled into a more rupee friendly bar and enjoyed exchanging tales of our travels to Delhi. When the bar closed Meghan, Kirsten and I weren’t ready to head home so we talked to some locals and headed to an upscale club in a nearby neighborhood where we were the only foreigners. It was a little shocking to see so many Indians in a context we never see in our small village. These were the privileged; people with disposable income and with time to spend it. The Indian girls in the club were dressed in the same manner as can be seen in Western clubs; a drastic difference from the modest salwar kameez that dominates our area of India. Our night of dancing finally ended at 2am and we jumped into a rickshaw for the twenty minute ride back to our place.

We had only slept a few precious hours when our alarm woke us up; the Taj Mahal was waiting. We were in the lobby at 6:15 when a man entered and motioned us to follow him. He took us through the twists and turns of the confusing back streets and alleyways of Main Bazaar, and I hoped we wouldn’t have to ever navigate this area alone. Finally we popped out on the other side of Paharganj and were standing on a busy main road. We waited awhile before a rickety bus finally pulled up. We were told that we would arrive in Agra at 10am, but as the clock ticked away, so did my patience.

Finally, at 1pm we pulled into the heart of Agra and my excitement was growing when the bus suddenly pulled over and a man boarded. He looked at us, the only foreigners on board, and spoke in broken English saying that we should get off the bus and follow him. I knew something was up because none of the Indians on board were being asked to get off. The four other teachers started to get off the bus, accepting what he said without any questions. I hesitatingly remained in my seat until they had all jumped off the bus. At this point I knew we were being scammed and I was torn; should I get off the bus and risk not seeing my friends, or stay on the bus and risk running into problems alone? The girls started calling to me from outside and I hurriedly grabbed my stuff and reluctantly jumped off the bus. The scam was off and running and we were the unlucky victims, literally along for the ride.

There were two rickshaws and two drivers waiting for us. The drivers spoke good English; obviously, they have done this before. They explained to us that our tour bus was in fact not going to the Taj Mahal because it was an Indian tour bus and Indians were not interested in the Taj. They said they would be taking us around to the different sights, and that at 4pm we would meet back up with our tour bus for our trip home to Delhi. I was already annoyed with the drivers at this point and I could see where this scam was going; I had seen it before in China and other countries. Memories of being taken to the endless factories and shops on these types of tours flashed through my mind.

They zipped us around the city, whipping in and out of traffic. We stopped outside the entrance of the south gate of the Taj and were told we had about 1 hour and 30 minutes before we had to meet. At this point I was already in and out of arguments with the drivers. Early on I established that we had absolutely no intention of paying them anything at the end of the day. To this they responded with feigned hurt, as if they were offended. “Listen Madam! I am doing this for you! It is my job to take you.” I wasn’t buying it or letting up with my obvious annoyance. Later Kirsten told me that the driver kept asking why I was so difficult and it made me laugh.

We paid for our tickets and excitedly headed to the metal detector where I got an intimate pat down by an unfriendly female guard. The Taj is surrounded by a large wall that resembles the Red Fort in Delhi and it takes about a five minute walk through perfectly manicured grounds before even glimpsing the Taj. As I walked closer I could see the Taj looming in the distance and I caught my breath. My eyes were taking in the one of the most beautiful things in the world, but my mind couldn’t grasp it. The perfection made it look fake, as if it was a painted backdrop. The Taj is symmetrically perfect, as tall as it is wide, and I was awestruck. I stood for a minute just looking at it; I contemplated the immense undertaking of building such a structure without any modern technology and the kind of love that moves a man to build something of such beauty. Then I started my thorough photo documentation.

The marble used in the Taj is smooth and milky white but when the sun is setting it takes on a slight rose tint. It was so smooth and I liked the feeling of the warm marble on my bare feet. Throughout the Taj there are inlaid flowers made from a shinier, multi-colored marble and verses from the Koran are scripted onto the marble above the door and arch ways. Some of the marble is cut into intricate lattice work and is unbelievably detailed. The Taj is a spectacularly amazing work of art made quite literally with love.

We met back up with our drivers and the perfection of the Taj was soon forgotten as the scam continued. We drove for a bit and pulled up to two shops; a “marble works factory” and a leather store. I knew it! Now the drivers were going to get some commission for bringing us here and I was going to have no part of it. I was so annoyed that I marched up to the driver and said in an abrupt tone “We do not want to see a marble factory and a leather store. We want to eat lunch.” To which he replied “Why are you never listening to me!? Your problem is you never listen! We are not going to marble factory and leather store! We are going to marble factory!” Ugh! I refused to go in and spent some time in the parking lot counting to ten. We then piled into the rickshaws and pulled up to a restaurant; it was lunch time and again they would be making money by bringing us here.

