the kim times

On Liking My Students

2012-02-10T15:46:00.001+02:00

I, for the most part, love my students. They may have a hard time sometime, and sometimes they are completely ridiculous and disobedient and I want to scream at the top of my lungs...but for the most part, I really like them.

Yesterday I had a meeting at a big higher institute here with the Vice Rector of Academics, so I could talk about IT (partly for me and my class, partly for The Man). I had to go just after classes ended, so I was leaving around the time the students were scattering out. As I was walking out to the road, I hear my name being shouted behind me. One of my students, Queen, was running up behind me. "I want to walk with you, Ms. Kim!" So we walked and talked. Small talk, mostly, but it was nice.

As we were walking, we were coming to a treacherous area on the road - the dirt road slopes dramatically and is all sandy and slippery. Normally I'm in my hiking boots, so I don't mind, but today I was looking nice in my work slippers. I had a feeling of dread as we walked towards the slope, and I start to whimper.

Queen says, "Hold my hand, teacher!" And she led me down a softer, more stable area of the road. But I still panicked a little bit. And I ended up, in the end, shrieking down the hill and planted my foot accidentally in a large, deep pool of dirt and sand. Of course, I squealed. And there were other students watching us at the bottom of the hill, and they all shouted (as I screamed), "Oh no, Ms Kim!!"

Don't worry, I made it down alive. Queen saved me.

There's a villa at the end of the hill, and Denise knows the men in the villa. In fact, I believe they have quite a fancy for her. One of them heard my screams, and came out to see myself shin-deep in dirt. He laughed and said, "You should have told me you were coming down! I would have carried you!" I said, "That's frisky, mister." And he thought about it and responded, "Well, I would definitely carry Denise..."

I got on a moto and Queen with the other students started an argument with the moto driver. Apparently he wanted to rip me off, and they all got on his case and started to scold him. In Kinyarwandan, of course, so I am not positive what was said. But it was for me. I loved that.

When I was coming back from the meeting (which went excellently! The Vice Rector is a wonderful gentleman. And super helpful with IT world. And he even was gracious and kind when I asked him if I could visit him at his house in Tanzania sometime. Just you wait!), I was riding on a moto and opted to take the same hilly road back to school. Some more (different) students were hanging out there, and I gave a wave. All of a sudden I heard screams and squeals and, "I love you, Ms Kim!" shouted while I whirred by on the moto-bike. I feel like they like me, too.

It's super nice to feel appreciated and liked, especially by my students. Of course, I know they get annoyed with me and my many quizzes, and my scolding them when they don't listen to me...but I think they really like me through it all. That's nice. AND rewarding.

Cute Things & Travel

2012-02-09T10:16:00.001+02:00

Well, after a few days of ready to blow my cork and swearing under my breath, I want to, again, approach my blog in a positive manner. It can be extremely difficult to feel positive when I feel like I'm running through tar uphill. Sometimes right now I just feel like the forces that be are more or less out against me. Should I even be here?? There are some days lately I just want to quit it all and get into a bed and not be bothered for a week or so, then get on a plane to see The Man. And that's that.

Anyways! So I am going to make a great effort to bring myself back to things I enjoy. Like puppies, and baby pandas...

There are a few cute things here in Rwanda that I've been enjoying recently. I hope you enjoy it, too:

The goats! There are little goats that graze near the school on the way home. And their tails stick up! UP! Like little antennae. Just happily eating goats with tails all straight and narrow.
Babies. The babies here are absolutely adorable. Not only because they are wrapped up on their moms, as I have already discussed, but because they just are cute! There was this little baby boy with an adorable face a few days ago. He was learning how to talk, I think. I found him on a couch in a hotel just wobbling around with his legs splayed out. And I started to play with him. "Da da da da!" we would say to each other. I'd stomp my feet and he'd kick his legs on the couch, laughing. We clapped and had the simplest, most fun ever.
The cars here. I know, I know...how on Earth? Well, the only thing I can describe for the imagery is a little 12-passenger van hobbling up one of the many hills here, with a tilt. It's just cute! Little vans with a bit of a tilted manner is just like watching a little car tutting around with a little song in the background.
I've already said it, but...the birds.

I really need to get out of the city for a weekend, or a day, or a week, or whatever. I want to revive my humanity and see the beauty that is Africa. The stuff that people go gaga about and take millions of pictures about to show their families in frames at home. The red-dipped sunsets and the electric green jungles. Those things, I want to see. I need to see. I crave seeing.

Places I'm considering to see include:

Bujembura, Burundi
The Serengeti in Tanzania
Uganda
The Elephant Orphanage in Nairobi, Kenya
Goma (in a country I won't currently name) & Gisene (and Lake Kivu)
Butare
Bugesere
Lake Muhase
Gorilla Trekking and Volcano-ville in the North of Rwanda

Of course, this isn't an exclusive list. If there are other places that I end up going outside of Kigali, I am extremely open to seeing them. I want to share a lot of these with The Man, but it's a matter of time and logistics. I have to make sure that I want to be here more than a year or so before I bring The Man to be involved in anything. If I don't want to be here more than that, then I'll happily go home in a while after I'm done here.

About Mayonnaise

2012-02-07T12:13:00.001+02:00

I feel that this deserves a special recognition on my blog. I know I've mentioned it before, but I don't really feel like I touched on just how prevalent this subject is to the very core of what seems to be the nutritional values of this culture.

In the US, I feel that the staple food for people depends on where you from. For my family, it was butter. For me, it's olive oil. For a lot of people, maybe it's ketchup.

Here in Rwanda, it's mayonnaise. Mayonnaise everything.

Mayonnaise here is the key ingredient in what seems like a very large amount of meals provided here. You put mayonnaise on your french fries (aka chips). You put mayonnaise on your sandwiches. In your salads. On pasta. You name the dish, I'm sure people here have managed to put mayonnaise on it somehow.

And the sad thing is....it's so tasty! Sandwiches are juicy with mayonnaise. Salads have the fattening desire that satisfies your palate.

Mayonnaise comes here in large containers. And low fat mayonnaise seems like a downgrade to the real thing.

I don't know if I'm grateful or mournful for this new add-on to my diet...

House Cleaning Bits

2012-02-06T19:46:00.000+02:00

So, it's been a while since I last blogged.

What have I been doing??

Meh, stuff.

I know, I know. What?! No fascinating details? Really?

Well, I could give you a list of what I did the last few days. And I shall.

Thursday I had a meeting at the wonderfully tasty and overpriced cafe, Bourbon Coffee. I talked with a guy about a very interesting gig he has doing marketing in Rwanda. I love learning about how similarly (and differently) things run in the US and elsewhere. Moral of the meeting: Rwandans want their companies to be as shiny and streamlined as US companies. Note well taken.
Friday, after a frustrating day at work, I had a great heart-to-heart with my colleagues. It seems that I have more support here than I had thought.
Friday evening my roommates and I went to The Indian Chef for some real Indian food. Since two of my roommates are Indian, it only seemed appropriate. One of my roommates, whom I will from here on out call The Mobster, looked at the bill and tsked tsked tsked. He dialed a number, and mumbled something in a foreign tongue, and all of a sudden a new bill shows up with a lower price. I guess he's super duper well-connected here in Kigali, and he knows the right people. Do you see why I find the nickname apt?
Saturday I had a great brainstorming with the roommates. A lot of great ideas are on the horizon - I can feel it!
I got totally sun FRIED at the poolside at the fancy (and over-indulged) hotel, The Manor. The poolside was nice, and I got to enjoy company with some wonderful folks. I left early (nice and crispy) to hang out with my new friend, Kiran, while she worked on selling all of her earthly possessions. We had a great time chatting. And I happily partook in the purchasing of stuff that is expensive around here, like Toothpaste! It's the simple things in life...
Saturday night Kiran joined us for a while, and we drank some beautiful dessert wine from South Africa. And MM MM MM! was it tasty! The Mobster made us biryani rice, which made me shriek a bit at the immense spiciness of the dish. I poured yoghurt on my rice, promptly.
Sunday was lazy. I napped for a long while, after Denise and I went for a nice light jog. It was a very nice nap. And I had a nice long Skype chat with The Man.

Today I had an unfortunate day at work, and let's just leave it at that. And we got home without drinkable water. I hope our guard is willing (and able) to get us some bottles of water.

And that's about that!

Moving Into Home

2012-02-02T14:37:00.001+02:00

A few things have gone on in the last couple of days. I have not had an internet modem to connect me at all, so I've been unable to report on my life.

I was house hopping for a few days. Three days here, three days there. Basically, just looking for a place and trying not to make too much of a burden for anyone. And after about 4 weeks of living out of a suitcase, I can officially tell you that I am looking forward to unpacking somewhere, for once. No more wrinkled clothing. No more lost items in the large caverns of the suitcases. No more wheeling around my crap just for a good night's rest.

Before I get to it, I have to just note how absolutely twitterpated I am by the birds here. I know I've mentioned it before, but the birds here are really truly wonderful. Their songs are so bright and lovely, and I love waking up to their music in the morning. I am also always amazed at the new birds I've seen! A few days ago I saw electric blue birds with yellow chests. And today while walking to the street, I saw a little tiny bird probably no more than 2.5" tall and with a brick red coloring. Teeny tiny!

Tuesday night I hung out with a wonderful woman from Singapore named Kiran. I was meeting up with her after work, but I saw the menacing clouds quickly approaching. Motos, from what I understand, are basically a forbidden to take in the rain time, partly because of the muddy roads that are slippery when wet, and partly because the motos are a bit precarious in the first place. So I grabbed a moto while I saw the brewing dark clouds above me, and I felt a sort of musical montage coming up in my future.

And we drove! Fast, attempting to beat the rain on the highway. I was going pretty far away, and I could feel pellets of rain slap my leg while we sped along to get to the restaurant where I'd meet Kiran. It seemed, oddly enough, to no longer stir and brew once I got off of the moto.

So, Kiran and I hung out at an outdoor space for a bar of some type. And we drank cooking wine and chewed on goat brochettes. And chatted for a long time. It was great. She's very interesting and fun, and very much someone who tells you how it is, like it is. She even offered to me her old laptop and modem, since I'm found wanting. But I wanted to get to Jane's place at a decent hour. When I got to her apartment, the electricity went out. It kept going on and off all night, only the "off" periods seemed longer than the "on" periods. There was this in-between period where the light bulbs kind of glowed a bit - it was rather creepy, actually. TIA.

Yesterday was a holiday, National Heroes Day. Which meant I didn't have to go to work (YEAH!), and all other shops opened up later in the day (Oh no!). But it was also the day Denise and I moved into our new, beautiful house in Kagugu. We already had a roommate - an Indian guy named Harsh who is fresh out of LSE - but Denise called me in the AM and told me that she had another guy who wanted to fill out our foursome. Another older Indian guy who works in security, Mr.Al. You know what? It lowers the rent, so I'm definitely okay with that.

So we moved into the new digs, and I joyfully unpacked my bags into the armoire in my room. My room! It's wonderful to say that, now. And we all bonded a bit. Mr.Al drove us around in the car so we could get some food and water bits. And we went to go eat at Mr.Chips. Mr.Chips is a local burger joint that was started by some Canadian dude, and is absolutely delicious AND CHEAP! Cheap cheap cheap. Soooo tasty....

So we did that yesterday. And I slept like a little squirrel hibernating in the oak tree.

Sadly, though, we woke up to cold water and low water pressure. And when I waited for any random moto to come get us, I was suddenly surrounded by little children. The whole street was busy, and they seemed in awe of a Mzungu in their area. I was even pinched by a little boy, which made me jump.

Just one of those days, I guess?

Ceci N'est Pas Une Pipe

2012-02-02T12:23:00.000+02:00

Today during work, my two Ugandan colleagues were upset about a flyer. Irene was upset, specifically, because she just put up these fun flyers about some random event, and someone had just vandalized them.

Who had done it?! No one knew.

The writing said something completely disgraceful for a women's institute: "This is a condom."

How dare they!

Well, Irene and Faith discussed it at length, and finally looked to me for some insight. I looked at the flyer.

And lo! the picture Irene had pasted onto the document, sure enough, was a big, happy, waving condom.

"Well, ladies... that is indeed a condom."

Their faces dropped with a fast wash of horror.

"Oh my god! Is it really?!"

"Absolutely. A big, friendly condom."

Irene groans and runs off to tear down all of the newly-printed flyers. I couldn't help but chuckle a bit. Quite a bit. Apparently, they just had no idea!

Adventures and Magnesium

2012-01-28T21:42:00.001+02:00

Well, all I have to say is, adventures abound!

So Denise and I have set on to find a nice, safe place for us to live. The requirements include: a GUARD, tiled floors, hot water, a kitchen with a fridge, a and affordability. And we went to a place yesterday in a new development (that seems predominantly for Mzungus) called Kagugu. Which, every time I hear it, I think of The Police..."Ka gu gu gu..." But the house. Was. Awesome! And for a decent price. Everything was new, and clean, and beautiful! And SAFE! Key word! Denise is determined to get the place, which means we'll surely get it. It's a little far away from the town, but it's close to the school and a few stores I enjoy to visit. SO! Hopefully that means I'll have a new place to stay by the first of February.

So I've been pretty ill for a few days. I think the stress of being robbed, and all of the things that came before the robbery in the past month, has been a bit too much for my body. I think now my body is finally retaliating with nausea and a sour stomach. And stuff. For me, if I get nauseous at the smell of food, something is definitely wrong. So yesterday in a state of fear (do I have malaria?! or some kind of other terrifying, dangerous parasites?!), I resolved to go to the Belgian Embassy in town after work to seek the advice of their doctor on staff. It was interesting - I tried expressing my ails and pains in the best French I could muster at the moment, and he seemed to automatically dismiss the malaria account. But he did test me for pregnancy. Luckily, that's not an issue at the moment. So he decided that (just as I had thought!) my magnesium levels were depleted. He gave me some magnesium pills. And last night I am happy to report I slept like an absolute rock star.

So after seeing the doctor and feeling a bit queasy, I tried to get to my friend Jane's apartment for a little gathering. And I got on a moto and said, "Nyabogogo?" Now, I thought the apartment was actually in nearby Kacyiru, but I recalled that the bus I would get on would say Nyabogogo....but now I know that was definitely not the right answer. While the moto drove through town, though, I kept my eyes up, totally oblivious of the lower surroundings. I am always captivated here by the hills and the landscape that we pass by. And I was noticing that I'd never been in this area before, but aren't those hills just stunning?! And all of the shanty houses on the hills look close.....oh.....wait.... And it was about this time when I realized that I was, actually, in a shanty town area of the city. I looked down, and I was in a poor area of Kigali, and I was surrounded by a lot of shanties.
The moto tried to get me off of his moto, explaining, "This is the area!" I clung on onto the back of the moto, refusing to get off in the area. And after a few police guys coming over to figure out where I was going, the moto man relented and agreed to drive me to the area I wanted to go - indeed, Kacyiru.

I went to Jane's apartment for the party, but I felt so sick I didn't stay for very long. I got on a moto, clutching my stomach, and managed home.

Today I have mostly slept and read and slept and read and walked around a bit. I have been trying to let my body have the R&R that it is screaming at me about. It's not 100%, and I still am having some stomach problems that make me pretty uncomfortable. I'm hoping, though, that in a few days I'll be better. I don't have a fever, luckily, but ugh.

Tonight I'm eating saag paneer and rice while watching, "Starter for 10" with a few of the housemates in this house. The house has run out of water completely, including for toilets, showers, and faucets. And guess who has a fear of water scarcity? This girl. So I'll be at Jane's tomorrow, probably resting some more.

Robbed Blind

2012-01-26T22:05:00.001+02:00

The last few days have been haywire. I'll start with the positive things:

I am enjoying networking.
My English student forgot our lessons two days in a row. To be fair, he is leaving on Friday to return to Korea, so he is a bit busy in his head. But the plus! He brought me out to the most amazing Korean BBQ. In Rwanda. It was a beautiful open villa-type restaurant hall with a bunch of bright colors and really tasty food!
I am finding some great expat friends - Denise and Jane, to name a few. They've been amazing to me while I get myself settled and familiar with the place.
The hustling for The Man continues, and keeps getting more interesting.
My students are starting to grow on me. I'm beginning to like them more, and they're beginning to listen more. They may not understand things, but we're getting them. I figure out facilitation would be so much better than teaching - so I am making them create their own math problems and do IT exercises that let them have fun and be creative. It's really fun for me, too! And less stress.

And now onto the negative...

So last night I was robbed while I slept.

My roommates and I went to bed around 10/10:30pm last night. I woke up at 4:45/5am this morning, like usual, to call The Man. I walked into our living room, and my laptop wasn't there. The camera for the laptop was there, but no laptop. I thought, "That's odd, I could have sworn it was there last night............where's my bag?!" So I started hunting around for my stuff. I look at the back door of the house to find it slightly ajar, and it seemed a bit broken. In the dark kitchen is our solar-powered flashlight from the living room, sitting on the kitchen counter....turned on.

I turn to a frantic hunt throughout the house. Where is my wallet? Where is my camera? My Nook? MY STUFF!!!

I slam on Prosper's door and wake him up. My laptop isn't in his room. This is when I start freaking out.

"JESUS CHRIST I WAS ROBBED! SOMEONE CAME IN AND TOOK EVERYTHING!! EVERYTHING!!!! OH MY GOD WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!?!!?"

Both roommates are up now, and confused and worried. They start looking around. I'm screaming. And throwing things. I can't remember if Scovea locked the back door or not last night, and I yell at her. She starts to cry.

I order Prosper to let me use his laptop so I can call my family. They need to freeze my accounts! And I am panicked even more, and slightly hysterical (okay, a lot). I call Denise and beg her to call my family in the US to let them know. Call my Mom! Call my boyfriend! The computer takes a long time to turn on, and while it turns on, my roommates had gone outside to scope out the backyard. The thieves had thrown my pilfered backpack and purse into the dog's area, with all of the zippered pockets searched. They had also thrown my credit cards out into the shed for my housemates to find. I am so glad I have at least those. I might be alright.

The Man and I worked on changing all of my passwords to my accounts, and informing my mom about my bank account and how/when I'd take out money. It was lightning speed, all of this.

So my colleagues run over to my house to figure out what's going on. Denise is trying to understand why someone would go through so meticulously through my stuff, but no one else's.

What did they steal?: Cash in three currencies, insurance cards, license, wallet, laptop, camera, harddrive, eReader, and a fake diamond ring I've been wearing as a fake wedding ring to deter sleezeballs. Oh, and cooking oil from our kitchen pan. But the rest of the stuff that was in my bag were still there. In our backyard.

It seemed too well calculated...they knew exactly what they were going for, it seems, and they didn't just grab and run. And no one woke up! The dog didn't even bark.

So after I sob into my hands for about 45 minutes or so, a colleague came over with his car and drove us to the police station to file a report. Apparently, this normally doesn't work. But the guy has a friend at the top of the Criminal Investigation Unit here in Rwanda, who was able to expedite an investigation.

We found they had crawled over the fence and used a ladder in our backyard to climb back over. I have no idea what him and my roommates discussed, because it was all in Kinyarwandan. But now the police are investigating and considering it a potential "inside job". Now, without a guard or a cleaner, that means they suspect my housemates....which makes me uncomfortable.

So I moved out of the house. I took everything I owned that I still had and packed it up in my bags. And the founder of the school offered to let me stay with them at their mansion while I sort things out and find another place to stay. I've decided to not go back, and to find a place with a guard and lots of security all around. A nicer area, perhaps. That means I'll have to muster the money together somehow, because it's expensive, but I have to. I can't afford to lose my valuables again.

Prosper just texted me: "just talked to our neighbor who is also related to the landlord. she said that even the people who lived here before us had their furniture stolen when they were sleeping. she also said that her house got broken into several times. apparently this area has a long history of theft. i don't know how this can help the situation but i thought you might want to hear this. it is so sad that your first experiences here are bad and for a person who is new in the area this is so frustrating. we are looking for a new house and will move as soon as possible. we'll keep asking places where second-hand computers are sold maybe from that we can know who stole your stuff. i'm so sorry" I find it interesting, but The Man advises me to not trust many people right now. Because I can't afford to.

I'm borrowing a computer from school and Denise's modem to go online. My family has been calling my phone, and other than that I'm on my own. I'm glad I had bought a few hard copy books the day before, so I have books to read, and I'm blessed my passport is still at immigration. I black listed my Nook, so it's unreadable now. And I plan on going to the Embassy tomorrow.

But I'm exhausted, and today has been trying.

Some Like It Hot

2012-01-24T12:32:00.000+02:00

The Man told me that for missionaries, the reason many/most missionaries leave the field is not because of the local population or the country they are in while abroad. No, he told me that the main reason so many missionaries quit helping others is because of other missionaries.

Well, Man, you seem to be right.

Some fellow expatriates (or rather, white folks) are some of the most ostracizing, unwelcoming people I have encountered. I went to Sole Luna last night for Trivia Night - an expat favorite - and I managed to be sitting alone for about 1.5 hours while swarms of expats mingled around me, acting as if I was completely invisible. It wasn't until Denise and a friendly woman from work came in that I ended up feeling warm and accepted by anyone there. The place was packed before they got there! I got there early to nab a table, but it seemed to backfire, as I became the leper in the room. Well, everyone else in the room suffered; our team won second place for trivia and received free drinks as a result. I helped out a lot. Who would have thought that it would be helpful to know about plate tectonics in Africa? By the way, the only two countries in Africa with active volcanoes and volcanic lakes are the DRC and Ethiopia. And Beyonce has a horse fly named after her. Poor lady.

Interestingly enough, though, some of the people I find the best solace and friendship are expats. It's strange - you either hate them or love them. I don't understand how this works yet.

But onto other matters.

I came into work the day after my birthday with a few colored papers telling me "Happy Birthday!" That was nice.

After 5 visits, I finally was approved to apply for a visa. Please note, that means that all of the other efforts and painstaking days I spent waiting and begging at immigration was just for me to put IN my application! But it's there now - they have my visa, and it's in the hands of The Universe, now.

Motos are becoming easier to ride. And to negotiate. I have been finding it kind of entertaining, actually...the scenery that whizzes by is fantastic.

My classes recently have been better. That's mainly because I stopped teaching and have given them class groupwork to do instead. They seem to like it more, and then they teach each other at the board while I manage and facilitate the conversations. That works out fairly nicely.

It's pretty hot today. The kind when the hair on my head sticks to my neck and I have to put it up before noon. Some like it. I kind of do. But even I don't enjoy it being this warm. It's not sweltering, but it's definitely warmer than what I'd prefer. Cool at night and in the morning - hot in the day.

Lots of things have been happening recently, but nothing really to mention on the blog. Working out some more issues with my working situation, and talking with people. I have to tutor tonight, and I'll see a friend named Jane for dinner beforehand.

I think I need more sleep. I wake up at 5am to go to work by 7am, and then I get home around 9pm or 10pm. And then I sleep. It's a hard thing, working nonstop and not having enough downtime. I'm hoping it clears up someday in the nearby future. The Man mentioned one of the reasons I might be crying so much is because I'm not sleeping well. And it's partly my mattress to blame. Rwandan mattresses seem to be none other than cheap foam that is kind of puffy and a bit firm, but not firm enough. My bed already sags in the middle, and most of it is flattened like a pancake. I more or less feel like I'm sleeping on slatted wood. I'm not sure if people ever get used to sleeping on hard surfaces, and I'm not really volunteering myself for the experiment. So, I'm going to try to look for a mattress that is more than just foamy fluff that will stop being nice after a few sits. I have a feeling it might be super expensive. But I think it might be worth it.

The hustle continues for The Man! Stay tund as I figure out who I can network with and encourage to hire him!

A Quiet Birthday

2012-01-22T20:12:00.001+02:00

Today has been my 26th Birthday. Normally, my birthdays have included lots of loving calls on my phone, a ton of emails, a bundle of Facebook messages, a great dinner with friends, and a few nice presents. I still got my tons of emails and a number of Facebook messages, but other than that, it was nothing like my other birthdays. It was very quiet.

It's hard to be in a foreign country where your family doesn't want to call the complicated phone number and you can't leave on your Skype all the time for fear of getting charged a lot of money by the internet provider. And you don't know many people, and those you know can't make it out probably because of church or some other obligation, so setting up some fun thing (on a Sunday) isn't very feasible.

I woke up late on my birthday with my housemates already at church. So, I decided to do some calisthenics to keep my body's circulation going. And then I did my weekly laundry in the bucket task. And I showered. And I read and wrote emails from abroad. I waited to Denise to call me, and after she was done with some things she told me to join her in town. I went to get lunch with her at a little place that isn't frequented that much by expats called Camillia Cafe, or something. I had a fantastic juice/smoothie and a very good burger for super duper cheep - something like $10 total. In NYC, that would cost closer to $30, I gather. I always have a good time with Denise. She's a nice companion to have in a foreign country. And she can be laid back yet entertaining. Afterwards, we went to Nakumatt and I bought myself a pillow for my birthday and a jar of honey. And some rice cakes and shampoo. The buses are a huge mistake on Sundays - much like the NYC MTA, they are unreliable and change routes on a whim. And so I had an extra 2 hours tacked onto my bus route to town and back.

I had resolved to call The Man when I got home, as my big birthday present, but I had gotten home too late. He had waited for me for a while online, but because of the longer-than-expected errands in town, he had to get offline and do his own errands. I will be going to bed soon so I can wake up for work. It's really sad because I had planned with anticipation that I'd get to talk to him today on Skype, and that'd be my big treat for the day. But I blew it big time, and so now I can't talk to him on Skype at all on my birthday. I'm pretty upset with myself for this.

So, for tonight, I'll read my book and check emails and whatnot before I go to bed. I might make my birthday dinner peanut butter and jelly with an apple right now.

I've resolved to pretend I'm still on NYC time for my birthday, since I was born in NY. That way, when I wake up at 5am tomorrow morning to Skype with The Man, it will still technically be my birthday (at least in the US). I won't feel so bad about ruining my own birthday plans, then. Anything to make it great.

Kindness of Strangers

2012-01-22T00:21:00.001+02:00

I am constantly impressed here by the kindness of strangers, or rather, everyone here. While in the US I feel that there's a precious few who are happy to help others even if it means going a bit out of their way...here in Rwanda, the vast majority will do whatever they can to help and please you. I've been told it's a cultural thing - Rwandans are determined to please and always say, "Yes!", even if they are completely clueless...out of respect.

There's always a smile on their face when you ask for help!

Today, we (Denise, Scovea, a new girl named Ariel and I) went to a rugby math-a-thon somewhere on a field that was literally near nowhere. We hopped on four different motos who all acted as if they knew where they were going. They didn't. But what an adventure! Some moto was asked to stop to help our motos with directions, and he sat for a while with us to consider what was the best way to go to this field.

We ended up on some treacherous dirt roads in what seemed like a little village tucked away in Kigali. The roads, unlike the rest of Kigali's clean and smooth roads, were terrible. They were pitted with rocks and deeply-entrenched water streams, and always uphill. My moto driver was the bravest of them all. He revved his engine and plowed through the streets, avoiding children in the road and getting capsized. But every hole got bigger further down the road! It was ridiculous! At every pit we faced, in the mud, we'd laugh together even harder, saying, "Oh la la!"

Finally, we hit a dead end to nowhere and I got off. But a group of little boys, with Scovea's Kinyarwandan skills, offered to help us through the intense forest ahead of us to reach the gaming field, at last! The first thing we see is a bit, deep ravine. The little boys hopped over the big gap while I said, "Oh, hell no!" So, one little boy walked up the hill with me to show me where there was a clean patch of land that acted as a bridge between the two pieces of land. I was so grateful.

And then there were the pools of mud and cow poo and other joys. That was fun.

But wherever I go, people never seem put out by helping out. It's like they think, why not?! It could be fun (especially with this here muzungu). And maybe they'll even get paid. And besides, maybe they'll be asking for help soon.

We watched rugby for a few hours with a bunch of people. Of course I noticed random locals taking pictures of me. I'm just so white, compared to even the other expats. And we watched fit men in tight outfits run into each other over and over again. And we played with teeny tiny puppies!!! These little spitzer collies or whatever! I fell in love with those baby puppies immediately.

Afterwards (and after a nice nap on a hammock), we went to a restaurant called Heaven for my birthday dinner and a movie. It's funny - some of my second-year students actually served us! Kind of bizarre... The food was very tasty, but expensive! But still tasty. The restaurant is gorgeous. The movie that they showed was "War Horse". It was a really bad movie. I just want to warn you all, even if you want to see it, don't. Just. Don't.

Simple Thoughts Before BDay

2012-01-20T22:29:00.000+02:00

I had a really, really frustrating (alright, it was bad) day all around today.

So! Let's try for more positiveness! Yeah!

I like that we can walk so much here, partly because everyone takes their time, but also because it's sometimes easier. And nicer. I am a bit concerned about my health and weight here with all the fried foods, but with all the walking I've been doing lately, I think I might just be alright and perhaps even slim down a tiny bit (as long as I supplement it with a few jogs and the jump rope). Today, Denise and I walked throughout a lot of the city on some errands, and it was nice to walk around so much. Dinner was so much more rewarding.

Something people like to do here is party. At clubs, at bars, whatever. I'm realizing more and more that's really not my scene at all. In fact, it tires me a bit. People here go out so late, and they party super hard. But really my idea of an exciting night most often is coming home and reading, or watching a movie. Or perhaps going out to a fun Salsa or Trivia Night at a local joint. Or maybe even just sleeping. Don't get me wrong, partying has its place, and when I want to go out I have a lot of fun. It's just not that often for me.
How, Kim, is this positive?? Well, I'm just super grateful that I know this about myself now and I don't have to feel obligated to do something I don't enjoy that much. I save money and time and enjoyment because I know that it's not an investment I'm not often willing to make. Go me!

I feel like I might be slowly getting the hang of things here. At least, maybe a bit. I'm remembering buildings and areas a bit more, and I am learning how to get cheap fare. And I'm starting to see areas that I really like, and think of moving around, when I have more money someday.

I'm beginning to understand that I actually do know a thing or two about stuff. Now, it's just a matter of leverage.

My birthday will be on Sunday. I know tomorrow some of my colleagues and I are going to have dinner at a place that is hosting a movie, "War Horse" (really? meh), to celebrate. I am happy to have another year to make my life even better. I wish The Man was here with me, but at least I'll probably chat with him for a super long amount of time. Continuing to find him a job so that he can be here and I can have a real birthday. That was me being flirtatious, positive, and hopeful.

Making it Positive

2012-01-19T12:14:00.001+02:00

Today I have opted to not be a downer.

Clearly, I've been a bit of a Negative Nancy lately, and I feel like I've had the right to be. A lot of things have been less than ideal here. I'm still working on complications and issues that stress me out and make me wonder why I'm bothering.

But today I'm working hard at bringing back my positivity, so that perhaps I can not only turn my frown upside down, but I can also make my reality brighten a bit. So, I'm going to put out a list of things that have made me smile.

1) I have 3 more Korean students to help out in English here. I didn't realize that I'd find myself in the midst of Koreans while in Rwanda, but all of my students are currently Korean, and I think it's fascinating. Denise and I met these prospective students (probably our age, if not a tad older) at Bourbon Coffee, and we chatted for a while. We had a fun time talking and learning about each other, and one of the guys offered to sometime have us all over and he'd grill up a huge tilapia for dinner. How awesome is that? Huge success.

2) The birds sing lovely songs while I'm riding to work on the motos. Their songs are full of notes and tunes and are not just a few repeated notes, like some birds in the US. They're actually singing a tune, it seems. And I love that the birds here are more than beige and brown - they're yellow and green. Tropical birds. The ones I see in the trees around school are bright yellow with black tops. And there was a bird near my house that was just a fun display of white and black. Oh yeah, and crows here have white breasts.

3) On the way to work via moto, I go by a group of guards. They always smile and wave at me in a pretty excited manner. Even sometimes they say,"Bonjour!"
The construction workers near our school also smile and say hello, only it's, "Muraho!", usually with a chuckle.

4) I'm happy it's not snowing here. I really like not having to wear coats and bundle up as much as I can to not die of hypothermia. And I like that restaurants here are often outside on porches. I really like that. The weather isn't so bad.

5) I'm so, so happy that my boyfriend is the most wonderful and supportive person ever. He's my rock and light. And he has been cheering me up when things look rough, especially lately.

6) I have finally made it to Africa! A life-long goal finally accomplished! Check.

7) I have very good colleagues around whom I really enjoy being.

8) I love hearing about Denise's love life! It's kind of ridiculous, funny, and fascinating at the same time. I get to live through her love life, and be at the same time separated from the stress of dating.

9) Iced chocolate drinks here are absolutely rich and divine.

10) I wish it wasn't so, but I like that they use mayo on most food stuff. Even though it's super bad for me and really fattening, it's kinda tasty.

Visa Troubles

2012-01-18T12:23:00.000+02:00

Well, yesterday I had a nice all-day internal rampage.

I think every immigration office on the entire planet is created and bred to make me question my willingness to go elsewhere. Today on my class break I went to the immigration office to begin my workin visa

application. The nice francophone driver I used yesterday came to the school and drove me to the immigration office, over in Kacyiru. I was thinking I would get through in no time; I had every single piece

of paper that their website stated. Why wouldn't it be a breeze?

The line was young. I was number 63, and they were still on number 38. So I sat and waited and watched Oprah on their TV for about an hour.

The man was pleasant and went through my papers piece by piece. He notes that I am working with an NGO, so he says, "Ah, but you work for an NGO. You need to register with the INGO office first, before you

apply with me, and then you come back and apply for a visa. It's down out back. Oh, and so is the bursar, so you can pay for your visa, then, too. Oh, and while you're at it, you need to bring in another

document from your office. See you!"

Peturbed for being thwarted outright, I set on to find the bursar's office. And I waited in line for about 30 minutes to pay my money and get a receipt. Then I asked where the INGO office is. The man

shrugged and grumbled something in French, and sent me out. My driver found me and wondered what was taking so long, so I explained to him my dilemma - I couldn't find the INGO office. Thus ensued an hour-

long goose chase where I would ask him in French, he'd asked someone else in Kinyarwandan, they'd respond to him in Kinyarwandan, and he'd respond to me in French. Up stairs - down stairs. Around buildings.

Finally, I ended up in the same office I started, and the guy looks at me baffled and says "It's through this office and through the small set of doors on the side!" Oh, right. That was easy (this is

sarcasm). So I pushed through a mob of people through an office area, and slid through a side door into an empty hallway. And lo! the NGO office.

Well, the NGO office decided to give me a hard time. Apparently, my story didn't fit the bill. And apparently, I can't apply for a visa without some other random forms from my organization and coming back to their office and encouraging them to permit my visa.

So after over 2 hours of being sweet and thorough, I stormed out of immigration with my taxi driver, and I ran to work. Late, for my class. I was fuming with such intensity I had to start my class late so that I wouldn't boil over on my students.

So, the rest of the day happened. I had a great dinner chat with Jane at Shokola Lite, and I tutored until about 9pm at night. It was a long, long day.

And even when I got home so late, I got in to find my housemates in a tiff with each other about housing stuff. Let me say it was the last thing I wanted to deal with. So I went to sleep, and I did some Reiki on my bunny bear for The Man (he had something like food poisoning). I fell asleep with the bunny bear on my stomach.

And I woke up to talk to The Man, and I burst into tears.

Every Day I'm Hustling

2012-01-16T21:46:00.001+02:00

MTN Center

Well, I learned a hard lesson last night - never lend out your harddrive to people unless they swear to protect your harddrive to the death. Because, apparently, most people don't understand the fragility of harddrives.

I leant my perfectly working harddrive out to my housemate so that he could download the wonderful amount of movies I had on it. I had actually received most of the movies from my friend Felicity, who wonderfully let me use her harddrive. And I cared for it as you would a religious relic. It was a baby in my hands.

Well, last night, after he returned it to me, it was no longer working. I mean, it turns on, and my computer knows it's there...but the data doesn't show anywhere. I'm pretty devastated about it; there goes all of my entertainment! My music, movies, and books are all gone. Gone! What happened? Well, apparently the harddrive took a tumble from the chair seat to the concrete floor...

I swore a lot, and went to bed early because I was so upset. I put the harddrive in the freezer at work, per The Man's recommendation, and I tried to coo and woo the harddrive into functioning. But to no avail.

I am going to see if I can muster up the cash to get it looked at by a random Indian guy here and find out if my data can be saved. I pray it can be!

Yesterday I started my tutoring lessons. A Sunday, and I was working? Yes. It's necessary so I can make extra cash. I knows me how to hustle, is all. And it was pretty fun! I learned all about fiber optics, and I helped the guy learn how to better express himself. The payment isn't bad, either. I just found out that he's leaving in 2 weeks, but there's another group of guys interested in some lessons. We'll see about that.

Today I had to start pulling out the meaner version of myself in class. I feel like my students have a few issues:

They don't know how to learn! I truly, truly believe this is a key issue. I don't think they ever learned how to learn, and so now they're my age and act like middle schoolers in my class. It's very frustrating.
Their English begs for improvement. Half of the time I'm not even sure they understand a word I'm saying.
If you are super nice and fun in class, they assume they can walk all over you.
They don't follow directions. Homework? What homework? Only the homework you recited back to me last class...
They never touched a computer in their lives.
They don't know what professional is. They come into class late. I told them if they are late three times, I'll make an absent for them. I keep telling them that in the hospitality industry, their bosses will fire them for not being punctual, uniformed, and respectful. They just look at me like deer in the headlights every time.

So I have to be a bit firm right now with them, so they understand I mean business. Today I told them that those who didn't do homework will get a zero. During IT class, if I saw them on the internet, I turned off their computers and made them use their notebooks instead. I had to raise my voice a bit, and if they're talking, I stop the class in its tracks. It's discouraging a bit, because I want so badly to be the teacher that inspires and encourages students, not scold them. I'm doing things I feel like teachers do when they're not good. I don't like that, but I don't know any other way to get through to them. Any ideas?

Did I mention I'm a hustler?

Today after a long day of work, Denise and I opted to walk to MTN Center to get a nice iced chocolate from Bourbon Coffee. That stuff should be illegal because it's so addictive, and probably equally bad for you! I just imagine it all day, though, and then it's inevitable for me to get it. But Denise and I opted to walk the hour-long, hilly trek to get said chocolate so that at least that way we'd feel justified in our guttony. And we totally did.

While we were at MTN Center, I noticed that they had two shops of interest: one was a shop where they seemed to fix computer parts, and another one said "Network IT" or whatever on the sign. So the first one I went into and they estimated my harddrive data retrieval would be, including new harddrive, about 150,000 fRw, or about $250. Ahhh!!! WHAT?! I am really not sure about that....

The second shop, the IT consulting firm, seemed interesting. On their signs they had the logos for Cisco, Microsoft, and a bunch of other recognizable technical international firms. I strode right in.

"Hello, there! I need your IT help." I said.

"Hello, how may we help you? You've come to the right place in all of Rwanda!" Said the man, named Shema.

"I Want to know what kind of Network IT work you do here."

"Well, we do a lot of great consulting services. What is your need?"

"I need you to hire my boyfriend."

"Oh really?"

"Yes"

"What does he do?"

"He's in network security."

"But what exactly."

"I'm just a mere business teacher. I am not good with IT. But I do know he's the IT guru and extremely good at what he does. He's very valuable, and I think you should talk with him."

"Can we talk to him today?"

"He's in the US."

"When is he coming over?"

"When I find him a job?"

"Oh? Can he stay a year?"

"If the job works out, absolutey."

"Do you have his CV?"

"Give me your email, and I'll give you his CV AND his email contact. You can talk to him whenever you like, and about whatever."

"Excellent. Here's my email, and I look forward to hearing from you. If it works, this is the perfect place for him to be valuable for Rwanda."

*End scene*

I'm awesome.

My French is starting to come in handy pretty majorly. Lately I've been using it for getting taxi rides to places, and for getting business transactions, and for finding out how to get places. Today I used it to find out about the harddrive information, and I used it for the taxicab who took me home later at night. I think my French is pretty good, thank you very much. We chatted, I found what information I needed, and I even got a ride to immigration tomorrow so I can get my proper visa FINALLY. Yes, I'm finding places to speak French, but maybe it'll become more important here than I thought.

Assorted Things

2012-01-14T19:35:00.000+02:00

While I went through today, I had a number of thoughts that didn't necessarily go in any particular direction, but I had them and so I will write them down.

1) Buses are the public transporation methods here in Kigali. I'm not used to this - while living in NYC for so long, I am very much a Brooklyn animal used to the convenience and ease of transportation through subway and grids. Here's it's very much windy roads and cars that get you around. So, I try to use buses because they're there and the cheapest method of getting around. But they seem to have some organized chaos to them that everyone else seems to understand but me! They don't necessarily have assigned stopping areas. They don't have reliable times, for reasons I'm not quite sure. And some buses go in different directions than others. But I think everyone here understands the bus system pretty well. I'm hoping that I get the hang of it soon enough, even if it's not conventional logic.

Fortunately, people here are extremely kind and helpful. Today, when trying to find a bus that would take me to town, I stopped a random little woman on the street and asked her where to go. She walked me to the bus station (or whatever it was) and got me on a bus in the right direction. She told me to stay on it into town. Then, another man took over after a while and explained to me how I have to stay on the bus a bit longer to get to where I wanted to be (UTC Center). He even walked me to where I was meeting Denise for the day to make sure I didn't get lost. That was super nice!

2) Something that I think is fascinating here is the way that mothers carry infants. In the US, we use backpack-like holsters that keep the babies snug yet a bit dangly, often in our front. Here, mothers seem to tie babies in the back pretty tightly around their waists with fabrics, so that the babie's cheeks are pressed up closely to the mother's backs. It's actually pretty adorable, because the babies are just these lumps on the mothers' backs, and seem to be in a position where they are completely incapable of moving, YET they seem to not fuss about it at all. I want to ask them about it. How do they not drop the babies??

3) Language is going to be a key barrier to my full understanding and integration here. While many people have some sort of grasp on the English and/or French languages, all people speak Kinyarwandan frequently. Things are announced in Kinyarwandan, and bargaining is done in the language as well. I kind of feel like I'm missing something all the time. But I am learning the language slowly. So far I know how to say, "Slow!" "Be careful!" "Jump!" "Hello" "Goodday" "Goodmorning" "Thank you" "How are you?" and "I'm very fine!" It will get easier.
And this is also where people here are super helpful. If I don't understand someone or something, almost always some random stranger will come immediately to help out and explain to me (in usually decent English) what's going on.

4) I'm amazed at how the older, more run-down buildings are juxtaposed so often with clean, shiny, big new buildings.

5) We have a puppy named Cinnamon. He's an African Dog breed, and is very, very smart. He understands many commands and knows how to do a lot of things creatively. It's like he has hands sometimes! And he's very naughty. He chewed on the leg of a gorilla bear I have from my dad for Christmas already, even though it was safely on top of a shelf. He also is very ornery - if I tell him to go out, he pulls a bunch of tricks to get out of it. And even if he knows he shouldn't be somewhere, he'll go anyways to see if he'll be able to get away with it. Apparently, it's the breed of dog - very smart, stubborn, and naughty. Well noted.

Clubbing in Africa

2012-01-14T10:41:00.002+02:00

I forgot to mention last night that yesterday's lunch was brought to you by my financing co-worker, Robert. He invited Denise and me to his house for lunch with his wife and child. Well, alright, Denise invited us, and Robert couldn't say no.

We walked through the quiet streets of Kibagabaga and arrived to a nice little simple house on a bit of a hill. Robert's wife is beautiful and very kind and sweet. Her English wasn't great, so we spoke French occasionally so she could be part of the conversation. The little girl was absolutely adorable. I think she was about one years old, and she really enjoyed jumping around.

The meal was extreme! I thought we'd really just have some rice and beans, a simple lunch. But Robert's wife pulled out all the stops for us - Rice, chips, plantains, boiled meat in a spicy sauce, and cassava leaves. The cassava leaves were kind of stewed like the Indian dish, saag. It was very much like spinach, with a creamier taste to it. The meat was...well, the meat here seems to be mainly liver, which I personally find unappealing. But the sauce was nice! Oh, and Fanta. I didn't realize we'd be eating like kings, and I ate a hearty amount, in part to be polite and in part because I was hungry. But oh man, in hindsight, I stuffed myself silly.

His wife ended up pulling out mangoes and pineapples for us to eat for dessert, and I didn't know what to do! I was so stuffed I felt like I could literally pop! I had a slice of mango and nursed it for a while before we went to work again.

While walking, of course people stared at the white chick with a bunch of black chick. I guess they will forever be surprised to see me. These little kids saw me and shouted out, "Good morning!" "How are you?!" "I'm fine, teacher!" It was sweet, and I played along.

So anyways, this post is supposed to be about clubbing.

I'm not one for clubbing. I don't particularly enjoy getting sauced and having strange people rub up against me. And I really have no intention on getting any sexy time while I'm here if it's not with The Man. I love dancing, so I do go out sometimes, but the rest of the bar culture I really don't find enjoyable. Give me salsa classes and a wine tasting any day.