The restaurant was very run down and there were very few patrons inside, not a good sign. I was now in no mood to really eat, but knew I had to eat something and here is where a crucial decision was made. The other girls went about ordering chicken sandwiches, vegetable tikka, and curry dishes, but I was skeptical. I ordered nan, a flat piece of bread, and a Thums-Up, an Indian cola; my best decision of the trip.
It was now approaching 4pm and I was very concerned about meeting the bus. The drivers didn’t seem so worried and stopped once at a “cultural handicrafts shop” and became very upset when we refused to go in. No commission there. They then drove us to where the bus would be meeting us, but of course, it was going to be an hour late. They suggested going into a sweet shop that makes a famous Agra treat to kill time. How convenient.

At 5pm the bus did show up and I happily said goodbye to our scamming guides and took my place next to the Bangladeshi man. “Where did you go!?” he asked with concern. He then told us that they had indeed gone to the Taj, and they spent more time there than we did! They also got to see other famous sights that we did not. I was so angry, but then I realized I had to just let it go. I had just seen the most magnificently breathtaking building and I should be happy with that.

The ride back to Delhi took a painfully long 9 hours! We stopped at two different temples along the way and made various other stops at roadside restaurants, which is where Kirsten started to feel sick. We boarded the bus and began to drive and she began to throw up out the window. As we continued on Meghan began to feel sick as well and she threw up into a bag.

Finally, we pulled into Delhi and the bus started to drop passengers off at their pick-up points. We said goodbye to the two other teachers and soon it was the three of us and an Indian couple on the bus. We stopped where we had been picked up, got off the bus, and watched it pull away. We were left on the side of the road to fend for ourselves; this is what I had hoped would not happen. The Indian couple quickly disappeared into the complicated alleyways and soon we were completely alone at 2am in one of the worst areas of Delhi, and we were lost.

We walked for a bit unsure of where to go until we saw a light shining from a doorway. We were so relieved to have stumbled upon a police station and two police men on duty. They called someone from another station to walk us back to our hotel where we collapsed, utterly exhausted, into our beds.

Even though I was not afflicted by food poisoning like the other girls I was still feeling very sick. My head was pounding, my body ached and it was radiating heat even though I was freezing. I slept from 3am until about 7am when I forced myself out of bed to call the agent and cancel the tour of Delhi slated for that day; we would not be going anywhere. The next day we took it very easy while we tried to recover. We met up with a friend and visited Old Delhi. We saw the Jama Masjid, the biggest mosque in India, took pictures at the Red Fort, saw the Lotus Temple and rode cycle rickshaws around the crazy streets. On our last day in Delhi we met our friend at a mall to watch an American movie and then he took us to his house and cooked us a delicious chicken dinner.

The next morning we packed and got ready to say a cheerful goodbye to Delhi. We boarded our train, settled in to our beds and breathed a sigh of relief as we left the chaos of Delhi behind us. This trip was not the enjoyable trip we had envisioned, but there were some patches of good hidden among the bad. I’m willing to give Delhi one more chance, which will happen next week. Hopefully that trip will show me the better side of Delhi.
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Don't drink the skin!

Something that we have learned to vehemently avoid is drinking skin; the skin that forms on the top of our chai and coffee that is. The milk that is delivered to us daily is fresh milk (hours out of the cow perhaps) and is not pasteurized. We have to boil the milk to help kill any bacteria and to make the milk last longer. During our first weeks here we did not know we needed to boil the milk and a glass of milk left in the fridge after one day turned into something that looked a science experiment. It was scary.

The milk we get has a higher content of fat as well. We can’t order 1% or skim. It comes as it does; fatty. Our cook has recently been skimming this fat off the milk and saving it in a bowl. She then made this into butter, which she then turned into ghee (clarified butter) that is used in much of the cooking here.