My housemates and I went out around 10pm to meet up with Denise. Apparently, in Africa you don't go out on the weekends until very late. Very late. But we took a taxi and picked up Denise so we could go to a bar in a swanky restaurant called Zen. We walked down a pretty little grove and past a gate to the restaurant, but it looked empty. I knew it said the closing hours were nigh.

The bar was very nice and outside, under a big thatched roof. Something I love about being here is the restaurants are almost always outside, it seems. You eat outside, because it's so nice! And the weather is always perfect. There were nice leather lounge chairs and mood lighting throughout the outdoor bar. But there were no people there! I was very perplexed, and I began to ask, is it really Friday?? Where are the people? From what I understood, Rwandans liked to party. But I was assured that this was not customary, and after we had our drinks, we'd go to the next place. I had a Mirinda Fruity, which is like loganberry soda.

We walked through the very nice area to get to the club, and of course I stopped traffic. I really did. I better watch out, or all of this attention will get to my head!

The next club was called K Club. I was told it used to be B Club, but they recently changed management and name. And what a creative change it was.

It was a nice place. Very clean, and very white. It wasn't a dark club like the ones I'm used to - it was lit nicely with lots of laser lights, fog machines, and glowing pink balls. They had TVs all over the club with music videos to the songs playing. That was interesting to me, and I noticed that people often would get lost on the dance floor, watching the videos. I will admit I found myself lost as well. I'm not sure how I feel about that aspect of the club, but hey! I at least got to note a few fun things that I think The Man and I should do together.

The music was part Caribbean, part African, and part regular Universal pop/rock songs. But it was perplexing because not everyone was dancing, but lounging on the side. Here I was thinking, but I thought Africans had the need to dance all the time like me! Granted, the crowd was a bit older - most people looked like they were in their late 20s, 30s, and 40s...and there was a good handful of white folks there (and we all know white folks can't dance)...but I mean, come on! Get the booty to shake! Prosper assured me that that was not a common atmosphere for a clubbing - he didn't like it there.

But hey, I shook my booty, and I had a good time with my friends. I don't think people could understand me because I don't really dance like a black girl, but I definitely don't dance like a white girl. I'm somewhere in between.

2am came around, and my fun was diminishing because my tiredness was increasing. So we decided to go back home. Well, Denise wanted to stay, but the housemates and I went home. Crazy - while we were leaving the club, a SLEW of people were coming in! Apparently the party just began!!! I don't know...I am not sure I could ever be officially African with their crazy partying hours...

Friday Stress

2012-01-13T18:36:00.005+02:00

Today started out very strangely - moreso than usual.

I woke up talking with The Man after some disturbing dream about planes. We chatted about life for a while, and he told me about some things that came up for him recently in his neighborhood. I worry about his neighborhood...

Anyways. I got on a moto to meet up with Denise so we could go to immigration for our visas. The moto was happy to drive me, so I got on. And then he missed the street we needed, and he kept going. Apparently, it's standard custom for motos to bring their passengers to gas stations (called "petrol stations") while they're in transit. And then he stopped for a while to chat with some of his moto friends in Kinyarwandan. I mean, there wasn't much I could do, right? I wasn't near where I needed to be, and he had my life on his moto to run over if I crossed him. Not like that'd really happen. But I like being safe rather than not.

Anyways, I got to Denise and my meeting spot 20 minutes late. And I didn't have the passport pictures I needed for the immigration office. Unfortunately, it was so early that no place was open to take my pictures, or at least nearby. So we opted to go get some tea before getting to work on time. And what luck! A restaurant by our school! We walked into the restaurant...to find it completely empty. Oh well, must not be opened...until two people crept out and looked at us. Neither of them spoke English OR French. So some guy on the street was beckoned in to translate for us, and before we know it (can't we just have tea?), one little lady is running down the street, pressumably to retrieve someone to come help them.

We had 40 minutes before work started, so we thought we'd be okay.

Some boy comes over, and he only understands French. So I proudly pull out my French chops and go back and forth between him and Denise. We want tea, bread, and butter. Two orders. VERY QUICKLY! I emphasized the last part. And the young man takes us up to a room on the second floor of this building, totally removed from the rest of the restaurant. It's dressed up much like an old tavern that hasn't been used much since 30 years ago. And we wait.

Thiry minutes later, the guy comes out with cereal for us on a plate, with spoons. Perplexed, I mentioned tea again, and soon? Soon soon! the man cries as he runs out. Lots of running...

Another 20 minutes go by, and we're late for the meeting at work. And I decide it's time to escape from this strange dining room before it's too late. As we get outside, the older boy runs out and says to me, "I'm done!"

"But we need to go! It took too long, and we are late for work! Do you have anything for it to go?"
"Oh, yes yes!" (This is all in French, mind you)

He runs out and comes back out with a pretty little tray, and a number of little compartementalized portions for us.

"But we need this to go!"
"Oh, yes yes!"

He runs out again, and comes back this time with two plates of eggs. But we didn't order eggs!

"To go! To go!"

At this time, we more or less gave up. I asked for napkins, and we buttered the bread and wrapped them up before throwing them in our bags. I chugged all of the water from my canteen and filled it with milky African Tea. And we ran off to work 2o minutes/30 minutes late.

So we started to look for motos to drive us quickly up the hill to school. To no avail! They wanted too much for it!! So we humphed and started walking up the street. The motos disappeareed. And as they did, a big Jeep stopped on the side of the road for us. A man with excellent English looks out smiling with his friend and say, "It was too much! We can give you a lift! Where to?"

Now, know that I'm normally not one to advocate for hitchhiking. But he seemed honestly wanting to help, and we were super late. And that was a big hill. So we climbed on in. It so happens the guy lives between Ottawa and Kigali, and just likes helping out. He works in agricultural engineering. I wish I had gotten his number. He drove us all the way to school, and we entered our meeting laughing.

The rain storms here are pretty intense. The hills make the thunderous echos even louder, and the rain pours hard. And what's more, is that when it rains, going outside is no longer an option. The roads are dirt paths mostly, and they get all muddy and watery. And the motos go away to hide from the pouring rain. I stayed at work another hour or so because it started to rain.

Dream Interpretations

2012-01-13T18:12:00.000+02:00

Last night my school had an Advisory Council meeting at one of the nicer hotels in town. Actually, it might be the nicest hotel in town - it has a 5-star rating. It's called Serena Hotel. It's the kind of place where wearing tennis shoes are poo-pooed and everything looks like a nice little resort.

They apparently had just freshly made their potato chips and plaintain chips there, because they tasted freshly made. The hor d'oeuvres were awesome. And the poolside was very, very nice. It was full of white people. which of course is not surprising in the least.

I met a woman there who is Rwandan but lived in LA for a few decades. She only recently moved back to Rwanda, and she had quite a story to tell about it all. I thought she was awesome, and she gave me her card. I mentioned The Man, and she got excited for me and said, "Let's get him something good!" I LIKED her! Yeah, let's!

Sadly, though, I had business to do after the evening meet and greet. Details I would get very frustrated about if I had to get into talking about them, so I'll refrain.

Let's just say that it included me going to work with a drunken colleague at 8pm to scan some documents, and me paying A LOT for a cabbie to drive me back home by 9:30pm. I was pretty grumpy about it all.

Last night I dreamt that I had missed the plane to Rwanda because I had forgotten to look up the time of the plane in the states. I was so upset, and felt pretty lost and like I just ruined everything. It was an odd scenery, because it clearly wasn't NYC, and I was with family members in what it seemed like 2005. I woke up to find myself inside the mosquito net in my room in Kigali, but the dreamed bothered me a bit. I don't know what it means. Did I miss the boat on something? According to dreammoods.com:

To dream that you miss your flight or a connection indicates that you are feeling helpless and trapped by some situation. You feel that you are being held back, either physically or mentally. Alternatively, the dream may also suggest that you are feeling disconnected in some aspect of your life - work, relationship or home life.

Perhaps what happened last night at work at 8pm really made me feel stuck or held back. I guess that's right, actually. It's the only thing I feel is really holding me back from really going forth and shining. I hope that it's only a growing pain, and that soon I'll be really happy and whatnot with it all.

Talking with Housemates

2012-01-13T06:33:00.000+02:00

I really enjoy living with Rwandan folk. Part of me feels like it gives me a better window into the world of Rwandan people. I almost get to be something like an ethnographer, because I'm deeply embedded into the culture. The housing is not something that most expats would probably want to live in because it's not perfect or well lit or anything. We don't have mirrors, for example.

It's also nice because they get good prices on our food at the market. I get Mzungu prices - they get local prices. I went with them both to the market a night ago, and one seemed to have the responsibility of distracting me and keeping me busy while the other one did the bargaining and food shopping. We got out with 2 big bags of fresh produce for about $10. So we eat cheaply, and simply.

One thing that is so cool about my housemates is that their English is fantastic, and they don't look at me like a complete alien when I do something different. And, well, at least Prosper is really open minded and able to talk about anything.

A night ago, I asked him something I knew was a sensitive topic. I asked him if he was a Tutsi or a Hutu (around this time, Scovea left the room to go to bed). He kind of paused for a moment and replied with, "I'm both." Smooth move to a loaded question. And I asked him about the genocide. He said it was alright for me to ask, so I did, but on one condition: to not ask anyone else that question.

So the biggest advice he gave me, and I give to you is: ix-nay on the enocide-gay.

Apparently it's a super taboo topic to discuss. It clearly was a low point in the country, and everyone stays very hush hush about the genocide. Kagame apparently encourages this; I guess he holds the opinion that if you talk about it, it might happen again. So no one talks about it, and many people have PTSD anyways, so they don't want to talk about it because it hurts too much. I mean, nearly 1 million people in their population were attacked and killed with machetes. I get that.

It almost reminds me of some of my German friends, or being in Germany in general. The Holocaust is still a touchy topic. So don't bring it up, because we aren't proud of it, and it happened, so let's move on.

But it's fascinating for me to be here right now. I walk down the streets and think to myself, there were probably piles of bodies on the street that I walk to work 17 years ago. Who am I walking by right now that was part of the killing, and part of the dying? I understand many people are survivors, and most people (if not all) were witnesses. But I want to know more. Don't worry, I won't ask more.

I asked Prosper his story. I guess his area in the East was safer, and he didn't have to run for his life or see any murdering directly in front of him. But he said he could see people stabbing people on the hills from afar. We are the same age, and I can't imagine being a 7-year-old and witnessing anything remotely close to that.

I can't imagine some of my students, who might have been about the same age, and locked up in a bathroom with their family, for fear of being murdered in the day or night.

About Water

2012-01-13T06:03:00.002+02:00

Something really quick about water. Of course I have to write about water.

My students had an in-class assignment where they were supposed to register email accounts and email me one message. Just to let you know, this assignment has yet to go well - it seems that most of my students are completely computer illiterate and many of their English is less than stellar. But for those who have been able to email me, the assignment asked them to write 5 sentences about them, and 2 questions for me. I had a lot of questions that were similar, such as my marital status, how many children/parents I have, what do I feel about Rwanda so far, and (my favorite surprise question), why am I big? Clearly there are some cultural differences here.

But I was finding it odd that many of them kept asking me the question, "Why do you like water?" I found this odd - I didn't really think anything about my bringing in my water bottle and taking a sip during class. Water is such a normal part of my life, and is such a common occurence in the US, that I really didn't know what to think about this question.

A day or two ago, I was talking to my housemates about this question, and they definitely gave me a clearer understanding of what happened.

Apparently water is considered the drink of the poor in Rwanda. It is what people drink when there's absolutely nothing else around, like milk or Fanta or Coca Cola. Or tea, or coffee. Prosper explained to me how if he goes to someone's house, they'll ask him if he wants a drink. If he says, "Water" (because he's pretty different from most Rwandese), they look at him and say, "But isn't there anything else that you want to drink??"

I guess my students feel like it's strange for their American teacher, who is supposed to be so wealthy because she's foreign, to drink the poor man's beverage. I just love water.

Another Food Thought...

2012-01-11T20:18:00.000+02:00

I feel totally justified in writing another blog post about food, especially so soon after my run-in with the super duper hot sauce du jour. Why? Because, I feel like I need to redeem the food industry here in Rwanda. And also, some of the food really is good. That should be read, the produce. So, let's ccall this my current ode to the fresh food of Rwanda.

(Sung to the tune of "Oh Where oh where has my doggie gone")
OOooohhhhhhhhhhh!
Onions! Ooohhhhh onions!
How you taste so good?!
Oh hooow oh hooow can it be??
With a sweet, tangy crisp,
And a faint onion bite.
Oh hooowww oh hoow can it be?!?!

Seriously, though. I read before I came to Rwanda that the onions were so good you could eat them like an apple. I didn't believe them, until now. They have some kind of apple texture, but you don't want to get your tongue pulled out for putting it in your mouth!

And the tomatoes are smaller, but more full of flavor. They aren't pumped with water, like those from the states. Small, and full of a good, non-toxic tasting flavor. The sweet potatoes here are white, and have a bit more of a sweet taste to them. They don't taste as starchy. The bananas are half the size, but actually taste like something! Whereas bananas will often have a taste like cardboard in the states, with a hint of flavor, these puppies are so small they have to pack a punch in flavor. And they do.

I feel like I've only now begun to taste produce fully!

I am writing this in the hotel across the street from my house. My housemates are gone, and I'm currently locked out of the house. Neither of them said when exactly they'd be home. It's getting darker out, so I am cautious about going out alone. Sooo I'm sitting around putzing around on my laptop, writing thoughts about onions. The internet doesn't work over here in the hotel, really, and my computer is doing funky things.
But a Rwandan family is hanging out near me with a cute little boy who keeps coming up to me, putting his little hand on my arm, and looking at me all confused (I'm too white). And they are chatting with me about whatever right now. Of course I mentioned The Man. And the waitress is better at French, so we've been chatting a little bit in French about if the US has green peas and why the veggies here taste better (hence my post). She's been feeding me green peas and chips with bottles of Fanta Lemon.

T.I.A.

About Food

2012-01-11T07:29:00.004+02:00

Just to let you know, for the record, they don't put sauce on their meatballs. Don't worry - I figured that out the hard way for you to know.

Denise and I went to the restaurant next to our school for a snack after work yesterday. I ordered a boiled tomato and meatballs. She ordered chips (aka fries) and a half-cooked sandwich (she didn't want it half-cooked, it just came that way).

The service in Rwanda is to be found wanting quite a bit. It makes French service often feel more like fast food. On average, whenever I've been out to eat anything - no matter how small - it takes about an hour or so to actually get the food. And sometimes that doesn't mean you'll get what you ordered.

So we waited for a while.

The meatballs came finally, but they were dry. Really, they looked like falaffel balls with toothpicks poked in the middle for easy access. With the meatballs, the waitress put in front of me a little bowl with a dabble of sauce. I kept thinking to myself, "Wow, they really skimped out on their sauce." Denise gave me a non-discernible look while I poured the spoonful of sauce onto a meatball. I finally chomped down on the meatball...and...

OH MY GOD, THAT WAS SPICY PEPPER HOT SAUCE!!!!

Denise chuckled while I panicked and tried to remedy my mistake with tea (didn't help), ketchup (helped a little bit), and onions (I don't know what I was thinking). My nose started to run, my eyes were watering, and my tongue had lit up into flames not unlike, I'm sure, the fire of The Cocoanut Grove.

I felt congested beforehand, but the hot sauce really fixed that problem for me.

So, how is the food here?

Well, my first response to that question is...you know how I was all excited to eat healthfully and lose some weight as soon as I got to Kigali? Not so much...

Despite my gluten allergy, I ate pizza two nights in a row. They eat a lot of oily foods here, and mayonnaise. And they have ample numbers of cakes and pastries to chew on. Many of the shops I've been to - I dare say most - do not have vegetables or fruit, but cakes and chips. And lots of boxed goodies. And they have a lot of potatoes. A LOT of potatoes. The Man would be happy with that.

And I have been going out with my housemates for a few nights, and I am absolutely wiped. It's been hurting my exercise plans. But tomorrow, I've promised myself to go for a jog (FINALLY!) with my housemate, Prosper. He's a lanky, tall guy, so he'll have to pull it back for me. But I am feeling pretty nasty and my body aches for exercise. My goal is to get the exercise done at 5am every day before I go to work.

So it seems like I'm going to have to make a real concerted effort to lose some weight and eat the healthy diet I so crave right now.

My hope is that once I get into more of a schedule, and I start cooking my own fresh produce with my housemates, I'll feel better about it all.

Sunburns

2012-01-10T15:29:00.000+02:00

So for anyone who is interested, yes the sun is definitely more intense here. It has something to do, I'm sure, with the altitude and the geographic location in reference to the equator.

The sunburn that I received in Nairobi about a week ago is about done peeling. Or at least, I think? I don't have a mirror at the moment, so I think it's peeling. Based on the coarse feeling and the flakey bits coming off, I assume it's better.

My housemate informed me it was, in fact, a 2nd-degree burn.

Note to Kim: Where sunblock!

Something's Missing for Me

2012-01-10T11:04:00.000+02:00

I miss The Man a lot today. I miss him every day, really. But today it's heartbreaking.

I miss him more and more every day, actually. I have to tuck it into my pants so it is not part of my classroom mood when I teach. But everything I do happens with the intention of him in my heart. I thought it'd subside a bit. I'm finding it's the exact opposite.

I love that we Skype in the mornings, even if it's just that I get to hear his voice. Though I much prefer video, I will do whatever I can to make due and feel connected with him.

It's spurring me to think even more actively of how to get him to be with me. I mean it. I really feel like this is what I want - The Man. Africa has been a goal - a dream that I've been chasing for a long time. It seems that my life is opening up a new chapter of goals for me, and he's one of them.

Perhaps I'm feeling the beginnings of coming to age. Perhaps these are emotions that I feel because I am merely a human being with the same kinds of mechanisms as all others. Perhaps I am just wanting a family more, now. I do want a family. This trip is proving that to me even more than I had originally thought. Seeing babies and toddlers bring out my genuine smile with no effort. Thinking of cleaning a house and movie night Fridays with other families and him by my side are my new porn. I mean, there are other things I want with him, of course, but I like to keep this blog Rated G/PG...

And more and more do I feel that he is the one with whom I want to share that. He's my man man. I love him, and I love that he's my man.

So on my end, I'll keep up the hustle to see if there are better opportunities over here for him. I think it could be so perfect if it works out. I pray every day that it does.

I know this is all pretty sappy. Like, Nicholas Sparks sappy. But I had to put it out there somewhere. It feels better to write it down like this.

Trivia Night

2012-01-09T22:46:00.002+02:00

Sole Luna Restaurant

Today's classes were busy. The computers for the students all need some major repair, which is kind of stressful for me, being the IT teacher. But it must be done! I thought my laptop had bit the dust, and I panicked! Fortunately, it's been working alright since I started to coax it into functionality.

I had my first rain in Kigali. The school rooftops clambered with the rain, and the thunder in the distance echoed throughout the campus.

Just a note about males here: many of them are aggressive. My phone basically blew up today with random strangers that I met or talked to very briefly wanting to bring me out. I am pretty much feeling a big fat "NO!" to any of these invitations, since I'm not wanting anyone else but The Man. But they sure are persistant. I've been given advice to just let them buy me food, but don't give them anything in return - that way we all feel used. I don't know about that... I guess many men here think of Mzungus as temporary mistresses. Well, clearly they've never met me. No, thanks. I'm going to be wearing a "wedding" ring from now on while I'm here.

I got home to go out again. Our housemate Scovea turned 21 today! What an old lady, right? So they decided to go to a restaurant called SoleLuna. I tagged along to enjoy the company and celebrate with my housemates. Why not?

So we got into something called a squeeze bus. It's something like an off-brand bus system. And they call it a squeeze bus for a reason - you squeeze into it. We crammed our 20-some bodies into what's like a 15-passenger van. The smell of body odor is, of course, vagrant, but there is no escape from the aromatic claws of persperation. And we rode.

SoleLuna is like walking into a fairy land of some sort. Truly! We walked down a stone terrace staircase into what looked like a beautiful bungalow with flora covering the whole place. Looking out over the bungalow were the glowing, sparkly lights of Kigali. The decor is something you'd see in a movie and you'd think, "Yeah right, not in a developing country!" But it was there! Wonderful outdoor seating, and lots of white/foreign folk cramming artisinal pizzas into their hungry faces.

Tonight was Trivia Night. A night when Rwandans and expats can come together and stump each other on very curious trivial facts. Things including, "What country borders were created by going down the river and shooting cannons on either side of the ship?" (Gambia), or "Name the three most recent countries in the world" (Kosovo, Montenegro, & South Sudan). And other ridiculous things, like "What is the color orange named after?" (the fruit). Lots of expats laughed and scoffed together while we snarfed down tasty dinners and scraped our brains for reasonable answers. Apparently this happens every Monday night. I think I might have to do that again! It was so much fun.

And then the housemates and I all found it to be 10pm - and we have work in the morning! So we took motos. At night. Which was a thrill I probably could have lived without, but we did make it home all in our own individual pieces.

I am running late tonight, so it's definitely time for me to go to bed.

Washing Day

2012-01-08T13:10:00.002+02:00

Today I got to wash my clothing. Something us "first world citizens" take for granted are washing machines - elsewhere, it's your own blood and sweat that get you to look all squeaky clean. I had two buckets - one with some soap mixed in water, and the other with just water. I only had a week's worth of clothing, but it still took an hour or two to rub my clothing together furiously to get them relatively clean. I am still trying to figure out how exactly to maximize the cleanliness of my clothing. Dust is in the air here pretty instensely, especially in the more local Rwandan areas, it seems. Some areas are maintained very well, but other parts are just dirt roads and lots of people. I live in the latter. So my clothing has a lot of dirt in it. Figuring out how to get that stuff out of my clothes while I scrub the pieces of fabric with my fists is going to be a new, exciting challenge for me.

My clothing are now dripping on the clotheslines in the back of the house; I feel like I just passed a rite here, for some quirky reason. Perhaps because I'm showing that living simply and basically can work. Or at least, I'm trying to do that.

People here are extremely resourceful, based on my observations. My US housemate noted to me how the clotheslines in the back were from random things that normally us Americans would take for granted and toss, like twine that was used to wrap large pieces of fabric. Interestingly, while Rwandans are good at re-using, recycling here doesn't really exist at all. And reducing seems to be something you could debate about if it's an issue or not- to me, they either don't have the resources to reduce anymore, or if they do, they don't seem to use a lot of things anyways.

And there are no plastic bags here. If you go to the shop, you either buy a fabric bag to take away your stuff, or they pack it in a paper bag. Often times, you end up paying for any bags you use. I am so glad I thought about that before I left and that I have my handy fabric bag that I haul around with me.

Getting Around Town

2012-01-07T23:08:00.002+02:00

African Bagel Company joy

Today I woke up and got on Skype with The Man, and we had a good time. I jump roped while he told me about his evening with some of our friends. I am so happy he was able to enjoy himself! I still miss him a lot.

Today was a good day in general.

One of my housemate's friends drove us to a place called African Bagel Company (ABC). We drove through Kigali to the Kicukiro ward and walked through a gated area a bit off of the main road into what seemed like a little idyllic respite from the busy city life. The open-air house is very cute and clean, with some very pretty bamboo add-ons that serve as awnings. The land was very well manicured and had pretty plants speckled around the area. The store in the house was very sweet and simple, but kind of fun and rather colorful. All white girls smiled back at me while I looked at the freshly-baked doughnuts and bagels. I asked them how long they'd been in Rwanda, and the oldest grinned and said, "Our whole lives!" The owners are originally from two towns over from where I grew up, too! Apparently on Saturdays, this is THE expat hangout in the entire city. So within a few whiles, the garden was full of white folk with cutely-dressed babies and toddlers. And the bagels were, dare I say, better than even perhaps those in NYC! So we had a great time for a few hours enjoying the company of others and relaxing under a bamboo roof with our tasty bagels. The owner invited me to hang out with them more on the weekends. We'll see.

Afterwards, I managed with my housemates and a colleague to finally go to the town area of Kigali. It is being built up pretty nicely, and it was very busy. But we meandered to a few stores and bought a few things that we needed, like tupperware and umbrellas. Scovea brought us to a Chinese shop with super cheap options for everything, which I really appreciated. The interesting thing, I thought, about the town is that it's all hilly. Which makes sense - Rwanda is the "Land of Many Hills". So everywhere I have walked since coming has been literally uphill. It's just the geography. And for some reason it seemed strange to me.

Public transportation here is a special kind of monster. There are a bunch of legitimate public transportation buses that are reliable, in the sense that they are always going to come to the bus stops. It's just a matter of whether they come within 30 minutes to an hour or so, and if they're full or not. But they are really cheap (less than $.50 anywhere!) and safe. But then there are the off-brand buses, and they are more frequent and stop at more places...but the catch is that they stop at more places (and are often fuller), and don't always go to where you need to be. Lots of shouting happens to make sure people get on the right buses, and there are a lot of people. So we got on an off-brand bus to get back to our area, Kimironko.

The landscape is very pretty, but truth be told I am not sure what to take pictures of around here. Lots of big hills that are pretty panoramas, but it's hard to capture. And otherwise, it's all walls and street.

We ended up meandering a bit more to more markets before getting back to the house. And we ended up seeing a wedding happen. The weddings I've seen here so far will have big Jeeps with ribbons decorating the front, while the women wear outfits not unlike saris. At home, I crashed like a computer that needs rebooting. I napped for a bit.

And then the party started! My US housemate threw a party tonight, as she is going back to the states for a few months and I just got here. And the people were so sweet and welcoming; they all offered their services and help to me while I'm in Kigali. I super duper appreciate it. But I ended up talking to expats a lot, which I didn't mind at all. One of the expats was a woman who works with USAID - she's offered to help me out with my career optoins more and what I can do to make it work in Africa with The Man. And two other expats work in IT, which was HUGE for me in my mission to get The Man hooked up. One especially excited me because he mentioned needing potentially another IT guru, and he seemed interested in The Man and his expertise. He even mentioned a project potentially in Kenya working on cybersecurity. Score huge!

And after a nice long talk with my mom, I need to go to bed.

A Thought on Names

2012-01-06T12:08:00.002+02:00

I don't know how my students are able to remember their names! They are so incredibly long and complicated. One's surname is Nyirahagenimana. How do you even pronounce that?! And that's not even an exception! Some of them keep going, and I end up saying something ridiculous like, "Manah Manah" OR "Uga-chaka?"! I don't think names will be something I will master here. They are just so strange to me.

Just letting you know for now - I'm on fire with getting next week's classes ready! Well, at least for now. I have 67% of my classes ready to go. The only class not ready yet is Math. And since we just took an exam yesterday, as you know, I had to go through everyone's test and make sure I knew what level people were at. It truly is a mixed bag. Enough students don't understand most math problems that I will be teaching pretty basic stuff, methinks. I just feel bad for the students who aced the test.

If anyone has good ideas or helpful thoughts about that kind of conundrum, I'm all ears.

Muzungu

2012-01-05T21:09:00.000+02:00

Today was the first day of classes, and I am out of my head exhausted. Again? Again.

I never really fully grasped the fact that teaching, as The Man says, is truly a performance art. I danced, leapt, and sang through 4 hours of math class, just so that my students would feel excited and interested in what I had to say. That is a long, long time to be energetic and engaging.

The first class was terrified, and you could tell. They were pretty silent. So I went around to see if they'd talk to me about things about themselves for a while. It was difficult - they barely spoke above a whisper, even when standing up. I just kept trying to encourage them, and little by little they came out a little bit. But not a lot. The second class I taught was a lot more excited and open. They still spoke softly, but many of them had some courage. Apparently, a large amount of the second class had an initial year at the school before, so they are more confident and used to the school. I told them who I was and they cheered. That was a boost. Both classes I had to speak super slowely. Suuuppppeeerrrr slooooooooooowllyyyyyyy....with con-so-nan-ts.

I had the classes take placement exams today for a while, because I have absolutely no idea where they are in math. It's a pretty mixed bag of knowledge, so I think I might just start from the very bottom so I can make sure everyone gets on a level playing field. But it might be easier than I had thought. We'll see what happens once I teach them math for once. I am pretty much winging it for the moment. I have a feeling I will be winging it a bit all the time.

One tackle I know I will face is the complacently clueless demeanor of the students. I have no idea what they don't know and do know, and they're not going to readily supply me with that information. All class I would stop everything and ask people to raise their hand if they don't understand. I don't know another way right now. I hope I'll figure it out soon.

I think my school should have a nap room for the teachers during their break times.

I have one classmate from the Bahamas, Denise, who is really wonderful, and we get along famously so far. She is laid back and funny, and very inviting. We have been having a few heart-to-hearts about our situations, raison d'etre's, and other things. I enjoy talking and hanging out with her - I hope we can spend more time out of class together. I really like all of the teachers with whom I work so far. Everyone is fun, talkative, and intelligent. I love that. I work with 2 Ugandans and a Bahaman; most people can't say that.

I forgot to mention that today was the first time in my life I rode a motorcycle, called motos here. Apparently I wake up and go to work too early to use the public transportation here, so I have to use the motos to get to work, since they're basically the version of taxicabs here. I was pretty terrified during the ride. I had this massive, vibrating machine jostling me around on a vehicle that was going down a windy hill road far too quickly - how could I not be terrified?? I am so glad Scovea came with me on another moto so I could ape her actions and movements on my moto. I clung on for dear life with the grip of death the entire trip. I now know one Kinyarwandan word: Buhoro means SLOW!

After work I had to wait an hour (an hour?!) for the KBS bus to get back to my house. Denise waited with me, as she wanted to go to the market (Kimironko Market) to get some produce before heading home. The motos crowded around the white girl (that's me) for about an hour, trying to persuade us to use them to get to Kimironko. I kept saying, "KBS", thinking they'd understand that I was waiting for the bus like all of the other Rwandans around me. They would just laugh at me and talk to each other in Kinyarwandan, as if I wasn't there in front of them. I heard the word, "muzungu" a lot today. Muzungu means, essentially, "foreigner". But the connotations include money wealth, white skin usually, English language, and a certain outsider respect. Though I have no wealth (I make the equivalent to a Rwandan), I am a muzungu. The bus finally came, and even on the bus people checked out the only white person on it. I was charged 50 fRw extra for my trip.

I've never been so aware of my skin color in my entire life - not even in India did I feel so obviously placed out.

So we went to the market, and again I was a muzungu with my Bahaman buddy. While she's black and probably would have been able to get by just fine in the market because of that, I was there with backpack in tow, and therefore we became an attraction. I was clutching onto my backpack while we were surrounded on all sides by people who wanted our business. Boys came up to beg me to hire them to hold my bags (No). Men came over to get us to buy their vegetables and fruit (No). And women watched us and talked about "Muzungu" from afar, as they watched their stands. I am used to living in NYC, where it is so easy to be invisible and get on with daily life without being haggled normally. Now, I'm in a place where I will never, never be invisible. I will always be the muzungu that people surround and focus their efforts on. I don't know how I feel about it, and I'm thinking I won't get used to it.

I had a Fanta with my housemate and her friend, and we chatted about normal, daily life. And about Rwanda. And about The Man. I talk about him a lot.

Glow Bug

2012-01-04T21:25:00.000+02:00

What a difference a 10-hour sleep fest can make! Granted, I am not 100% yet, but I'm a lot closer than yesterday!

I slept pretty well last night. That is to say, I slept pretty well once I put in the ear plugs. The house I am staying in right now is between a few bars, more or less, and those places don't have noise control regulations at night. So, post-plugs, and aside from waking up to use the toilet, I slept well.

Today I went to work for a full day. And oh boy, did I work. From 9am to about 6:30pm, I was running around getting stuff done. Did I mention I have to start class in the morning? We got to move around a lot of furniture. A lot of heavy furniture. Basically, we redesigned and refurnished the entire school. With the summer heat in Rwanda, it was pretty miserable lifting wooden desks and hauling them around the hallways to get the classrooms set up. I got sunburned more. I also had to work last minute on my classes for tomorrow. I had to wait for a while to get to talk with someone about what kind of way I should design the class. They've taught some of the subjects before, and I didn't want to get too obscure in my teaching of math and IT and whatever. So, I was running around frantic at 6pm trying to print out 80 copies of my syllabi and placement exams (all made by yours truly); stapling and collating papers and fixing printers were my chaotic half hour before getting home. I don't like doing things so last minute.

And that is when I get to explain TIA - This Is Africa. I didn't want to be like everyone else who uses the term, once they have been here. I feel like it always sounds pretentious, and perhaps a bit discriminatory in some way. But alas, it seems to be a legitimate phrase for a legitimate reason. I'm actually having a conversation right now with my Rwandan housemate, Prosper about this - apparently, even Africans use "TIA". He's a really smart guy, and a pretty fantastic explainer. And he's helping me get this thought out of me more clearly. Basically, as far as I understand, TIA is a word with a lot of different contexts: Things are different in Africa, for better or for worse; Nothing is happening at the time or in the way I want it to happen, but there's nothing I can do about it (which is how I generally think about it, and currently am experiencing; Things should not be like this; and, This place is magical, so don't be surprised about what happens here.

There was also some changes in how I would get reimbursed by the school, as agreed in the contract. It'll be a bit more inconvenient with the new deal, but at least I won't get taxed in Rwanda. I just wish I had known about it sooner.

So, after a long day at work, all I can think is, TIA.

My other Rwandan roommate, Scovea, has been my guide and escort while I start getting acquainted with the area; she came to find me after work so I could get home in one piece.

Oh yeah, also, the sun comes up around 5am, and it sets around 6pm. That makes it a bit harder to get around at night, especially because not all streets are well lit.

So I started walking up some serious hills to get towards Scovea at our agreed-upon meeting spot. It's a bit of a hike, I will admit, but it's where the buses and motos park for passengers, near the hospital in Kibagabaga. I'm so grateful that she is able and willing to get me here and there, because otherwise I'd be a crying little girl on the side of the road here. I have so much to learn. As I walked past a few people here and there, I wondered to myself, "What if she can't see me in the darkness?" And then I chuckled to myself, because how could she not see me in the dark?! EVERYONE sees me in the dark here. I'm one of the only white people around! I basically glow in the dark like a glow bug around here!

She found me and one of my colleagues from school met up with us and drove us to the center of our area of town, called Kimironko market. I had heard that there was an ATM nearby, so Scovea led me to the ATM and I excitedly pulled out some Rwandan Francs. Upon calculation, I pulled out a lot more than I had wanted to, but done is done, and I have promised to maintain my wallet by my hip at all times, nicely locked. I was so happy to finally have some cash to get myself moving around that I insisted we go to a shop nearby to get some things.

I've not been so excited about cereal in a while. It was a super expensive box (750g for $7.50??), but I am so happy with it right now, I think it's worth it. And I got a can of Nutella and some apple juice boxes.

I'm so excited to call my boyfriend in the AM after I wake up. I'll have to call him around 5:30am my time, but since I have to be at work around 6:45am, it doesn't sound so bad to wake up then. I think I might have to be a morning glory in this country, by force.

I know I need to upload pictures soon. I've just not really taken that many yet.

Alright, bed now. Wish me luck on my first classes ever tomorrow! Applied Maths, here I come!

Kigali Day 1: Dazed and Confused

2012-01-03T17:40:00.000+02:00

I arrived in Kigali around 2:30am, and my three new housemates came to pick me and my tons of luggage up. It was so nice to have people waiting for me and welcoming me into the new place. I was pretty wiped out, though, so I'm unsure if I said anything that could have been rambling or incriminating.

Just in case you were wondering, at the moment Rwanda smells like fresh dust, newly-picked potatoes, and grass.

I got settled into the house - it's nice. The puppy is really cute and a bit scrawny, which of course means he was even cuter. I have a large learning curve, I discovered, and I didn't get to bed until about 4am, after unpacking a bit and winding down.

And of course, now that my biological clock is really off, I slept for about 5 hours and woke up to a bright, sunny, hot day in Kigali. It was a slow morning, and we mainly chatted and I learned a bit more about the house rules and set-up. Apparently, there's talk of my housemates finding a new house that's not next to the street, and bars. They might try to get a new place by as early as the end of the month! That was a surprise to me...and so I guess I might be moving again soon - either with them or alone. It is a bit disappointing, but hey! If the place is even better and around the same price, then it's all good with me.

I had a delicious banana & peanut butter smoothie for breakfast, and I made a concoction for lunch of rice cakes, lentils, and tomatoes. I've yet to get cash/money, and I have a feeling I'll be getting a lot of stuff for myself this weekend.

I'm at work now. Because that's how I roll. I started work around 2pm today - about 12 hours after my arrival. I'm a bit loopy, I think. Am I rambling here? My thoughts are a bit scrambled...

The campus is petite, but very lovely. There's a garden nearby, and the campus is outdoors, with white walls. The classrooms have lots of desks. It seems that our white board is actually a piece of plywood painted white. Curious. I think I'll become a creative teacher, somehow...

I'm a bit stressed already about working. There's a lot of stuff I have to do before Thursday - when classes start. And some things will probably change. I was told that it's all overwhelming right now because I am jet lagged. And on that note, I'll stop rambling for a bit and prepare to go back to wherever it is I'm going after work.

Nairobi: AKA, the Longest Layover Ever

2012-01-02T22:45:00.000+02:00

I woke up on my 3-chair streched airline bed as we landed in Nairobi. I peered out the window as we taxied and...wait a minute...Africa doesn't have horses, does it? Stripes...is...is that a zebra?!

Yes, zebras apparently speckle the landscape of Nairobi Airport.

I took my time getting through the airport. This leg of the trip has a layover of about 15 hours. !!!. Fortunately, I had contacted the brother of one of my best friends from high school for this long layover. His wife (Aki) and him (Jon) are staying here for a year. And they have been wonderful in agreeing to take me in for the laover and save me the pain of an arduous day sitting in a little airpot.

To be fair, it's not a tiny airport. I've been to much smaller. They're lots of shopes, but Felicity spoke true that there's only one coffee shop in the whole place.

I hobbled through customs a bit perky, post-plane nap. The customs man slabbed a transit visa in my passport and asked me where I was going for my long layover (don't worry - I was the only person at customs at the time). I mumbled something about visiting a friend and before I knew it he had shoved his cellphone in my hands (his name was Tessy) and I'm talking to Jon about cabs. I have a feeling the kindness of strangers will never stop surprising me.

One of the first things I enjoy about going to different places is smelling them. I think it helps create the atmosphere (no pun intended). Nairobi, to me, smells like burning wood and dust. To give a comparison, France smells like buttery eggs and clean; India smells also like burning wood and dust, but also fruit and human defication.

I landed the right cab company with some helpful Kenyans and stared out of the front window at the new surroundings. Some sights I saw were men in nice business suits with briefcases, trudging through the murky curbs next to the streets. I also saw huge birds chilling out in trees - they had a grey/white hue to them and super long beaks. One tree had a bird at the top middle stretching its massive wings out, reminding me of some kind of hawk. The just just seemed ridiculous, like a scene from a commercial or film that otherwise seemed totally fabricated and provoked me to say, "Yeah, right." I guess so.

Jon and Aki graciously greeted me at their apartment, which is lovely by the way, and we relaxed and chatted for a while. What fantastic people! I gratefully showered off the airplane scum and we strolled to an outdoor market as they explained to me Nairobi.

We didn' get to the animal parks as I'd thought. It's a holiday here, and I just didn't have the time. But Jon's co-workers joined us for the walk, and we had an excellent time roaming.

We walked through some green scapes, and lots of dusty roads. One particular road we crossed a brook over a pretty precarious bridge made of cheap wooden slats. THAT was fun.

We ended up at a mall for lunch, and I felt like we had just teleported back to the states. Big named shops; a pretty interious, and lots of white people. LOTS. Isn't this a developing country?!

I had a haloumi salad that was divine and home fries with a chill butter sauce that made me moan with delight. I considered asking for a doggy bag, knowing they probably wouldn't understand me. The cafe itself was clearly a white-person favorite, and it looked like The Smith in NYC. Go figure!

We also went to their version of Walmart - Nakumatt. Again, isn't this a developing nation?!

We got back to their apartment and I slept for 4 hours before heading back to the airport. I slept like a dead person. I woke up all bright red. Apparently, not even sunscreen can save me from my pastey complexion. And now, I will remember that in Africa, that the Sun is a badass, strict mother who will make sure you are careful and protect your skin, or you'll bear the consequences immediately.

I'm in the airport now. My flight leaves in about 2 hours. To Kigali I come! I called The Man - of course, I wept on his voicemail.

Days of Travel

2012-01-02T22:28:00.000+02:00

So, first thing's first: Newark Airport sucks.

The Man and I left around 3am (without real sleep) to get to the airport for my flight. And we encountered every single drunk/stoned New Jersey resident. That's what I get for leaving New Year's Day in NYC, I guess. But when we got to the AirTrain for EWR, we had to wait roughly 40 minutes for the train to take us to the terminals. I really, really don't like cutting it that close, and it was pretty infuriating. When we finally got to the airport, it seemed as though my flight was the only one leaving. So the massive line of passengers we got behind were all waiting for one of the two check-in stewards to let them/us in. And I think were were a handful of people moving overseas, because they had so many carts of luggage it seemed like a joke. It was not. I was checked-in when the plane began boarding.

That was NOT how I wanted my last few, precious hours with my man to go. I wanted time to hold him, cry a bit, talk to him. But instead, I was annoyed and stressed. When we ran to the check point, I burst into tears. I love him so much, and the thought of not having him near for a while makes me dread this trip a bit. I clung onto him for a moment before being pulled towards the queue. What pain I never understood with someone you want to be with forever! I still pray it won't be as long without him near...I'm determined.

The flight to London was rocky. I slept a bit, but we had pretty intense turbulence that made even me a bit nervous. We dropped a few times (though not too badly) and people yelped and screamed. I started practicing Reiki and the plane finally levelled out before I feel back asleep.

I had forgotten how big and busy Heathrow is, and when I walked through to my connecting flight to Nairobi, I nearly burst into tears from the high stimulation.

For the record, I am not a cryer, but I've never cried so much in my life, than I have in the last week. The sorrow and fear (and a few other things) have left my eyes damp.

The Nairobi flight, unlike the London flight, was pretty sparse, so I managed to grab a middle aisle all to myself and sleep for most of the 8-hour leg. I watched a few TV shows and, of course, thought of The Man.

I hope I don't end up turning this blog into a sad romance novel. I think it'll be easier once I get sleep and get adjusted. I do know it'll never be easy, though. He's the man I love and it's going to hurt not having him near. For now.

Almost Gone

2012-01-01T01:13:00.000+02:00

So. I have about 12 hours before I have to be at the airport. For a long, long trip on to Kigali.

Rwandair has changed the time of my flight from Nairobi to Kigali twice. I now have about an 18-hour layover in Nairobi, and I will arrive in Kigali essentially the same day I have to be at work. There are no other flights to Kigali that day that I can make in a transfer. That's some nice added stress to my life right there. My housemate-to-be in Kigali wrote to me to say, "Wow, you really are experiencing trial by fire!" Indeed.

Thank goodness one of my closest high school friend's oldest brother lives in Nairobi. He has been wonderfully accommodating to my super-duper long layover in Nairobi, and he's offered to let me sleep on their couch for a few hours. And we might go see the elephant orphanage! Which is so incredibly exciting I don't even know what to do with myself. And the napping sounds essential, now that I will basically be visiting Nairobi due to force.

The catch is to get a cab that is reliable and can bring me to his place in one piece. And potentially all 150 lbs. of my luggage. Oh yes, that much luggage. Can we say $$$ in fees?

But it doesn't matter, in the end. As long as I can get to Kigali sane, sober, and subsisting, then I will be satisfied.

There are so many last-minute things that have cropped up over the last week. I am confident that this is kind of The Universe making my life so complicated and bringing out more issues so that I stop trying to control everything, and just surrender to the fact that I've done all I can do, and it will all be fine.

Things that I have had to do last minute includes:

Renewing my MA license
Getting $$$ to hold me over for the trip
Writing "Thank You" cards to everyone
Soup up my software

Something I haven't had time to do this time around was switch banks. My friend Felicity gave me GREAT advice, and I anticipate switching to Capitol One once I am around to do that in a timely fashion. Apparently they are not as absurd as BofA with their overseas clients (see previous blog post). Good to know - good to know.

The hardest part is still knowing I may not see The Man for a while. We have talked, and oh boy have I cried, but we both love each other so much and we are working hard at making this work for our best interests. I am going to look for gigs for him overseas that fulfill his goals and life, and I pray every night that it will work out swimmingly once I'm over there.

It is pretty appropriate for me to leave January 1st. It's in so many ways turning a new leaf; starting a new, completely different chapter to my life. This could be it. I could be in the middle of the big change of which people often speak when they have their epiphanies, or life changes. I'm hoping 2012 will be a great year, full of better things and wonder and other happy situations. And that everything works out in my highest good.