The higher fat content is what I blame for the infamous skin. After making a fresh cup of chai on the stove I let it sit to cool, and as it cools, the skin forms. I usually try to move the skin aside but occasionally it sneaks its way into my mouth, which I then promptly spit out. It’s not that it tastes bad; it’s just kind of gross, and well, it is a bunch of fat. Sometimes as we all sit around the table drinking our chai or coffee while reading someone will suddenly spit out a mouthful of chai back into their mug and I know; the skin found its way in. My favorite is the unsuspecting swallow where someone is so involved in what they are doing that they don’t notice that the fat has formed. As they take a drink it takes them by surprise, and it comes dribbling out of their mouth as they try to get it out. You may think I have no life if I am sitting around watching people drink chai, and you would be right. Why else would I be writing a blog about chai skin?

Happy Anniversary!

This weekend I celebrated my three month anniversary; with India. My arrival in June seems so far away and some days it seems that the more I learn about India, the less I know. I have learned that in India there are some things you can always count on, like the lunchtime chai delivery at 1:25 every day and the consistent inconsistencies of power and water. Stereotypes of India and of Indian people should never be counted on.

In my three months I have developed relationships not only with my students, but also the Gujarati teachers and one teacher in particular comes to mind. Upon meeting this teacher for the first time I was unsure how to feel about him. He introduced himself as the PE teacher, but he didn’t have to tell me that for me to know. I could tell by the shirt tucked into his sweat pants, the athletic shoes on his feet and the whistle around his neck. He also walked around with such an overbearing air; he was loud, his eyes could stare any student into submission and his whistle blows were sharp and piercing. It was funny to me that such a stereotype could cross cultures. Truth be told, I was a little scared of him at first.

Needless to say, I was more than a little surprised when I found the PE teacher in the back of my first Spoken English class. “I want to learn from you,” he explained when he could see my eyes questioning his presence. His English was broken and we communicated with holes of confusion. He made notes on paper from my writing on the board and I could tell he was making a concerted effort to improve his English. When my section of boys got too loud one day he was quick to reprimand them and I decided that this arrangement would work quite nicely; I could teach him English and he could help with classroom management.

Our conversations became more frequent and we talked about many different things. I learned things about his family and told him things about mine. We talked about the different sports the students enjoy and how to play them (although I still have no idea how to play Kho-Kho). When I needed rides to and from the English Medium school he was quick to volunteer, his reply to my "thanks" always being “No mention.” One day another American teacher was introduced to him and she told him that his English was very good. He laughed, and pointing to me said “She is a good teacher.”

Another teacher that I have grown very fond of is a primary teacher that I work with. Together we teach 6th and 7th standard, two of my favorite classes. Our working relationship in the classroom is seamless. After class on Thursdays we sit together in the primary staff room drinking tea and talking. She said she would help to arrange my marriage, and I half agreed. Her love for her students is obvious and I am so happy that we can teach together.

Someone else that I have enjoyed spending time with is a trustee on the school board. Within the first two weeks of arrival in India we had an invitation to his house down the street for a Mexican dinner. His family worked hard to make us feel at home and that night I had the best ice cream I’ve ever eaten. Tonight I called him to ask if he knew a place to get faluda, our new favorite Indian dessert. He said he didn’t know of a place but that he would call back in five minutes. When my cell rang he said he was waiting outside our house. We jumped in his car and he took us to his house where his wife made us delicious faluda and we feasted on custard apples while sitting on his porch swing. It was a very nice night.

I am always so surprised at the level of kindness and hospitality shown to us. I love getting to talk candidly with people here and the new ideas that form in my head as a result of those talks. I am enjoying the relationships that I am developing and I look forward learning more from them.

"Super Fast Express" to Chennai

On August 5th we all piled into a jeep and headed to the Surat Train Station. The last time I was at this station was when I first arrived in India, fresh off a flight from San Francisco. I remember walking around the station in a daze, feeling jet lagged, tired, confused, and apprehensive about my decision to move to this chaotic country. Now, after being in India for about two months the station felt more manageable. It was packed full of people as we made our way to the crowded platform to wait for our “Super Fast Express” train to the South. When our train finally pulled into the station we climbed aboard, stored our stuff under the bunks, took a look around, and settled in for the start of our 36 hour journey, which was anything but “Super Fast.”

The start of the trip was nice. Men selling snacks, cold drinks, chai, and coffee frequently moved through the car and I enjoyed many cups of both. I sat on the bottom bunk by the window and watched as the amazing scenery flew. Since there was no AC in our car the barred windows remained open the entire trip so we could catch a breeze. Our birth was next to the door so at times I sat on the steps of the train and watched as the ground sped past my feet (not very safe in hindsight). The recent rain had turned the countryside of Gujarat into stunning colors of green and as we flew past fields of sugar cane and paddies of rice we glimpsed women in their colorful saris toiling away in the humid heat.