Now, I guess it's time for me to get going, more or less. I've got a lot of emotions. I've not done this kind of trip before, by my lonesome and with loved ones here still. So I hope to not get too sappy in my writing, or in general. Here's to new adventures.

Preparing More for Rwanda

2011-12-22T07:38:00.001+02:00

...Alright, so maybe I'll write a few more blogs before I get to Rwanda. It's all so new, and there's so much involved!, that I feel like the preparation process has become an adventure in itself.

There are days in the US when I wonder if my faith in humanity is going to fly out the window. I had the feeling of throwing in the towel on a connecting flight in Phoenix, AZ once. And on the subway most days. And other places.

Today I had it while in Bank of America.

I had to go to the bank so I could make sure they don't block my VISA while in Rwanda. What a terrible plight that would be - being in need of money and not being able to access it in a place where poverty can be closer than normal. I have done this task before for other trips on the phone - I would just call BoA and let them know, they'd plug it into the system, and I would be ready to go. But alas, something would always go haywire, and I'd be stranded in, say, France without any financial means at the moment. I don't know why BoA wishes to be such a huge pain in the ass about it all, but they succeed. So, I resolve to try this out in person.

The guy, Pedro, was very helpful and eager to make sure everything worked out in my favor. He even noted my past troubles with this specific service of BoA. He was having some technical glitches, but he happily put me on the phone with their service operators. That was a big red flag for me. But...apparently BoA employees even now have to use the dismal automated service to get anything done.

So some guy got on the phone with me. I don't recall his name, but he sure did talk slow. He understands I will be traveling abroad, and we start talking about my account's logistics. He starts by telling me that they have a 90-day cap on the overseas allowance. I ask him what that means. Basically, according to BoA, after 90 days, I should no longer be overseas. That seems a bit ridiculous and cumbersome. I ask him how to prolong the services, and he mentions the only way is to just "call us back in April and ask for more time with your account." As if I won't be using it overseas? This seems counter-intuitive to me.

I ask him, "Well, can my parents do it for me? I don't know if I'll be able to access international phone services where I'll be in Africa. My parents used to be authorized on my same accounts when I was younger - can't they call in as a proxy for me?" Apparently life cannot be that simple for BoA. I have to make an appointment with BoA WITH parents in tow to make them authorized users again and be able to do things like, be my proxy. Does it matter that I won't be seeing my parents during bank hours before I leave? Not at all - I should be able to teleport back to the US and get this thing arranged for BoA. Otherwise, no VISA. Thank you.

So I growled and said, "I'll see what I can do..." And we ventured into other technicalities. He said, "So you're going to Africa, and that is the final arrival?" And I shift around and mumble, "Well, yeah, I'll be in Africa..." (thinking, it's a big continent...).This guy says, "Any layovers? That way you can use your VISA while you're in transit."

Yes! Excellent! For a moment, I felt like perhaps we would get somewhere convenient and helpful in our conversation!

"Yes, I'll have a layover in London, and another one in Nairobi."
"Naomi?"
"No, Nairobi. It's the capital of Kenya?"
"Canyeah?"
"Kenya?"
"Is that with a C?"
"Um, no? A K??"
"Oh, I see it here. Ken-yaH."
"Yes."
"Alright, ma'am, is there anythi..."
"-Whoa, don't you want to know the final destination??"
"....Africa?"
"Yeah, but where IN Africa?"
"...."
"I mean, Africa is a continent?"
"London, Kenya, and Africa is what I have for your destinations, ma'am."
My eyes bulged.
"Sir, Kenya is IN Africa. Kenya is a country. Africa is a continent. It's a very big continent. Please tell me my VISA will not be able to travel throughout all of Africa without me knowing."
"Alright, so where else are you going?"
"Rwanda."
"........"
"Rwanda."
".....Africa?"
"Rwanda is in Africa?....You know, they had a genocide about 2 decades ago...a big one...?"
"How do you spell that?"
"R-W-A-N-D-A????"
"Oh! We have it here."
"Right..."

And so it went for a while longer, until finally I felt bewildered, frustrated, and much like my efforts to be responsible and proactive are all in vain.

Fortunately, Pedro knew Kenya was a country in Africa. And he knew of Rwanda. But he didn't know much else about them, I guess. I mentioned that they're growing quickly, much like Germany post-Holocaust. Upon leaving the bank, he stops and asks me with a light bulb overhead, "Wait....did the genocide in Germany affect their economy??" Yes, Pedro.

Pre-Departure Post - Rwanda

2011-12-14T21:47:00.000+02:00

This is how I feel...

I don't normally like to write in my travel blog pre-departure. But this next adventure, I feel, needs some kind of primer in this journal. Not just in case some curious passersby’s come to read my stories - I feel like I need to document somehow the intensity that has flooded my life for about 2 months at the end of 2011. Even if it ends up some tome-like journal entry. Which it is. Skim away, if you’d like.

Oh my goodness. I'm moving to Rwanda.

There's a certain disbelief in me as I prepare myself. Alright, a lot of disbelief. I have wanted, dreamed, strived to go to Africa for I don't know how long. I had started to believe that it was never going to happen. The kind of goals or dreams you put on your fireplace mantle and polish once in a while to remind you of what you've wanted.

I have never understood fully my deep interest and passion in going to travel the world and live in other places, especially Africa. Sometimes, I wish I didn't have this pull. I wish that I could be complacent and happy staying and doing whatever. However, the universe - and my soul - has had completely different plans for me than that. It seems that I am destined for something that I don't quite know, yet, and I have to just follow the path and the waves.

I have looked for years for opportunities in Africa. The problem is that...most opportunities were more cost than benefit to me. I can't do PeaceCorps - I am a health liability with my medical records (read: Hashimoto's). They don't want to drop me off in some rural area of wherever and find me 6 months from now in a coma. I get that. And I can't do the normal volunteer route that so many people I know and have spoken to have done. I could never afford to take a few months out of my life and pay my way through volunteering abroad. You know, paying my dues, as many public servants tell me. The idea is kind of ludicrous to my business self; why on Earth would I pay money to work for organizations, when my work is perfectly salary-worthy? And my parents have been incredibly supportive, but the idea of them paying for my life any more than they already have was vomit-inducing.

And looking for jobs that pay over there have prohibitive requirements for me. Primarily, you must have already lived in Africa before. Kind of strange, many of the jobs I was qualified for, except this one piece of information. It was much like a club card, in my head. You can't go to Africa unless you're already in the Africa club. So, I was told to travel and get more international experience. Which brings us back to the previous obstacles. The easy paths burned up pretty quickly for me, in these senses.

And then in a matter of a very brief period of time, something that I could work with fell into my lap. Teaching business math (I love math) for girls in Kigali with a school. It doesn't pay much, but it pays enough. And I've mustered enough money on my end to make it work. It was like meeting opportunity halfway.

I though to myself, I can teach. And the contract is so far only for 9 months - I can come back if I need to. Or perhaps it'll be so perfect that I end up staying. I don't know, yet. Part of me wants it to be brief, and part of me is curious to see what unfolds.

The pain in leaving comes with The Man. I love him so much, and the idea of not having him there with me is heartbreaking. The idea of having to go our ways for a while so that we can do what we need to do has had me cry many nights. It's more or less horrifying right now, to me. But he's fantastic, we've talked a lot, and there's a chance (a really good chance, if I have any say) that he could find opportunity here, and come join me. I pray every night that something good crops up for him that fills his soul and can join me, if it's in our best interest.

I've been extremely surprised at how many people I know have mentioned their interest in coming to visit me. Some friends have said, "Well, I was planning on going to Kenya anyways...", "My grandfather really loved Rwanda, and I've always wanted to visit...", "I'd LOVE to see the gorillas!"... I hope that people actually take up on their interests.

Feelings and emotions aside (because I have a lot of those...), the preparations have been a bit overwhelming. I've had less than 2 months to organize and everything, from tying up pieces here to opening things there. And it's been a lot of stuff, a lot I hadn't even really considered. I'm not going with a program that does everything for you, or offers you housing. For all intents and purposes, I'm on my own. The journey so far has been pretty full. And, as I know of myself, I better organize thoughts in lists. Lists, thus, are the way for this post.

Moving: I must love moving a lot, because I do it at least once a year. I have been, at least, for the last 7 years. That’s sarcasm – I hate moving all of my belongings in one big, strenuous day of crying, mishaps, and losing things. But alas, and alack. Moving had to happen.

It was not an idea moving situation. I mentioned to my ex-roommates the notion of me moving to Africa, and before I knew it, they had someone waiting to hear if I was moving or not because they wanted the room. I wanted more time. And I regret telling them my thoughts before I signed any papers. I accepted the job in Rwanda and moved out of my place in 2 weeks. And a jarring 2 weeks it was; I packed up everything I had, and got rid of a few things that I knew I wouldn’t need again. And I had to deconstruct shelves and buy more plastic boxes to put more things in it. It was a frantic move. I hurt every moment of it. But it’s over.

I had about 1.5 carloads of stuff to move. The bed remained on the curb. Did I mention we didn’t rent a truck? Our old Buick Park Avenue that moved me from Old Place to The Man’s Place. One trip of my stuff went to my dad’s for storage, the other one went to The Man’s. Dad and his roommate complained that I had too much stuff. But, I think for someone who’s lived on their own for about two years, I don’t have much stuff at all. Really, I don’t. It just feels like it when you’re coming down to the wire. But, done is done, and I moved one evening after work, and that was that.

Housing: This was the most daunting thing for me, at first. From what I've read, expats pay around $300+ monthly for housing; that's a lot more than I could muster, I know. Some people pay up to a grand! A grand?! Aren't we in Africa?!

Based on recommendations from the founder of the girls' school, I joined a listserve for Kigali folks, called Kigali Life. This listserve has dozens of emails a day from people with offers and asking for help. So, I posted a request for free/cheap accommodations on the listserve, thinking, "What on Earth do I expect to come out of that?!" Surprisingly, a whole lot. I got lots of emails. Local Rwandans offering me to stay with their families; expats offering (slightly pricier than I can pay) rooms in their houses; Rwandans apologizing (apologizing?!) for not being able to offer me space. And one US woman emailed me with an offer - a place to stay with her local Rwandan roommates while she's in the US doing some things for a few months. And the rent is fantastic - $100/month! The house is cute, and I don't need frills, so I said, "Why not?!" And the woman and I have started emailing back and forth, much like a pen pal system. It seems that we actually are QUITE a lot alike, with similar interests and everything. She has been instrumental in my preparations, with her recommendations and insights on the country where I will be moving in January. I'm actually really excited to meet her and the future roommates. It sounds like a great match - I hope it lives up to what it sounds like!

Airfare: Airfare to Kigali is, of course, ridiculous. It's not a very well-traversed flight path, to date. So there's a lot of planning and praying and figuring out what works on your schedule and your wallet. My dad has been really helpful with this, actually. I used CheapOAir.com, which is alright for finding cheaper flights (albeit not that much cheaper). Only they've changed my flights a few times already, and for each set of roundtrip tickets I've reserved, they had to immediately alter the flights to pretty different itineraries. Which means more money. To be honest, I don't know if I actually saved any money. But it's done.

I had to buy two roundtrip tickets - one for getting there and coming back at the end of the contract, and one for coming and going to my sister'swedding in May. A 3-day stop in Boston for big wedding?! I am a little bit worried about that, but do I have much choice? I'm going to make the most of the brief stopover, and I plan on switching out my wardrobe to freshen up my style a bit. I'm trying to minimize my packing load. More on that later…

Visa & Staying: Thankfully, Rwanda doesn't necessarily require a visa to enter their country; they give you a visa once you get there. Now I just have to figure out the rest of that visa stuff, later...

...As well as the banking information...I know I'll bring my banking card with me, but I have a feeling I'll need to get an African bank account. I'm currently eying Ecobank or Fina Bank. Not sure, at all. I really don't know what I'm talking about on this. But I am also trying to make a nice buffer, or cushion, of cash for when I'm there. And therein lays the main challenge for the moment...

And I have had to register with the US Embassy there, so that they know I'm there, just in case. I think it's amazing that I have to really make sure they know I exist. Because Africa is such a hotspot for conflict. Granted, Rwanda seems to have gotten over its conflict pretty decently, and they are very safe now. But you never know what could happen, nowadays. Or, rather, ever.

Mail: It's something so simple that is so easy to forget. I had to change everything I have my address on, ever, to my dad's. My dad is letting me use his address while I'm away. It makes sense to me - that way the address change isn't too grand. But everything has to change! And it's hard to remember everything. Amazon, banks, insurance, PayPal, retirement accounts, old work places, membership organizations, friends, visa accounts... And mail forwarding (brought to you by USPS) can only do so much, much to my chagrin. So that takes up a lot of thinking and time. But I think, after combing my thoughts, I think it's done!

And as I have continued getting prepared for this move, I remembered something so easily forgotten - my driver's license is going to expire in a few weeks! On my birthday, to be exact. Sooo sometime I have to do that. I haven't decided which state I should maintain my residence. Which one makes more sense, anymore?

Vaccines: Thank goodness most vaccines I had to receive already for my trips to India and Guatemala. The only vaccine I had left was Yellow Fever. The shot spot still itches and is a bit read, but last week I got the flu shot and Yellow Fever, and happily got my yellow card that proves I'm immunized. It's so funny, to me, that this piece of flimsy cardboard could make or break your ability to enter another country. Just one more thing to remember...

Funny story about that appointment at the doctor's... I knew my insurance wouldn't cover the travel clinic, $100. And I knew it wouldn't cover my vaccines, $150. A necessary evil, I guess. But when I got to the receptionist to pay, she mentioned that my fee was $275 - $25 more than I had initially anticipated. Being a bit of a miser right now, I mentioned I hadn't known about the additional cost, and she became immediately impatient with me. So she called one of the health center's accountants to ask her about me. This kind of exacerbated me, and I tried to encourage her to get off the phone. No, I'll pay, it's okay. But she was still on the phone, looking pensive and scribbling/typing things in, looking at me. I became flabbergasted. This isn't supposed to be that hard! When she hung up the phone, however, she mentioned that she was glad she called; I had $185 in credit at the center! Some insurance hiccup from a while back. So, instead of paying the big bill I thought I'd pay, I only had $90 to pay! I was so happy!

Oh, and about malaria. I love my doctor, for one thing. He's the first doctor I've ever had that made me feel comfortable and listened to. He's an integrative doctor, with more holistic insights than most, and he listens. I love that. And he knows how sensitive I am to medications, and how reluctant I am to take pills. So after a good discussion, we both decided pleasantly that malaria pills for 9 months would be too costly, both financially and physically. So I promised to take every other precaution I can. So, I'll be wearing long sleeve outfits at night, and sleeping in a bednet (my roommate-to-be got mine already), and I'll wear DEET. Fortunately, I'll have insurance, so if I need to be treated at all, I have that.

Insurance: I have to say, kudos (so far) to Seven Corners. They have a great comprehensive list of insurance options, and their customer reps are totally knowledgeable on their products. One guy specifically (His name is Ron!) walked through with me the best options I had and for decent prices. So I bought the insurance for my trip, and I'm so happy that wasn't as difficult as US insurance can be.

I also bought the International Volunteer Card. I don't remember at all how I know about it, but it's got discounts, and some additional travel insurance (including dental). I think I'll be alright.

Supplies: Things I never would have considered to pack seem to keep coming out of the woodwork and are being added to my "to buy" list. The ever-growing list...

Thank you, my future housemate-to-be. She's been really helpful for my journey of hunting and gathering for this trip.

Things I never thought about before that I am packing include:

solar-powered flashlights, with USB plugs to charge other electronics
a rain suit
leggings (this actually I heard about some Kenyan women wearing leggings/stockings to work to prevent assault)
a jump rope for exercise (thank you, my seasoned-traveler friend, Felicity!)
an eReader (I believe this is going to be a Christmas gift from my family. Thank you in advance!), as there might not be more to do for fun, especially on my budget
a hard drive
gluten digestive enzymes (I've been told to suck it up while I'm abroad)
a year’s supply of medications (no no, thank YOU, Canadadrugs.com!)
hiking boots
etc.

The list keeps going on. But I'm feeling more confident, now that I've got this running list of things that make me feel like I'm really prepping myself to the fullest.

Packing: Packing would be a whole lot simple, if it weren't for the textbooks. I'm hauling with me some textbooks for the school. And, well, textbooks are bulky and heavy. I've negotiated to take fewer books than they sent me to Rwanda, but it's still 30 extra pounds of stuff. I worry I'll be going over limits at the airport. I'm hoping I won't have to pay too much in fees, I can't afford it!

I roll absolutely everything that can be rolled in my luggage. That's the only way I'll get everything there within the 2-bag limit. I swear by rolled clothing.

Preparing Classwork: Something that stresses me out a bit has been the need to prepare for my classroom in Kigali. I’m teaching 3 classes: math, IT, and financial accounting. The first two are easy as cake for me. The latter, well…it’s been a while, let’s say. So I’ve been rereading my NYU Stern business school textbooks and trying to remember all I can so that I can teach it. It makes me nervous, but I’m smart. I can do it. I can! I must!!

And I received a deadline for my syllabi. I nearly panicked.

Not (just) because of my impending departure date to some brave new world with such things in it. I am, after all, in NYC working 3+ jobs and running around trying to clean my life up. Freelancing full time, plus tutoring, plus consulting. It adds up. I haven’t seen the gym in a while, and it shows. And adding more dishes to my weight has gotten me in a bit of a fix.

Fortunately, previous teachers at this school have written these syllabi before. I used their syllabi (HEAVILY) to create my own. Now I just need to make sure that it works for the director of the school. Fingers crossed!

Tying up ends here: Refer to the last few sentences above. I have many responsibilities here. And I’m trying to delegate some of these tasks in a way so that I can come back and reinstate myself at these positions. That means, finding friends who can take over my students. That means, figuring out how much I can help out my consulting clients. That means, maintaining fantastic relationships with the company I freelance and love so much so that I can come back and play with them again. And settling debts. And seeing friends. And then there’s Christmas…

I’ve got 18 days to go. I think I’ll be ready by then…

A Much-Belated (and LONG) Paris Post

2011-03-06T20:57:00.001+02:00

So, five months after our romantic getaway to Paris, France for our 1-year anniversary, I have finally come to terms that I need to fulfill my promise and write. Better late than never.
Fortunately, Jerry and I wrote notes while we were there, just in case we didn't get to writing about our vacation right away. Oh, how well we know each other...

Friday
We arrived in Paris around 10am and, as standard Charles de Gaulle airport experiences go, we got held up by a mod of flight passengers. I swear everyone all over the world (quite literally) had decided that this was the day to visit Paris. There was a massive bottleneck in the teeny tiny luggage trolley area, and we both got very aggravated. We decided to divide and conquer for our luggage; we took separate areas of the WALL of people and picked our way through the masses.
I had forgotten that it is also standard custom at European airports to be introduced to the bouquet of European body odors.
By the time we eked out of the airport mob, Jerry and I were very tired and quite a bit grumpy. And I was trying to navigate the french language for two in my befuddled state of mind. Things only got more frustrating with the RER Station in the airport. The SNCF kiosk stations were not accepting VISAs or bills, so we ended up in a massively long line to talk to someone one-on-one; the line comprised of all tourists, most of whom were not familiar (enough) with the french language. Of course this takes more time, because they have to struggle with hand gestures and pointing at papers frantically to get what they want.
I remember those days. I don't miss them.
When we got to the lady at the front of the line, I prattled off what we wanted in French to the lady, who was happy to refill my Navigo card from 2007, and prize Jerry with a similar card. We were done with her in about 5 minutes, and within another 2 minutes we were on the train to Paris metro. The train ride was peaceful; the car was full of bleary-eyed travelers, just like us. We were entertained by an accordion player, and watched the banlieue pass us by. When we saw the Sacre Coeur hover over our train, I knew we were there.

Getting to the apartment we rented took some time. We had a few transfers to make here and there to get to the right metro stop. So we meandered in the endless hallways underground, which Jerry referenced to be like a French moria (the what?). Jerry's crash course in the Paris Metro was fun; he seemed amused when I showed him that the train doors open only if you lift a little release hook.

Emerging from the Metro station on the streets where I spent 2007, in my state of enraptured studious bliss, made me overcome with emotions. I had felt like I had returned to a home I hadn't been in a long while. Or like I was visiting an old friend I hadn't seen in forever. Ever since I got on my last plane out of Paris, I missed it terribly. There were days where I'd make the Brooklyn streets resemble Paris in my mind. And here I was, again, finally. Back in a romantic city with so many fond memories and nostalgia. And with my lover. I got verclempt.

Of course we got a bit lost trying to find the apartment, but after a little bit, we finally reached Rue de Canettes. The apartment was up a few narrow, twisting staircase in what seemed like (and probably was) a medieval building with rustic Germanic architecture. The studio itself was very small, and clearly very, very old. It was a true pied a terre, with one small room that functioned as living room/bedroom/kitchenette, and a bathroom. The window overlooked the small inlet street that brims with bars (like good old Cafe George) and a few restaurants. We were spitting distance from St. Sulpice.

Jerry and I took a much-needed nap for about 3 hours when we got in. We woke up to start exploring outside, and got immediately caught in rain. Bienvenue a Paris.
We ran into a petit bistro called Le Pre' for a late lunch. And we ate croque monsieur and croque madames with a little cheese plate on the side. Jerry said, "This cheese would be on some of the best plates I would have in NYC...wow!" I explained to him that the restaurant we stopped in it was just a regular, run of the mill place with very ordinary french cheese.
The waiter we had lacked a behind, and I remembered, ah yes...this is how French men are often.

After being full of a good meal, and after the rain let up, I made the executive decision to bring Jerry for a walk around my old haunts. We saw good old Sciences Po, St. Germain des Pres, and walked around to see some of the places I fondly remember stuffing myself with a baguette from time to time. We walked to Laduree, of course (being one of my favorites), and I introduced Jerry to the world of macarons. We got 8 little ones, and ate them instantly. Jerry mentioned that he never understood what the big deal was about macarons, until when I put a fresh Laduree macaron in his mouth.

We walked up to the Seine, and crossed the bridge Pont des Arts - we admired the "padlocks of love" lovers had put on the bridge fences. We enjoyed the sounds of French tourism in front of Notre Dame cathedral, and we walked towards the back and took pictures of the flowers in the garden, and the Memorial de la Deportation.

By now it was getting a bit dark, so we started walking towards St. Michel, where we stopped by to get gelato and Amorino. Jerry almost swooned at its deliciousness. We walked through the bustling Latin Quarter and I explained how this is where a lot of tourists get jipped on semi-decent food. So we kept walking - through the arcade by Odeon - and made our way back to Monoprix. We bought a lot of food so we would be able to cook and eat in on some of the days of our vacation.
That night we went out for pizza.

Saturday
Jerry woke up around 11am, while I struggled to get up. I was feeling less than stellar and pretty grumpy (mostly because of the loud bars in the middle of the night). So I started the day with some yoga while Jerry delved into the world of Lovecraft.
Most of our trip revolved around long, meandering walks around the city. We both feel that it is a great way to truly know a city. So, we walked around St.Sulpice, before stopping by at les Editeurs for another cheese plate.

We took our time and walked to the Jardin de Luxembourg, admiring the beautiful statues and peaceful flora. But not for long. We got very distracted by a pounding music we heard ricochet off of the nearby buildings. So we walked towards the Pantheon and found out there was a Techno Parade going throughout the city. We followed the parade for a few miles, listening to the different vans' electronic taste (some were more industrial/gothic, some were more pop/rock). We stopped by a local fromagerie and got lots of stinky cheese to feast on later, and continued following the Techno Parade, past Sorbonne, CLUNY, and over Ile St Louis. There was a crowd on the bridge, and I asked Jerry if we could step out of the parade for a while. Meanwhile cops started to come over and prepare for what seemed like an ever-growing chaotic crowd. I'm glad we got out early.

We walked along the Rive Droit a bit and talked to some street vendors about comic books. We then walked through Le Marais and got a baguette and croissants. Jerry bought more cheese and ate on the steps of a busy photography exposition. Of course we got more sweets while we walked, and Jerry tried some Berthillon sorbet on St Louis, while I found a place to buy some beloved Muscadet Corse.

Somehow Jerry finds comic book shops wherever he ends up traveling. He's done it easily every time I'm with him somewhere. So, of course, while we walked along the back streets of Paris, we kept finding comic shops.
We stopped for a bathroom emergency at a brasserie in front of CLUNY, and a bitchy old lady served us crappy food and tried to scam us out of our change. This all started because I ran to the bathroom and she went up to Jerry to take his order. He asked if she spoke English, and we were done for. She was one of those crabby elders who strongly disliked Americans, even if for no reason. I talked to her in french, and came to her asking for our change. She looked at me and said, "What change?" I looked at her very disapprovingly, and did the math for her, explaining she owed us 2 euros. She finally cowered at my growing voice, and gave us the change.
We went back to the apartment and ate a plate of our treasures before sleeping.

Sunday
We took this vacation as we should have: as a vacation. We didn't insist on waking up early. We didn't push ourselves to do everything we could possibly think of. We slept in. We slept early. We took our time. We ate good food. I was so happy to not have to feel like we had to run around non-stop.
It didn't help our motivation to see things, though, that it rained most of our trip.

We went to St. Michel for a crepe & jambon tartine (and caffe espresso americain for Jerry). We walked past Odeon Theatre and scaled all of Rue Vaugirard (the longest street in Paris). I brought h Jerry to my old neighborhood in the 15th arrindosement, after a long and arduous walk. Much to my dismay, my beloved Shopi mart had been turned into a Carrefour City. Carrefour?! Pfft.
Nevertheless, we persevered and got bread and a meringe at the boulanger next to my old place, as well as a crepe on the corner. Like old times, the old boulangiere corrected my poor french grammar.

I guided Jerry through my old running route and, SURPRISE!, ended up at the Eiffel Tower! It was so much fun to see Jerry look up at the monstrous building on the esplanade. We took our touristy picture (including Jerry pinching the top of the tower in a picture or two).
There was a family event going on at the esplanade, so we grabbed a few free things, and I walked off with 6 packaged bottles of water. Was that legal? I don't know. I'm American!
We stopped at Cafe les Copiers, which was clearly a tourist trap. The foie gras I had was more like Spam. Jerry had an expensive glass of Bourgogne.
We walked past Hotels des Invalides, and back towards apartment to drop off our booty.
We ate Italian food across the street late at night. Jerry had great a Bolognese, while I enjoyed the Antipasti. We feasted on fantastic Tiramusi.
After filling ourselves, we came back to apartment to relax and reminisce on the days we've enjoyed so far.

Monday
I decided to take a much-needed jog, across the river in the Tuileries. I had an emergency run to the bathroom, where I had to wait in line 10 minutes to go to bathroom at Concord. The door didn't lock, and people kept opening the door while I was in the bathroom. I finally screamed, "Frappez la porte!" (Knock on the door!)

We got lunch at one of my favorite little places to eat in the area, La Pre des Clercs. I insisted that Jerry get with me my favorite salad called La Viscounti. It was absolutely delicious, as I had remembered. Chicken and pesto with cucumber keeping everything together in a neat little pile. We had some white wine to go with the salad, and I got tipsy one glass later. We came back and took a nap.

After resting a bit, we went to l'Arc de Triomphe on the subway, and enjoyed more touristy pictures of us trying to take down and scale the arche. We took our time and relaxed, watching the guards change at the arch. We then walked through L'Etoile and down Champs Elysee and watched all of the tourists admire the concept cars in the boutique shops. We ended up at Angelinas and got hot chocolate, a l'ancienne. With the thick, creamy, incredibly chocolate experience, we were both lulled into silence.

After our lovely chocolate high, we walked past the Louvre and through the Tuileries. To have an omelette at Cafe des Beaux Arts. We walked home very slowly.

Tuesday
We didn't leave the apartment that day until after three. The jetlag was taking a toll on me, and I could feel an intense sinus infection taking over my head and chest. I stocked up at a local pharmacy on some homeopathic drugs that would drain me of the grossness.
We got sandwiches at Paul, over by the arcade, and ate on Ponte des Arts. Jerry enjoyed a prosciutto, tomato and cheese sandwich and a quiche lorraine. I pilferred his quiche.

The Musee de Pompidou was closed on Tuesday, so we decided to keep walking around to find another museum to walk through. We received useless directions from a security guard who had no clue where the Picasso museum was located. As Jerry said, "Given the use of both hands and a map he probably could not have located the museum if it were housed in a boil on his ass."

We wandered the Rive Droit for a treacherously long time trying to find the Musee Picasso, only to discover that the museum was closed for renovation until....2012?! No rush, guys...

Jerry was fully prepared then to describe the intricacies of how much the French suck at restoration and take-out food, but looked at me and realized that I was on the verge of death. So we walked back to our apartment, ever so slowly. When I don't feel well, my leg speed is the telltale sign.

I slept in the apartment in a drowsy trip while Jerry enjoyed reading and wine at a nearby cafe. He went out valiantly to get me some take-out food, but that found, much to his dismay, most french restaurants don't actually DO take-out. I tried to warn him, but he told me he wanted to find something for me to eat. He also found out, tragically, that despite the french boasting their skills at language and being relevant in modern society, most of them don't know a drop of english. He struggled to find food, and finally found Japanese and Greek restaurants that, of course, took out.

Wednesday
I was feeling much better after a day of rest. So we decided that Wednesday would be the Louvre day. We happily walked and stood in the long line to get into the opening museum. The line outside the glass pyramind grew steadily as we stood there. Clearly we were in the right place to be.

This was also the first day that the sun shone on us in Paris, and we were happy that it was finally warm, instead of cold and rainy.
We got our tickets for the Louvre, and headed to the Sully annex where we walked through the history of the Louvre section. Jerry and I marveled at the immense castle walls and moat we scuttled through. We joked around a lot while walking through the museum, and Jerry sang about being a little tea pot while swimming as a peasant under the moat.

(This is when you can tell Jerry wrote some of our travel notes)

Jerry noticed that, instead of having bilingual signs, or including transcriptions for each picture in widely known languages at the Louvre, they posted all of their signs in French. I tried to save the day by providing instantaneous line by line translations on the fly, in hopes that they would be understandable and Jerry would be able to get a better artistic experience.

We gawked at the Egyptian status, Greek statues and Renaissance paintings.

The Medieval paintings, we found, had three basic themes:
1. Virgin Mary with child.
2. Jesus crucified.
3. Saints of one sort or another, usually dying horribly.

We also saw David and Goliath, Christ's ascension, the Annunciation and the final judgment. We both decided that the paintings were quite dull and unimaginative.

Other art pieces we saw include: Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, Winged Victory, Psyche and Cupid, Hermes, and "that French Revolution painting". We finished what we wanted to see in a record of five hours, and after seeing a bunch of Japanese tour groups crowding the hallways, we decided to leave.

We went into the Tuileries and I slept on the grass while Jerry read some more. We snacked on treats from the nearby Paul stand.

We walked to Angelina for another day of decadent hot chocolate.

From there, we walked to Palais Royale where we got the metro to Montmartre. We first stopped to eat some fondue at Le Refuges des Fondues. We had a hearty cheese fondue, and sucked wine from baby bottles. We continued up the hill via tram. It was just newly nighttime, and we had a beautiful look of all of Paris below us. It was incredibly romantic, and we watched in silence for a while.

We went to the Sacre Coeur, and decided to attend their candlelit service. We listened to French liturgy by nuns. It was beautiful, emotional and melodious. We sat in somber silence and relished in the sacredness of some places. I have always loved the Sacre Couer, atop its hill overlooking Paris.