As we continued south the green gave way to shades of yellow and brown and the wind blowing in our car started to get hotter and hotter; so hot in fact that I had to move away from the window. We were now traveling through the desert and our nice train ride had turned into a trip through a wind tunnel in hell. The scenery was now drastically different; dry, arid land surrounded our train as we flew past lone palm trees providing respite from the blazing sun to lone herders.

We were all miserable by this point and I couldn’t even handle sitting next to anyone because of the extra body heat that was generated. I climbed up to the top bunk and tried to find my happy place in such an uncomfortable environment. I pulled out my bag of coveted Hershey Kisses, my fail safe, and wanted to cry when I saw that they had all melted! Feeling distraught, frustrated and tired I laid down on the hard, vinyl covered bed and tried to sleep through the night. In the morning I climbed down from my hot perch, eyes red, energy level low and craving for coffee high. I sipped on coffee and immersed myself in my book, trying to forget that our train was to arrive in Chennai at 4pm and it was just barely after 8am. Finally, we arrived in Chennai, a mere 36 hours after departure.

The Chennai Train Station was huge and bursting at the seams with people. We negotiated a mini-bus to take us to our dorm which had been confirmed weeks in advance and it took about 45 minutes to make our way through the busy city. I was so excited to get settled in and finally take a cold shower; it was my light at the end of the tunnel, or rather, the end of my train tracks. Upon arrival we were told that this was a men’s dorm and we were not allowed to stay there. There was a mix-up in the reservation and apparently our names were mistaken to be names of men! At this point we were all exhausted and feeling disgusting after sweating profusely for the last 36 hours. The only thing on my mind was a cold shower and scrubbing off the train grime from my body. After about an hour of waiting they were able to find a place for us to stay at a nearby campus, which we walked to in the thick humidity.

The dorm can be compared to accommodations at a summer camp; a really bad one; for really bad kids. Our room had three wooden beds covered with a very thin cotton mat (circa 1950 perhaps) and decaying fabric that tried to pass as a sheet. I gave the pillow a couple pats and clouds of dust flew into the air. Mosquitoes were already buzzing around, obviously excited that they would have fresh flesh to feed on for the next four nights. The ceiling fan was spinning in the most lackadaisical manner and barely produced a breeze at all. I groaned and headed for the shower/bathroom which was located downstairs and through a courtyard; not a trek I would be making in the middle of night alone.

Life always seems better after a shower and we felt renewed by the cleansing water and were ready to hit the town. We jumped into some rickshaws in search of some dinner. I feasted on a burger (veggie of course) and savored my first cold beer in India. We were still tired from our exhausting trip and so we went to bed early. Again, it was almost impossible to sleep because of the heat and mosquitoes. I was the only one to bring bug repellent which we had to use sparingly between the three of us because it was a very small can. It only contained 23% deet; no match for the determined mosquitoes. They acted as if we didn’t have any deet on at all and proceeded to feast. I tried to cover my body with my sheet to protect myself from bites, but then I became impossibly hot. In the morning I was covered in bites and the bed had given me fresh bruises on my hips and back. Looking at the bites covering my body and face I thought that my souvenir from Chennai would be a case of malaria. This is not what I had in mind.

Our purpose in Chennai was to attend a conference for English teachers. The takeaway from the conference was questionable; most of the lecturers geared their talk towards college age students and the assumption that resources fully abound. This is not the case for us where we teach. My resources are a chalkboard and a piece of chalk; I can’t even rely on electricity in my classrooms. I had to laugh when a man wanted to demo a language program that cost $20,000. He had to laugh when I told him my yearly budget is $500. Some of the lectures were interesting and we did get to network with some teachers. There were only 5 other foreingers from America, Canada, and the UK. To be honest, my favorite part of our days at the conference became our twice daily tea break.

When we weren’t busy in the conference we explored Chennai as much as we could. Chennai is a nice city and is much cleaner and more organized than the bigger cities we have explored in Gujarat. It is situated on the ocean, making for high humidity and heat, and during our time there it was unusually hot. We sped through the city in rickshaws, cutting in and out of the busy traffic. We spent some time in a coffee shop (with real coffee! no Nescafe!), stopped at an English bookstore-twice (I went a little crazy), walked along the beach at night and ate the best masala dosa at a local favorite spot. Chennai definitely has more to offer, but our limited time there only allowed us to get a small taste of the city.