After a romantic night of city-gazing, we went back to rest. And listen to elephants above our room.

~~~
Unfortunately, we didn't write any notes for our last two days in Paris.

But I do know that we took a day to go to the Catacombes in Paris. It is always fascinating for me to go underground and see the world that some people knew. It was dark and dank, as usual, and Jerry and I enjoyed a few hours of looking at crossbones and skulls lined up ever so neatly all around us.
We stopped by a Starbucks for an easy sip of tea before heading off on our way.
That night we saw Pierre, Nicholas and Pierre's wife for dinner at their place one night. We at first thought we had been stood up, since no one was at Pierre's home at the time when the invitation I received online said. So we wondered through the 14th arr. to find a cyber cafe, and, after much frustration, finally found a little cafe where I found an email of a frantic Pierre having just realized his blunder.
We got back to his apartment, and were greeted by hugs and wine, and wonderful smells. His apartment is in a military apartment unit, since his wife and him are both part of the Ministry of Defense. A charming apartment, with a view of the Eiffel Tower? Not bad! Luckily, Jerry got to see the tower sparkle before our trip was over. We relaxed and chatted on old times and current events, while Pierre and his wife made dinner for us all.
It was nice to see my old friends again. Now we are older, and maybe a bit wiser, and more able to appreciate each other's company. I had missed those guys, and their heavy banter was so enjoyable to listen to. Pierre and Jerry shared stories of Seattle and Portland, and I admired his wife's pictures of their travels around the world.
The dinner was absolutely amazing. Real home-cooked French dinners are always my panultimum favorite. And they delivered a glorious stew and salad. The cheese plate at the end was so good I could have cried, and the dessert was a strawberry creme dish that was amazing. I remember feeling so stuffed to the brim that I could have cried, but the conversation was too good for me to actually cry. I was just immensely full of food and good company. It was a wonderful night.

On one of the last nights we were there, we met up with Marion and Thomas, my dear dear friends. I loved seeing them, Marion coming in from her semester at military school, and Thomas taking a break from his civil servant exams. We walked around and found a little wine bar where we had some wine (and Orangina) and chatted about what had been going on in our lives. Jerry was excited to talk with Marion about her military experiences, and I was just happy to be among old friends.
We ended that night by finding a little creperie by Odeon and eating crepes in the rain before we all parted ways.

One the last day we were there, it was raining. Jerry and I felt satisfied enough, and took the day to relax, eat whatever food we felt we wanted to leave remembering the most, and reading. We sat in cafes with tea/coffee, and pastries until the day was done. We finished the outrageously smelly cheeses we had stored in our little fridge, and cleaned up after ourselves in the apartment.

The day we left Paris, of course the RER trains were not working properly. Luckily we had left super early to get to the airport. We were rerouted twice, and ended up having to take a 30-minute busride standing to the airport. We dropped off our luggage and checked in, and sat in the waiting area happy, rested yet tired, and sad to have to leave our wonderful trip behind.

The next time we're in Paris, we'll get to see more.
This time, leaving Paris wasn't so tragic. I felt better, like I had more closure and a sense that I was going away from Paris again, but it wasn't going to be such a painful goodbye. Next time I won't be aching as much for Paris. But I do still love that city, dearly.

Griping About Paris Before Gushing...

2010-10-05T05:05:00.000+02:00

The boyfriend and I have been together for over a year now. We celebrated by going to Paris for a week-long vacation.

Paris, to me, is an old friend. I got there and welled up with tears, feeling my love for the area well up inside of me and spill over all around me. I was so, so happy to be back in a city that I love equally to NYC.

Now, if only it hadn't been so cold and rainy the entire time.

And if only the French transportation unions hadn't striked the day before we left, so that it was chaotic while trying to get our luggage off of a conveyor belt.

And if only there wasn't a terrorist threat in Paris the day we left, making our plane the go-to for many foreign travelers.

And if only a handful of bitchy older Frenchies didn't try to rip us off or insult us while we were there.

And if only I didn't get very, very sick for the better half of the trip.

.....Other than that, the trip was pretty good. But I have to release that all before I get into the details of our trip. And I have to wait to get the details we typed up from the boyfriend...

Last Day & Reflections of T&T

2010-03-25T05:25:00.005+02:00

My last full day in T&T started with me sleeping in, practicing yoga while alone in the house, and reading.
I ate homemade bake and fish, which was really amazing. The bake (aka bread that doesn't rise that much) had coconut in it, which as we all know is one of my favorite things.
I also tasted the drink mauby. It was good, and reminded me of licorice.

Danille and I went to a Jazz Festival at University of West Indies (UWI) that evening. It was pleasant music. We heard a stellar violinist who fiddled some jazz pieces. There was a chocolatey male voice who scatted some tunes, but he could have probably worked better on wowwing the crowd. There was a lady who was a cross between Jill Scott and Aretha Franklin, and she was fun to watch. And some other cool bands.
Danielle and I got our chairs accidentally in ant hills, and for hours were attacked by angry ants.

The next day I went back my merry, super relaxed and revived way to the states.

A reflection I have to make about my vacation in Trinidad & Tobago is this: going to developing countries DOES NOT mean going back to nature. Often it means more industrialization. Some people feel like developing countries automatically implies they're back in nature, in direct touch with "The Source". That thatch roofs and oxen as vehicles are the norm. Not so. Developing country usually indicates the economic status of the country, not the rest of the components of what makes a society. Factories exist more often in the developing world (it's cheaper). And people live on top of each other in urban areas, for convenience. This is a really important thing to make sure people don't misunderstand when they think about the differences of countries.

Carride

2010-03-25T05:18:00.003+02:00

The next day MamaD and her friend from high school took Danielle and me on a carride around the central part of Trinidad's island. We drove by lots of houses, and communities, and even more dried up fields of some dying agriculture and factories.

We stopped at the Temple on the Sea. Essentially, an Indian immigrant built the Hindu temple on the sea a while ago by himself. It was then demolished, and reconstructed by a group of people years later.
It was for Shiva. It had funeral pyre areas lining the beach.
It was a beautiful little temple. I walked in to pray to Ganesha and Shiva for a moment, before admiring the flags and thanking the volunteer who was cleaning the temple.

We then drove to the San Fernando Hill.
According to history, the Natives originally there thought of the hill (or was it a quarry?) to have magical healing powers. Then someone blasted half of the top of the hill and created it into a picnic area.
Looking off of the beacon, I could see the firing pillars of smoke from the oil refinery at the bottom of the hill.
We picnicked there for hours, before returning back north.

Tobago

2010-03-25T04:45:00.003+02:00

Getting into Tobago late at night after a turbulent ride was tiring. And we were having troubles with hustling taxi drivers. Danielle and I were getting frustrated at the realization that my white complexion was drawing unneeded attention to us. No, sir, I do not have $$ signs on my forehead. Please leave us alone. But luckily, we finally flagged down an affordable driver who brought us to our villa guesthouse, by the 2 popular beaches in the west.

We get to MJ's (the villa) to realize that we were the sole guests for the 2 days we were there. One large villa, 2 young ladies with no need for all of that space, and keys to only one room. And a small pool in the backyard. I had a feeling that it was my duty to make the most of our fortune while we were there...but not the first night. The first night was for sleeping.

We woke up early to get ready for our beach day. I lathered on the SPF again (knowing that it was only in vain...I'd be red by the end of the day). The really great thing about our villa was the location; we were a 5-10 minute walk from the 2 main beaches. And a lot of shops and restaurants were nearby our community area. We walked towards Store Bay.

We got immediately solicited by a guy named Suggi (short for Sugar Lips...I kid you not) who wanted us to join his company on a glass-bottom boat ride around the coral reefs and coast. Danielle was less than excited about the concept, and I was practically jumping up and down. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE Danielle....She finally agreed to go, after I looked at her with my big eyes. It was affordable, so really...what harm was there? I strongly doubted our pure reputations being at risk with these guys. They hit on Danielle, and I tried to mediate the conversation.
You see, Danielle's reaction to flirty men is to avoid them and get quiet. And I disagree with this method. So...I talked to the guys and flirted for her.

But it was all alright, because there were plenty of other people on the boat with us. The boat was an aging red tug boat with a motor and loose glass windows in the bottom of the boat. It was neat to see what was beneath the glass. We swept by clear water, fish, and coral reefs. The tour guides kept us giggling and laughing, and the bottom of the boat kept us engaged with the ride.
We had the opportunity to get out of the boat and snorkel through some of the coral reef, Buccoo Bay. Of course we wouldn't pass up an event like that! But unfortunately, Danielle and my swimming skills are not superb, so the boat guys put these floaties around us. Life jackets, basically, only they strapped them around our waists. None of the other people took the floaties. How humiliating. Thank goodness I have no pride! While we were in the water, I noticed 2 other people get on the boat for the floaties, which made me feel a little better about myself.
At first I was underwhelmed by the coral reef snorkeling. Reefs and fish, ok, now what? But then I began studying the reefs, and watching the fish. It felt as if I was beginning a dialogue with the underwater world. It was all so close too...! I could almost touch it...but then I eventually got back on the boat.
We rode a bit further to the Nylon Pool, which is a very shallow area of the coast that has coarse sand from the reef with which one can exfoliate. I danced and walked around instead. It was beautiful. After we rode a little more, we landed on an area where some man was showing tourists massive starfish. I was given one to hold for a bit. It was heavy! And hard to hold, it was so rough and spiky. I also felt bad for having kept it out of its natural habitat, and finally the man took it back and put it under water again. At this rest stop, we heard a Soca song about someone's "Pipe". I was dancing frantically, but a little shy about the lyrics.

It was a fun boatride, and we both enjoyed ourselves. But it was definitely time afterwards for some crab & dumplings. These crab & dumplings, though, were a whole other ballgame. These entailed of curried crab meat still in the shell (as if the crab crawled into the kitchen and got swept up in the pot of curry) and huuuuge, thick dumpling noodle things. I concurred that meal.

We left the Store Bay after doing some silly shopping (who shops at the beach?!). We wanted to make it to Pigeon Point, the private beach nearby. After a long mile walk, after passing guys trading fish and bars and mini beaches, we ended at the entrance to Pigeon Point - closed?! Why would a beach close at 5pm!? Well, it did. So, we sighed sadly and made our long trek back to MJ's (the villa), very sleepy.
We, of course, ran into a very VERY angry pitbull/rotweiler dog on our way back. This dog may very well have been on cocaine. It was growling energetically, and viciously, while doing back flips. I kid you not.
I insisted on taking a jog when we got back. So I got in my gear and, when it started to be sunset, I set out for a brief jog. Clearly Tobago has no/little running culture, because when I went past people they either stared at me or laughingly mimicked my jog.
When I got back, I took advantage of our sole inhabitants of the villa and took off my clothing. I jumped into the little pool naked. Danielle followed (birthday) suit, and we waded in the incredibly lukewarm water. It felt like swimming in silk.

We finished the night with a great meal at one of the really small restaurants nearby.

The next day we got early to Pigeon Point so I could see what the whole fuss was about. There is a long drive of drying palm trees before reaching the beach, and when we finally got to the beach, we found where all of the white people were.
Someone commented to me about the hot sun. "You'll burn." I looked at him, "I'm aware."

We read on the beach for a little bit, and walked out soon after so we could make it back to Scarborough in time for our ferry back to Trinidad.

Scarborough...what a sad tale of a city. A strip of little dilapidated shops. And taxis.
It was so super hot that we sought refuge under a tree for an hour or so, before getting onto the air-conditioned boat back to POS.

Mall Runs and Boat Rides

2010-03-25T04:32:00.005+02:00

Danielle and I were going to Tobago, and we needed to kill time before the boatride at 5pm from POS.
So she took me to another mall, this time west of POS (the first mall was east). The Falls. And I felt like I had truly landed back into the states. She began telling me that this area of the island is where a lot of the tourists and ex-pats live. So you had a lot of American products and white folks over there. I could see that. The shops were clean and ritzy. The mall itself was open and pretty, like a city mall. Not so many booties around, either.
We grabbed some groceries to cheapen our stay in Tobgao, but I was devastated to find no channa punch in the store. I would be going without my beloved punch for a few more days.

We got on the boat to go to Tobago, and there were children everywhere in the boat. School children in groups, all screaming and loudly excited about their travels. On the way back from Tobago, we were again surrounded by schools of little kids. We concluded that we were being followed and hunted down by children.
It was a 2.5 hour boatride. And it was rocky. Danielle and I tried to pass the time and avoid sea-sickness.
But it seemed that no one else really thought about it. The kids all got sick and took turned vomiting in the bathroom.

Hot-ness

2010-03-25T03:59:00.004+02:00

A thought: Smalta is not good.

The next day post-beach was to explore Port of Spain (POS). Danie had taken a week of vacation to be my partner in crime, which I really enjoyed. It's one thing to be a tourist alone, and another to be in the safety of a local. We hailed a Maxi Taxi (like a public bus) to take us in the city.
And now, about their roads system.

Apparently, Trinidad has a roads system of 3: main roads, highways, and official/private roads. The main road is a long route through towns, here and there. Often crowded and slow. Thus, the highways were made. The highways were to resolve traffic problems. But it's not noticeable to me. The highways are as crowded as the main roads, it seems. And it's got lights, so I'd identify it with more like a Route in the US. The private roads are only for government workers. That includes: public transports (maxi taxis), diplomats, cops, and ambulances (and etc.). The idea was that the emergency vehicles should not get caught in the traffic jams during emergencies. Fair enough.

It only took 30 minutes to get to POS.
POS makes me feel like I got stuck in a rip of this dimension and got pulled into a parallel universe. I've got to identify places with other lands I've been to (a thing I hate that I do, but anyways). So, it clearly resembled to me a hodge podge of places. It looked like Delhi, with a smattering of Antigua, the bustle of NYC, and the smell & feeling of Belize City. Danielle reminded me that we were, in fact, in none of those places. Thanks.
We made our way through the heat and bleaching sunlight (my sunburn ached and groaned under my clothes). POS is rather small, so scaling the city was not going to be too hard.
Downtown, the Financial District area, was right next to the shops, was a block off of the uptown area. We looked into shops. She showed me some buildings of importance, like where an Islamic group tried to burn some a building during their attempted a coup, a while back. This idea was very foreign to my grasp of reality, since the notion is unfathomable in the US.
Anyways, it didn't take much time.
We ended up relaxing on the Savannah, waiting for MamaD. They had agreed to take me for a jog, and the Savannah was the place. I'm such a puppy.
We waited and waited for the relentless sun to go down. We finally stopped waiting and Danielle walked me around the large 3 mile park, pointing out more buildings of importance and historical marks, like the 7 big houses.
My sunburn hated the sun, and the tight spandex even more. I was thirsty. I ran anyways, a 3/4 mile run. Bad move. By the home stretch I was dizzyingly thirsty and overheated.
When I finished, I grabbed 2 ice-cold bottles of water and guzzled them down. Another bad move. I wasn't sure whether I would throw up, cry, or get ill/pass out. All very possible. Luckily the ladies insisted on getting freshly cut coconuts at the Savannah (I SAW those during my run!). The water was rehydrating and perfect for post-run. The meat was equally needed. I'd live, after all.

Beach Day!

2010-03-24T03:13:00.003+02:00

I want to make 2 notes before I continue:

I have been spoiled rotten. Danielle and MamaD's hospitality was outstanding. They made me food, let me raid their house completely, and they paid for A LOT of what we did. I'm so grateful for all they did. Especially for the paying of the things. Otherwise, I would have been crying and $$$ in the hole.
Clearly, I'm no Trini. Up early and asleep early-ish. I'm wake up at 9am to see both of them already up and about for hours. And while I'd stay up til past midnight, they'd be asleep for a while prior.

Moving along.
Sunday we packed up to go to the beach, Maracas Beach! We had our cooler in hand, and our other gear. SPF 55!!! Their family is tightly knit, so they were on the phone a lot with the cousins and aunts who were joining us at the beach.
We went in the car to pick up some stuff and go.
2 hours in the car, picking up things. Things I never really thought we would need to buy before going to the beach. Like leggings. Hahaha.
And ice.
This reminded me that I was, in fact, in the Caribbean, and people there are more easy going and relaxed. Take your time, you'll get there someday.

Oh, and we ate doubles for breakfast. Channa (chickpeas) curried in a pad of fried dough. Messy, juicy, and really really good. Apparently, it's standard breakfast fare.

Then we were on our way to the beach! The ride was curious...to get to this beautiful and famous beach, one must make their way up windy rides, over a mountain range, and down again. We weaved around the mountain for a while. And then the water showed itself. Bright blue. And steep green hills out of the blue. We made it to the beach!!!
Getting out of the car, my immediate reaction was that of Leonardo DiCaprio's line in "The Beach" when he says, "Trust me, this is paradise."
The beach was small, and book-ended by steep hills. But the beach was big enough. And GORGEOUS. bright blues beyond clean light sand. Dotted by large looming palm trees. Ahh.
Now, I'm not much of a beach goer, or a fan of beaches (or going into the water). But this time, I was all for it. I lathered on my burning skin the SPF55 and ran through the beach with Danielle to the water. The sand was scorching. The water was lukewarm and salty, very very salty.
We played. We swam ( though I really can't swim well). We waded. We danced. We swallowed gallons of salt (PHTA!). The waves lulled and rocked and got more intense as the day progressed. I was singing and humming the whole day. Danielle's little cousin, Avi, asked me, "You sing all de time? I do that too, but my mum yells at meh." I smiled. "That's why they put me into singing lessons..."
After hours of giggling and flirting in the water, we got out. Lunch time.

THE place to get food was Richard's. There were a handful of other food stops next to Richard's, completely empty of customers. Richard's had a line.
To eat what? You might ask.
Well, Bake 'n' Shark, of course.
AKA greasy delicious buns with fried shark meat inside. Add some garlic sauce, tamarind sauce, chow sauce, and veggies, and I'll never be the same. It was, awesome. And tasty. I'll always remember how satisfying it was. I want to eat THAT in the states! Shark, in T&T, is apparently abundant, so it's the cheap dish. Think tuna fish.
We lounged in the sun. And while I wanted to read, the warm breeze put me to sleep. Big mistake. In fact, I seem to find this a mistake I re-offend every time I'm in tropical climates. Sleeping, and baking.
The sunburn began.
We finally packed up to head up and over the hill, and I could feel the burn intensifying. Agh, I didn't want second-degree burns again. So I got back and took a COLD shower.
I later heard Danielle bicker with her mom:
"I'm darker than you!"
"No you aren't!"
I came in: "...I'm still white."

Danie wanted to see a film ("From Paris with Love", not a bad thriller). We were at the mall's cinema and got in a crowded line to get in. I got in the concession queue, to get an XL cup of ice. During the movie, Danie was shivering in a hoodie with the blaring A/C. I was right next to her in my tank top and skirt, laying cubes of ice on my shoulders and top half. The ice melted quickly on my sizzling skin. Look at us two next to each other, it was hard to believe that we were in the same climate.

Malling Around

2010-03-23T14:57:00.004+02:00

After sleeping like a baby, I finally woke up to regroup and look at and around Danielle's home. There were getting work done on the roof, so things outside and in were slightly shuffled around, but I found it to be a charming 1-story. With open windows and a gate around the house. Luckily, no A/C (as I hate being excessively cold and energy guzzling). The community they live in, Maloney, is planned, with lots of fenced up houses on gridded roads. And every house is a different color.
Trinidad doesn't work in the state:town:street manner as in the US. Instead, you have your community, which is a chunk of land with a lot of houses. Then you have your area/region, which best was described of as a county. No states. Am I right?
We were slow to start for the day (mostly because of my inability to wake up during vacations), but when we did, we all made for their car. And I had an allergy attack. Not like any attack I had had in a while! As soon as I'd gone outside, my eyes were soaked with tears and I was unable to open them. And my nose was dribbling. What's going on?! Apparently the excessive dust from the drought and construction was a bit too much for my adjusting body. So we made our way to the pharmacy in a nearby mall - Trincity - for eyedrops. Danielle and I spent our day there.
Again, I was bewildered. Was I really in the US?? A big mall? Full of clothing shops?? It looked just like the malls I went to when I was growing up. Really?? Yes. Malls are that way.
But, it WAS an educational experience.
For starters, Trini women clearly have bigger booties than standard while suburban girl in the states. At last, I had found my people!! Booty brethren! In fact, looking around (and with Danielle's constant reminders), I came to admit that I ain't got nothing on these girls with it cam to junk in my trunk. I was merely a tourist in booties. And though they may have half of their population to be of African descent, and the other half is Indian (which meant that there was this interesting feeling like I was in Delhi sometimes), their models are all white skinny girls. I really don't understand the reasoning for that (or is there any?). Even so, the outfits were cute...
Which brought about lesson #2: T&T is expensive and pricey!! Sure, it's 1 USD to 6 TTD, but when doing the math while we shopped, I was shocked that their goods were as expensive - though actually even more - as NYC stuffs!! I wouldn't be stocking up on anything while in T&T. Danielle reminded me: Don't you recall me going nuts shopping in NYC? It's not that I like shopping at all; it's just a lot cheaper. Considering the majority of goods were imports, my shocked waned a bit.
I was able to dance around to the music in the shops there. Instead of people staring at me like a freak (as happens in the US), people giggled and smiled at me. I like the response to my spontaneous dancing here much better.
Lesson #3 was that MOST of the stuffs I was seeing in the stores were American. The clothes, the knick knacks, the food! I was still debating in my head; I was actually abroad, or was I in another US state/territory? The lines were blurring, and my shock was consistent the whole trip. Twix, anyone?
Lesson #4: Toolum, the sweet thing they have, tastes TERRIBLE.
So we shopped and talked and walked a lot. Big mall. We got some roti at the mall for my tasting enjoyment. I love rotis. Curried shrimp with spinach and potatoes, in a greasy, fluffy, MASSIVE dough bottom. Wrapped like a bloated baby in swaddling cloth. We joked about how impossible it would be to finish it off, but we ended up cleaning our plates guiltily. More walking was to be had. So we walked some more. And chilled up outside, in the incredible heat. Dry, sunny heat. I thought to myself, I will get sunburned at least once this week.
We ended the evening with a grocery run. Danielle's 2 baby cousins (0kay, 10 and 8, but oh so young) in tow. This was when the fun began! What is THAT vegetable? What is THAT?! Chicken feet in bags? Oh yes. And then, I saw the most perplexing display: Linseed and Seamoss/Channa/Peanut Punch?? What the hell?! Danielle and the group looks at me like I was a cave girl. Duh, yeah, creamy goodness. I was disturbed.
So, of course, I picked up some bottles to try.
A porter brought out the groceries for us.
And that is when I fell in love.
Not with the porter, but with the punches. HOW HAD THIS NEVER HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE?! The channa (aka chickpea) milky juice went down in a sweet, savory gulp. I was being told it was a healthy drink. Seamoss tasted like a dolche de leche in a bottle, to drink. My goodness.
I drank the rest of the channa during dinner, and then fell fast asleep.

Another note: Danielle's ever-changing accent. She talks to me like a girl from New York. She talks to the people in the shops like she's from Trinidad, diplomatically. She talks to her mom and family with a super thick accent. It was like a wave of accent for her, always in between accents or switching with such speed that I sometimes was unsure if the person talking was her or not.

Day 1 - Some Realizations

2010-03-23T14:52:00.001+02:00

Mama D and I talked some during the drive. She mentioned that we'd drop off my stuff at their home so I could freshen up before going elsewhere. Not one for formalities, I tried to explain that really, I was alright the way I was. MamaD studied me for a moment before repeating herself. I guessed I was going to have to freshen up. Later Danielle explained to me that T&T culture was the EVERYONE dresses up for EVERYTHING, so to her mom it was probably a given that I was going to make myself look nicer. I still looked pretty srubby. She was probably disappointed while I was visiting, in my looks.
MamaD and Danielle decided to have all of us meet at Danielle's work office, ScotiaBank, in Port of Spain (POS), to go get dinner. So, that was our next destination. On our way into the city POS, MamaD was explaining to my why I had looks of surprise and curiosity while gazing out of the car: drought. I was geared up to see a lush, vibrantly green and colorful place. What I was seeing was parched, browning land that reminded me of LA. Apparently they hadn't had rainfall in a while, and the whole country was feeling it. There was no water ban yet, but restrictions were being practiced by everyone to avoid disaster. I was reminded of my thesis work in India. Water: the world's biggest crisis.
Another surprise was the huge numbers of cars I was seeing. And factories. I don't know why I expected T&T to be au naturelle, but I was not anticipating a booming industrial sector. Wasn't I in a developing country? Aren't developing countries supposed to be closer to nature, more basic? Alas, no. I have forgotten that many (if not most) developing countries had big factories and oil refineries and commercialization. Coca-Cola, Nestle, Kraft...al of the big monsters. But I didn't really think, even while remembering this, I would see so much of it. I felt like I was driving through a tropical Michigan. Cars, highways, and factories.
The cars, though. The traffic was long! I began wondering if there could be more cars than people. MamaD was telling me that, in public transportation, the ride on the "private roads" (more on that later on) would take about 30 minutes to get to the city. In a car on the highway, an hour on a good day is not unheard of. Yikes.
We got into POS to meet Danielle, but she wasn't quite ready to leave work. So, I got a mini tour of the area in relation to Danie's life. This was her primary school, across the road from where she is now a manager. Danie says that that fact gave her a realization that felt a bit existential. Nearby was her high school. All private. All run by nuns. Her mom was also telling me about Carnival which, tragically, I had just missed. Next time...
Danielle comes out, smiling, and we kiss and hug happily. Mind you, I was still in vacation bliss. We gabbed a bit as her mom picked up another family friend and we headed off to dinner.
Movie Towne is like a strip mall in the US. In fact, I was surprised again to be out of the US. Very bright, well lit. We ended up finding ourselves in an open terraced area, reggae in the background, and landing a table at a commercial restaurant, Woodford Cafe. Danielle's other cousin and aunt showed up too, but I was not focusing too hard on this. I hadn't eaten for a very long time, so with determination I was telling Danie to order anything, immediately. I sucked down a mango smoothie as she ordered our shared dishes. Plantains with cinnamon (mmmm) and accra (which is like a puffed dough ball) with salted fish came out first. With steamed veggies, at my request. It was delicious, and I was ready to tackle our main meal.
Crab and dumplings. Basically, this version was fresh crab meat (shell pieces still scattered in the meat) stuffed in massive, thick ravioli. In a curry sauce. I was dedicated to that dish that night. The manager came over to hit on MamaD, but I barely noticed because of my wild food affair.
I slept like a baby after the meal, at their home.

Trinidad & Tobago - The Airport

2010-03-21T07:01:00.002+02:00

When i arrived to Trinidad and Tobago (T&T), I was beyond exhausted. I essentially stayed up the night before, excited for the trip, got in my NYC cab around 3am to get to my 5am flight at JFK, and got into T&T around 2:30pm Trini time. I was bumbling around the airport; while trying to get through customs, I hunted for a pen to fill out the customs form for about 15 minutes (apparently pens don't exist in the Piarco Int'l Airport). When I did find a pen, I had to wait in a line for a while to use it, because clearly I was not the only person sans writing utensil. Finally, with completed form in hand, I walked through customs...to discover that I had left a bag of my stuff behind the customs lady, as the doors marked "Absolutely No Re-Entry" slid shut.

Experience #1 in T&T of i'm-not-in-Kansas (aka NYC)-anymore was when I asked the officials standing by if I could go back in and get my bag, thinking desperately about how in the US the guards would look at me, scoff, maybe put out a call via walkie-talkie, then tell me I was flat out of luck. But the guards, instead, simply shrugged and said, "Oh, sure, just wait until the door opens again." You, sirs, are gentlemen and scholars.

Experience #2 was the smell. One of my favorite parts of traveling to other lands is the diversity of smells. No place ever smells the same. Of course, I know some who do not possess the sensitive olfactory senses that I do, but I believe that most people would be able to concur with me on this concept. India is not like Guatemala, is not like France, is certainly not like T&T. T&T was a breathe of tropical dryness, with a mix of aging wood and exhaust fumes. The temperature was 94F, which was a shocker to the body (I had just come from 40F NYC, after all). And it was dry. But I was elated to be on vacation, and my tired body and mind sighed with relief, and nothing could bother me.

I waited for about over an hour for Danielle's mom. I didn't mind; I was on vacation! I could have slept at the airport smiling. But the taxi cab drivers at the airport slowly began surrounding me with a touch of concern and a douse of opportunity-seeking. I'm a tourist; I've got dollar bills tattooed to my forehead. This was another experience (#3) for me; the accents were varied, and thick. I was struggling understanding them all as they spoke to me. Note to self: depend on Danielle as a translator the entire time.

I was confident that MamaD coming for me, but these men were bringing some cognitive dissonance to my mind. For starters, I had no phone. And I didn't have their phone numbers. And I didn't have a computer. And I didn't remember the address to their house. And I had never actually met Danielle's mom. But, knowing Danielle and her great care with people (and details), I was sure that our agreement that I were to wear orange and wait for her mom that day was all that was needed. Besides, I was the only white person in the entire airport area (and a very white one at that). The drivers insisted that this was problematic. I was forgotten. I was abandoned. I was not supposed to be here. One man combed the airport for a computer. Another man insisted on me calling my family in the US for help. One man, the most insistent of them all, begged me to let him take me to a cyber cafe in a nearby town, find the address, and drive me to their house, without letting anyone know. And I was close to giving in, but something inside of me insisted "no". I was going to get a ride. Calm down. Relax.

After stalling the drivers for about 1.75 hours, I finally felt the urge to look up and see a tall woman with long wavy hair slowly making her way to the airport gate. I knew instantly it was Danielle's mom; she looked just like her. She gracefully smiled and said "You must be Kim." Indeed, I am.

I beamed at her, and happily followed her, babbling about the trip in.

Some Final Thoughts On India

2009-08-15T17:32:00.003+02:00