Reluctantly, we returned to the Chennai Train Station to board our 36 hour train home. My body was already tense just thinking about the next 36 hours and I seriously regretted not buying sleeping pills in Chennai. Again, I plunged myself into my book and then listened to my iPod as I stared out the window from my bunk. Slowly, the yellow and brown scenery returned to green as we crept closer ever so slowly back into familiar territory. As we stepped off the train onto the platform at Vyara an incriminating photo was taken (see below blog titled Feverish Foreigners) and we rushed to the vans that were arranged to pick us up. Happily we unlocked our front door and breathed a sigh of relief. We were home.

My thoughts at this very moment...

So I just finished posting a blog, but had such a hard time (and a bad day) that I felt that I needed to vent by posting a blog about posting my blog. Does that make sense? So here are some things that have annoyed me today…

This morning we had no water. This is a common occurrence and on more than one occasion I have used a bucket of water to shower; we learned early on to always have one bucket on hand for such occasions.

It has been incredibly hot lately, and especially today. For a couple weeks we had heavy rain, which cooled the weather considerably, but now we are back to extreme heat. At night I have resumed what I have termed sleeping Starfish Style, which means that I lay on my back with my arms and legs as far away from my body as possible to avoid any unnecessary contact that would generate more heat.

I am sitting on my living room floor under a fan because it is soooo hot. It is almost 10pm but the temperature is still unbearable. While I am sitting here on my floor I have been using my flip flops to kill the innumerable amount of bugs that are crawling everywhere around me. The migration of bugs into our house has increased, and today there are new bugs crawling around. They look like earwigs, but are much bigger and seemingly stronger since it takes on average three hits with my flip flops to kill them. After hitting the bugs I sweep them behind me; I just counted over 30 dead bugs so now I’m sitting among corpses. We also have these tiny little ants that seem to be meat-eating ants. Given the option between a piece of food or a dead bug, the ants always choose the bug. They find their way into my bed and bite me. Today a bunch of these ants were busy dismantling a bee that died in our bathroom. I was so fascinated by it that I didn’t want to sweep them away. Now the bee is gone.

I spent the majority of my day doing laundry, a job I HATE. I used to hate doing my laundry in college…going to the laundry mat, filling the machines with precious quarters, and waiting around for them to finish. That sounds amazing to me now. Doing laundry here means filling up buckets, scrubbing the clothes on a concrete slab, rinsing them, rinsing them again, wringing them out and hanging them out to dry. Have you ever tried hand washing a sheet or sari? Or wringing the water out of a towel? It’s hard! I hate it! I really miss washers and dryers.

Today I switched out my mattress. The one I had on my bed is molding in the humidity. I think it is full of some kind of hay material and anything that touched my bed took on a lovely musty/moldy smell. I couldn’t take it anymore so I took a mattress that was vacated recently by one of our interns who returned home. I’m hoping it will at least mold more slowly than the other.

I guess I should include some positives amidst all this venting, so here are 3 revolutionary purchases that have made my life better:

1. Peanut Butter-We found peanut butter at Diraj and Sons (a store known for carrying hard to find items) and were overjoyed. For some reason it all comes back to peanut butter. In China, peanut butter was also a comfort food. Peanut butter toast was the perfect ending to a mediocre meal, or in extreme cases, it was the meal. Now I have my peanut butter with a banana wrapped up in a roti. Delicious!

2. Pillow-The pillow that was on my bed when I arrived is also made of some hay derivative. One day I noticed a terrible smell in my room and sniffed my way around looking for the source. It was my pillow. Thus began my search for a pillow stuffed with some kind of poly filling. After much searching I found one and happily handed over my precious rupees for an odorless night’s sleep.

3. Fabric Softener- No matter how much I scrubbed my clothes, they never smelled very good. I have a pile of clothes I brought from America that I haven’t worn yet because they still smell like home and I know that if I wear them they will never smell good again (I know I’m weird, but that’s beside the point). While shopping at Big Bazaar (a Wal-Mart type store) I saw a tiny little bottle of softener and had to try it. It works! Now my clothes smell nice after washing.

Ok, the bugs are increasing in number and are trying to crawl into my lap top. Time for a dousing of deet so I can head to bed…