I had a nondescript day of hanging around a tourism office with a bunch of Kashmiri men. What can I say....I ate an uttapam and paneer tikka, I had a lot of tea, and I got flirted on by a bunch of Indian men who seemed quite taken by me. I was offered a tourism job with the whole lot of these men when I'm done with my studies, and I danced to a bunch of Bollywood songs before a Muslim "baba" came into the office and I was swept away by a friendly driver to the airport.

I am waiting in the airport for my plane back to the US, and I've decided this is the best time probably to try to put a few reflections together from my 6 weeks in this massive India. I do not say that I will be making any revolutionary discoveries, or anything completely unique, but for myself I feel the need to express my impressions of India.

According to my incredibly brief trip, what is India? A lot of things; every region, every state you cross here is like going to a completely different country in itself. How can I package this place into a simple blog post? By my favorite things: lists... India, to me, is:

Inconsistent - People will tell you one thing, and do something else. People here are so determined to please (and appease) everyone else, that they'll tell you "yes, of course" or give you an answer to a question that, though pleasing, is never going to happen or not true.
Extreme - How was this place not extreme? Extreme rain, extreme heat, extreme noise, extreme meals... things are done here in such a way that it's typically blown up. Highly charged, even. Take, for example, our village meetings; men were yelling and shouting at each other across the room while we were reassured that it was as normal conversation. Everyone wants to be married off (or marry YOU off) as soon as the age 20 is hit.
Contrary - Similar to inconsistent, only worth being iterated independently. You've got so many people doing so many different things that matters are bound to be clashing with each other. And people will tell you when they do not agree with you, in conversation at least.
Not concerned with perfection, or details - Signs with names of villages or titles of shops will never be 100% the same across the board. For example, there are probably 5 different ways to spell half of the villages we worked with in Orissa; and each time we were working on organizational spreadsheets, we would have to look for all of the diverse names and piece-by-piece discern village names and numbers. Also, most English signs were incorrectly spelled, or said things that made no grammatical sense. On trucks, "We are, too" was spelled "We our two" and one sign explained that "Tyres will be flattered".
Racially sensitive - I have never been so aware of my skin color than I was here. People stared at me because I'm white. People gave me royal services because I'm white. People charged me triple because I'm white. Even Indians discriminate among Indians because of what tint of brown they are. Skin-bleaching lotions are top beauty products around here, apparently; it seems no one wants to be brown anymore.
Hyper-religious - There are so many temples and mosques in this country that it could make your head spin. I wouldn't necessarily say spiritual... there are many, many religions working around these areas: Sikh, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Baha'i, Christianity, etc. But as most people talk the talk here, I would not claim that people here all walk the walk. There is a lot of materialism oozing into cultural values here nowadays, which makes many of these temples seem more commercialized than they should be.
Colorful - What can I say? Bollywood exaggerates none of the colors of India. There are more vibrant colors here than I can count.
Funny - People here are funny. English attempts by most are funny. Situations are always slightly odd, awkward, or even "off". The hilarity of India and the strange instances that everyone accepts and writes off as "understandable" makes me still cock my head in amused bewilderment.
New in sanitation - This is, after all, the core reason for my coming to India, isn't it? I've seen people defecate, urinate, bathe, and wash clothing in places that seem way more than precarious...
Uncomfortable - Squat toilets are still hard for me. The temperature is sweltering. In monsoon season, either you are water logged by the rain, or constantly dripping with sweat. Mosquitos and flies are taking over the country, and your skin. Men in shops will never stop tugging at your attention with consumables. And the abject poor will tear at your heartstrings while walking down any road.
Magnificent - Because it just is.
Highly charged - The energy here is dynamic and intense.
Complicated - I will let my previous blog posts speak for themselves. That, and the processes needed to get anything done is comparable to the French system.
Huge - Both in size, heart, population, poverty, and culture.

I'm still digesting most of what happened to me on this trip. Even without the reflection I know that a whole lot happened to me in a very short time span. I have learned a lot of lessons about myself, and the world.

I know now that I truly want to work in the developing world, at least for an indefinite period of time. I really have enjoyed the people, the foods, the experiences... everything here. And I know now that I feel a much larger sense of need - and accomplishment - while working with these people. Even doing the fieldwork made me feel more accomplished than 6 months at an office job. That said, I don't believe a career in pushing papers is up my alley; in fact, I think I will try my hardest to avoid these type of career moves like the plague, at least for a while. I'm young, and I can handle the extremities of fieldwork and development.

Would I live in India? Yes. Probably not Delhi, and probably NOT EVER Bhubaneswar. But I do like the rural areas, and I have made a lot of nice friends in my travels here. Maybe Himachal Pradesh. Maybe rural Orissa. Maybe Rajasthan. Maybe even Punjab (though it's really dry and hot...). I feel like I would be able to handle the heat, the humidity, and the people. Everyone kept on asking me when I'd come back, and I kept on answering, truthfully, that I might try to work here after my studies.

See you in America...

Reunion and Farewell

2009-08-15T09:39:00.005+02:00

The last full day I have had in Delhi was yesterday. Maulin and Tara had really long layovers before their flights to NJ/Bangalore, respectively. So they took a cab to my hotel and we hugged and talked all about our weeks alone, wherever we were. Apparently Maulin's family took him in and kept him locked away in their houses of Gujarat, while Tara experienced Mount Everest and Katmandhu in Nepal with plenty of stories to share. I, of course, told them about my interesting travels.
So we ate a nice little meal at some nearby shop, Sudh. It is one of those places you pick up your meal from a counter, but again my whiteness singled me out in the crowd. Some man took my order for me, and served me my food at the table without me barely having to me. Meanwhile, Tara and Maulin were told to get their meals themselves, it was self-serve after all. It is slightly discomforting, having these special services all of the time, but I'm not sure how to stop this all.
Tara had an earlier flight to catch, leaving Maulin and I plenty of time to hail a cab and go to the relatively new, hand-made, massive and awesome Akshardham Temple. The line to get into the temple was simple because we were not allowed to bring in any purses/bags/electronics, so we waited for 30 minutes in line to drop off our things. We also had to go through a security check, where ladies and gents were separated into opposite sides. I am still not sure why it seems that there is a disproportionate amount of men at all temples or sites in India than there are women, but I got through quickly and had to wait for Maulin for about half an hour - I have had to do this for him at almost all of the places we have visited. While I waited for him, I was stared at by all of the waiting women and a few men. I was still the only white woman around. But for some reason Maulin couldn't locate me in the crowd, as I stared at him coming out of security. "You must be blending in!" I doubt it.
The temple was still a bit under construction, but it was still a sight to see. There are massive manicured lawns and gardens that surruond the temple area, full of statues of historical Indian figures. Pools of water hug the temple on three of its sides. And the carvings are incredible. The entire place is hand-carved pink sandstone, with intricately detailed images of deities. Life-size elephant carvings are on the bottom of the temple, and we gawked at the unbelievable craftsmanship and labor put into the temple. It didn't feel like a religious site, but it was still an amazing place with quite a lot going on. Maulin and I pointed and oohed and ahhed for about an hour, looking up at the soft stone and the stories etched into every square inch.
The site was really crowded, so we didn't manage to see any of the exhibits, but we did manage to inch our ways into a prayer service. We were given directions from a kind worker while we sat in the back, placing the water in our palms, mumbling some Hindi after the orator, and pouring water on the swami/deity that we were praying to. I received a bindi and a bracelet to wear for protection and good luck - or so I gathered. It was an interesting experience, and at the end we were given a nice box with a sweet in it for Maulin and I to munch on as we exited the temple. Maulin approved of his cap to the Indian trip, and I agree; that temple was a great way to finish a long voyage.

We had a calm last night together in a restaurant. Sadly, we had managed to find the only restaurant in the area where all of the white people eat. So were surrounded in this nice restaurant with tables of 16-peopled white parties, as we took a simple meal with some send-off wine for Maulin. He left me around 9pm for his morning flight, and I am left here alone for another 20 hours in Delhi before my flight.

I woke up today to have breakfast with the tourist guys, and tiredly attempted to respond to the nice men about whatever they were talking about. One wants to go out to coffee with me, but I'm not sure if I'm up for more travel than I will have to make tonight already. I checked out of the hotel, and am going to hopefully relax most of my remaining day here in the office before I get into a cab to go to the airport.
I would do more while I'm here, but it's Independence Day in India, and most things are closed. Many people are roaming around the main streets, and I would rather not get caught in a crowd before having to make a plane. There will be traffic, I'm sure. It's raining, too.
I'd rather take it easy and reflect on the last 6 weeks while in India. I know I'll have a lot to say later.

Delhi Movies

2009-08-15T09:36:00.005+02:00

I ended up my first-last night in Delhi eating Indian-style on the floor with a bunch of the Indian guys in the back of their tourism office.

They then brought me to the cinema so I could see the Bollywood film I've been hoping to see, "Love Aaj Kal" (Love Nowadays). The cute guys came, two of them. One of them translated the movie into English for me the entire time. It was actually a really good film, and I could have watched it again, if given the chance. Great romance.

I ended the long, long day speeding down the road with two cute Indian guys in some kind of car, with blaring Indian music pumping out of the speakers. I went to bed laughing about the ridiculous events that make up my life.

Leaving Dharamsala...or, How I Almost Didn't Make It To Delhi

2009-08-13T15:50:00.008+02:00

My last day in Mcleod Ganj was a bittersweet day of goodbyes and good food.

I woke up, still a bit sore and tired from the mountainous trek the day before, to have one final morning yoga with the class I found a few days before. It was a great class, with a bit more intensity than the class I had had before with the same woman instructor. We did more stretching, sweated a bit more. Maybe it was because her yoga teacher had come to the class that morning to evaluate her. In any case, I was satisfied for the 2 hours of class. I rather like that length of yoga class; you can get a lot more out of it than the hurried one-hour classes we have in the city.
Some odd things happened during the class. Firstly, phones were ringing during our sun salutations, jarring us from the serene flow that normally happens during yoga. Then, two Indian policemen came banging on the studio door as we held a downward dog position. The teacher's teacher left to deal with them, so I'm not sure what happened, but it was very bizarre to happen. Lastly, one of the women in class had brought her dog to wait outside during our class. The dog disagreed with waiting and decided to walk in during warrior pose to look for his owner.

The goodbyes began early. I went to First Cup to have my last good porridge in town with Tal and Hasina. We talked for a while, and Tal (being extremely tall and lean) ate about 3 meals in roughly an hour. Hasina and I went for some final errands for me and left Tal at the cafe, to only come back an hour or so later and find him still sitting there. It's really amusing to sit with Tal, because he seems to know everyone in the area; while sitting with him, people kept on coming over to talk to him, and others in the cafe would wave him over for a chat. When we came back to him, we found another Israeli talking with him. We rejoined the table and ended up reading for a few hours, ordering more drinks and food, until we went over to the English conversations with the Tibetan refugees.

I couldn't find Nyiga at first in the conversations, so I was placed in a room with a Buddhist nun. I didn't catch her name. She was very sweet, though, and though her accent was a bit too thick and her English was a bit too rough to hold a flowing conversation, I did manage to get some kind of information out of her about Buddhism life and the different sects of Tibetan Buddhism. She is what she called "Neehma".
Then Nyiga found me, talking with the woman! It was great, and we ended up stumbling through a conversation of three. It seemed that their English was better together, though, because they could talk to each other in Tibetan and make a team effort to explain things to me. Nyiga and I joked around a bit, and when it was time for me to leave and them to have dinner, he draped a white silk cloth on my shoulders, gave me a hug, and we talked about emailing each other still. When I come back here, Nyiga, I'm serious about trying nomadry with you. Get the yaks ready.

I walked over to get some momos to-go for my long trip back to Delhi at Peace Cafe. When I walked into the restaurant, I found the original group of British guys I hung out with on my return trip from Amritsar! I hadn't seen them since the first day, but here they were, ready to leave for Manali in a few hours - much like how I was leaving for Delhi in a few hours. It was like a small reunion, only their group had about doubled/tripled in size. They had me join their dinner party, though, and I rounded the number up to 12 English-speaking folk, essentially filling the whole restaurant. I had my final authentic Thentuk dish. We talked about what we had done in town so far, and I encouraged them to come to NYC so I can show them around. They seemed to be seriously interested in my offer, so we'll see how that goes.
And I left with a bag of momos.

I came back to Pink House and spent my final evening hours in the lounge with Javid and his Indian friends, along with some of the guests I had befriended during my solo stay there. We ate coconuts and danced to some Indian music. We laughed for a few hours, and the Indian men all seemed quite taken with my Indian-influenced conversation and dance. I did not tell them my marital status.
Finally, at 9pm, my driver came to bring me out of my little idyllic town to the Pathankot train station (2.5 hours away) for my 1am sleeper train to Delhi. It was sad, leaving this place that I felt so comfortable in, with all of my new friends. I fell asleep in the car in no time.
The first time I woke up in the car was when the driver stopped for a dinner/coffee break somewhere in the crevices of the dark mountain side. I wobbled in and out of consciousness for about 30 minutes before we started driving again, and I promptly fell fast asleep again.
The second time I woke up in the car was when I felt the car quickly slowing down and making dying noises - you know, the clanking sound of a dying engine should always be able to wake up us sleepers. The driver got out of the car to open the hood and prod away at the engine and battery, poking at parts that he seemingly hadn't seen much before this trip. I look around us, and we are in the middle of nowhere. I think the town was probably rural, and the main street we were on was very much closed and empty of people. I saw a sign for some hundred kilometers for a town I didn't know, but no signs for Pathankot. I called Maulin in a slight panic, wondering where I was, why I was alone with a strange cabby in the middle of nowhere, and how I was going to make my train. It was 11:45pm. I call Javid, who soudned distressed when he said to me, "Yeah, you're not near Pathankot..."
Then men started coming out toward our car. Slowly, villagers were looking at the car, and talking with each other. More and more men came to join the pack, and even a few Indian officers came over to look at the stranded American girl and driver. Though, no one seemed too interested in trying to get the car started; they were all enjoying each other's conversations too much. I started to panic more. In my non-existent Hindi, I started trying to beseech these men that I had to go, simply shouting out words "Pathankot" and "ehck (one)" while motioning me having to go. Of course no one knew English, either... "Acha, acha" was the response I got from all of the men, simply telling me to relax. No problem.
30 minutes go by, and it's 12:15am, and I am now very restless, and on the verge of throwing a fit. By this time, there are a few other cars parking nearby to look at what is going on. All of them tourist cars. Why, I was wondering, was I not in one of those FUNCTIONING cars, driving away?! The men all conversed as I looked around to soak in the lunacy in front of me. I am more urgent in my motions, and finally someone calls my driver to tell them to get me to my bloody train! After some issues with money and me begging a man with a car with more rupees to get me to the train, I am transfered to another tourist car and sped down the road.
As it so happens, we were 30km from the train station, which normally takes 40 minutes. I had 25. We sped a lot, barely missing cows and dogs and other cyclists.
At 12:55am the cabby stops at a slight blockade in the road. The train tracks' blocks were down. He looked at me apologetically and says, "You will not make your train. This is your train..." I look up, and there a big sleeper train steadily passes our car, to the VERY nearby station. I get out of the car to watch it in the quiet darkness, and begin to swear profusely. I am not much of a swearer, but I decided that this was a time of urgency, and the only thing I could do was swear. And swear I did. Here I am, watching MY train go by, with MY seat, and MY only way to get to Delhi for a very long time. I almost prepared my bags so that I could run onto the tracks and garb hold of the train before it leaves me completely behind. The driver said it wasn't a good idea, so I looked at him and said "You're getting me to that train."
The blocks went up, and the cab slid through to the train station. The train was still holding there. I threw some money at the cabby, and with my bags already on me, I ran to the train, yelling, "Delhi?!" As the train started blaring its horns and preparing to move, I threw myself into a car with my luggage.
The controller looks down on me on the floor and says, "You are Kimberly?" How did he know?
It so happens that the car I threw myself into was the car I was supposed to be in, serendipitously. So he showed me my sleeper bunk, and I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow, sweating through my clothes and sheets. But it was not real sleep, because I was too hot and tired and stressed out from the experience.

At 8am I got out of my bunk and read utnil we arrived at Delhi, two hours later. It was very humid and hot, and I was exhausted in so many different ways. The new challenge: finding my guest house/hotel. I slid into a cab that got lost for about an hour in Karol Bagh. I was sweating profusely, but more upset about not being asleep in my hotel room. The cab driver finally looks behind to me and says, "Ma'am, it is a house....not a hotel."
It can never be easy, can it?
So I haul my luggage up the stairs of an apartment complex until I reached the roof, hoping to find the manager that would bring me somewhere sane. Instead, I landed on a roof in some man's apartment, who looked at me a little bewilderedly, but then invited me to sit down and have a tea. Alright, no problem, he says. He knows the guys who were supposed to get me my resting spot, I'll get a hotel through them, no problem. Did I know what was going on? Absolutely not.
Some guy grabs my bags and brings me all the way back outside, for me to run into a very attractive Kashmiri, Zahid. Tired though I may be, I am still female, and I was taken aback by this guy. I blushed as he exlpains to me that I was going to have a hotel room nearby, and he showed me my room and gave me his mobile to call when I was down settling in. So I napped and showered. And found myself in his tourism office. A very nice group of guys have apparently taken me in and adopted me in this tourism office, and I get to use their internet as they serve me meals and tea.
So I decided to walk to Karol Bagh market and walk around. I went to a fast food joint, Raffles, for lunch, but the heat and exhaustion and constant hassle on the streets made me kind of sick, so I went back and took another nap.

Longest Day of Trekking

2009-08-11T17:22:00.005+02:00

So last night I came into the Pink House to talk to Javid about my coming back to Delhi, while there was a group of other guests in the lounge with him. Javid looks at me and goes, "So I think you should go with these 3 tomorrow on a trek up to Triund. You say that you are a lucky girl, and I think this is your luck of the day; to go on a trek to this big deal Triund."

Triund is a mountain here in the Himalayas that holds a very small village before the Himalayan snow line begins. It is a 4-hour hike up to this town. I said, "Alright, Javid, I'll go because you said it's a good idea." I was tired and sore from yoga, and I knew none of these people going, but why not... I was not planning on doing anything spectacular that day, anyways.

At 7am I woke up and had breakfast on the roof with these guests. We talked groggily about the trek, and what we were bringing. I didn't really understand the word "trek", so I was planning on only bringing a back with water, camera, and maybe a snack.

Let me introduce you to the players of the trek, aside from me. Hasina is an Indo-British 36 year-old teacher who just got to India for 5 months to visit some family while vacationing all over the place. Eva is a Slovakian in her mid-late 20s who is in the middle of finishing her massage therapy in Ireland. Tal is a 28 year-old Israeli guy who has been a modern dancer, but is currently traveling around.

Now that we have the introductions out of the way, I can get in more depth about the very difficult day we had. We began the hike around 9am at the base of the mountain, giggling and talking about how we had no idea what we were expecting from the hike. And then the terrain revealed itself to us...a steep climb of jagged boulders and rocks on a narrow path without much designation of direction. It was also raining for about half of the way up, so our rocks (and even the soil terrain that happened occassionally) became slippery and more precarious. Climbing up the mountain felt like a crapshoot at times. It was a bad time to be afraid of heights, which I admittedly am.

My backpack was not helping my case; I was carrying a few full water bottles with some canned jam and peanut butter so we could picnic on the top. I also had a stowaway coconut. Though I am glad I got the extra workout and calorie expulsion...

So it took us 5 hours to climb and heave and pant and crawl and sweat and whimper up to Triund. Luckily, there were little rest stops on the way up, every 2 kilometers or so. We would usually sit down and rest for a few minutes, and snack on some moong dal or other bagged treats while we sat and discussed our awe towards the mountain men and goat herders that clearly lived at these tea shops halfway up the mountains. They walked up and down the steep inclines like it was nothing, and some would even run around, passing us on our trek up. Were they THAT used to the thin air up there?

We got up to the top of Triund right around the time I felt I was going to cry and/or pass out. Our clothing was dripping with dew and sweat, and our bodies were crying for a break. The grass up at the top of the mountain was ultragreen, and almost mossy. Really beautifully laid out in front of us was the little village of Triund. Population 7, always. Nestled in this village was a 3-room guesthouse for trekkers who would brave a 2-day trek up to the snow line on the Himalayas. The quietness was shocking. And it was definitely cooler up there. I went to the tea shop on the hill for a cold drink, and they simply pulled a drink off of the shelf, explaining to me that the high altitude had naturally fridged the drinks. Amazing.

Too bad it the top fo the mountain was hidden in a thick soupy fog. We were unable to see any of the view down, which was actually the reason we hiked up in the first place. Apparently you can see most of Himachel Pradesh there. And you're also supposed to be able to see the snow line on the Himalayan side of the moutnain. I'm sure it's great, but we didn't see any of it.

So we ate peanut butter and jam sandwiches for an hour or so, and then started our trek down. The trek down only took 4 hours this time. We were so sore from the hike up that it made the hike down (what with gravity and all) a bit difficult, and the rocks going down growled viciously at me and my healing ankle. It also poured on us on the way down, so we had to take a 45-minute break at a tea shop, where we watched the pouring rain as we sipped some ginger tea and watched the mountain men play cards.

At the bottom of the hill, we eagerly yet sluggishly made our way to a restaurant and ate quite a lot of Tibetan food. Was it good food, I regret to say no, but it filled us. We grabbed some brownies and brought them back to Pink House to hang out tiredly with Javid in the lounge for the rest of the night. The rest of the night, I must add, was maybe 2 hours more; we were all so tired that we didn't make much of a party and went to bed early.

Making Friends

2009-08-10T16:59:00.005+02:00

I started a book, "The White Tiger", yesterday. I finished it this morning. That's how much free time I've got now. And I'm enjoying it!

So today I woke up pretty sore from the yoga class I took yesterday. Though, I'm not sure what else I was expecting, considering I've been able to do little body movement that matters for the last few weeks. Oddly enough, I really relish in the soreness. It means I must have done something right.
Being determined to get back on track in my athleticism and spiritual-bodily oneness (which in certain cultures can be coined as masochism) I decided to start the morning fresh with another 2-hour yoga class. This time it was more Vinyasa with the Hatha, which I really appreciated.
The class was all women, which was a big of a change from classes I normally take in the city, but I enjoyed it and felt alright with grunting and struggling in my positions. Part of the struggle was because I was tired, part was because I'm out of shape, and part was because of my soreness from yesterday.
I always forget how difficult yoga REALLY CAN BE, if you do it correctly. Tailbone down, breathe in NOW, lengthen that arm, spread your toes, breathe out SLOWLY... Realizing I had not been as diligent and well-disciplined in my yoga practices at home has really slapped me around a bit, and I am understanding the value of having a teacher with me as I try to master a real, meaningful down-facing-dog. I have a reborn interest and respect for yoga, and I hope to get more serious with it sometime soon, while in the city.
The space I went to, at the Himalaya Valley Yoga Center, was really breathtaking. I found myself on a yoga mat in a very serene yoga studio, with little else but yoga mats, a picture of Gandhi, and a seated Ganesh in the front of the room. All of a sudden I was in warrior pose, staring through large windows that looked right on the Himalayas. Birds flew through the nearby trees. The sky was blue at the time. If only there were no walls or roof to the studio, it may have been the exact formula for a real nirvana experience. I concluded that I would be able to happily stay here and do this morning routine for quite some time.
Too bad I have a meager 3 days left here.

Today has been a day of reading. I read one book, finished it, and continued on with another, slightly denser read. I am attempting to rack up my peace and quiet days here before the bustling semester begins in less than a month.
I was running around doing some errands for my Christmas gifts (and for Maulin) when I found myself suddenly staring out of the shop window as a flash flood happened on the road in front of me. It does rain here daily, but I have never seen the rain pound so fiercely that the gutters and septic systems overflowed onto the streets, magically making the roads fast rivers. I stayed put for a while until the rain calmed down a bit, and slid back to the hotel room.

This evening I went to speak with Tibetan refugees (aka exiled political prisoners) so they could help improve their English. I didn't really know what to expect, but I found myself in some kind of dormitory walking aimlessly until a pleasant Tibetan guy in a blazer came over to me and led me to the roof. Meet 29 year-old Nyiga (though I'm probably not writing it correctly). Nyiga is an English student here in Dharamsala. Four years ago he was a political prisoner for 6 months in Tibet for distributing some controversial cassettes around his area. They didn't treat him nicely in the prison. Originally a nomad, Nyiga was a Tibetan monk for 5 years of his life, until he found the lifestyle with the Chinese occupation not pleasurable, and he went back to being a nomad. His family has about 3000 animals, including yaks. He eats yak butter by the stick.
A tangent: How on earth do these little skinny people eat such fatty foods all of the time!? This is not the first time I have been told stories of little Asian folk eating mounds of highly saturated foods. (Also, please refer to my past experiences with Rimi in France.) I want THOSE genes.
Nyiga's English was not that great, but we could have a somewhat functional conversation, and he pulled out a notebook, which made our mis-communications a lot easier to fix. For two hours we talked about a bunch of different topics, including his escape from the Chinese and my love of Hindi films. By the end of the session, we exchanged numbers and emails and I promised him - after him looking up at me with somewhat eager eyes - I would come back to talk with him tomorrow. I think we shall go get momos.

Yoga and Toast

2009-08-09T16:55:00.005+02:00

Today, Sunday, I woke up to start my yoga practices finally while here in India. For the last 2 weeks I have been unable to perform any athletic movement, except for the rock scrambling a week ago. There has not been any time for me to try, firstly, and also the amenities have not been available while traveling in cities. I am not going to try to jog around Mcleod Ganj on their cobbled streets and sprain my ankle again, no sir.
So, one of the benefits of being alone while here in Mcleod Ganj is that I can make my agenda without worrying about other people’s agendas. I can go out and eat breakfast after 10am, if I so choose. I can even miss a meal! And I can stay in my room and read and/or write these lengthy blogs for everyone’s enjoyment.
Anyways, I woke up to try one of the morning yoga classes up and down the hill. Problem, I was ignorant to think that Sundays would have normal schedules for yoga here. Nothing in India works that way; Sundays are the day off for even the gods, I believe. Maybe not for the Sikhs, but for everyone else it seems so. Anyways, I scaled the hill and went to every studio to find no morning classes being held. So I grabbed the schedules, and decided to settle and try again for a later Hatha class at Universal Yoga.
I went right to First Cup and started reading a book that I stole from their shelves, “The White Tiger”. I will give it back to them when I’m done. I took my time, and finished my tea and porridge a few hours into my book.
And then I came home and began retyping all of the blogs I lost.
So at 2pm I took the Hatha Yoga class. Classes here tend to be about 2 hours long, and it was a really excellent class. It was slow moving, but I really had time to work on my positions and make sure that I was aligning my body properly and safely. Let me tell you, I hadn’t realized how hard the right positions could be until this class! Maybe I just hadn’t had the right kind of classes, but I was breaking a sweat 10 minutes into the class, and we were only working on positioning the tailbone down. I also forgot how much harder the positions can be, and yoga in general can be, when someone is telling you when and how you can breathe. That alone made me start to pant a little bit.
The class ended, and I rewarded myself with a cheese tomato toast and momo while reading at Peace CafÈ.
And now, I have successfully finished filling in over a week of travel in this blog! Who knows what the night will take me now! Probably back to the books…. I think I’ll make my daily call to Maulin now.

Back to the Mountains

2009-08-09T16:55:00.004+02:00

In Amritsar, after our morning engagement at the Golden Temple, we took a nap before my bus back to Mcleod Ganj. We had suffered a really poor breakfast from the hotel, and needed to sleep it off. Though, when we woke up and went to the bus station, we suffered another not great “tiffin” (aka snack) at another hotel. I am not sure why we keep going to hotel restaurants, but they seem to almost always be at least somewhat disappointing and not pleasurable.
We had to navigate our way again through another bus station, this time in the Punjabi afternoon heat. The Amritsar bus station is loud and noisy, and reminded me of the Stock Exchange with the men yelling and shouting out numbers and names of buses for people to clamber onto before departure. The bus for Dharamsala was tucked away in the corner of the station, and full of foreigners.
This is where Maulin, Tara and I parted ways. It was not initially going to happen this way…Maulin and I were going to trip around a bit more together. However, his grandmother in Gujurat had fallen and broke her hip, and he was to go see how she was fairing for the family. Because we had found such a safe area of India in Mcleod Ganj with yoga and ashrams and people with whom I had become friendly, we agreed that I would go back there until we would meet up in Delhi before going back to the US. And so, after 5 weeks of seeing Maulin every single day of my life, we promised to call each other daily to double check and said goodbye.
The busride took 8 hours. We were stopped by a lot of railroads in Punjab, which means I dripped a lot.
For a few hours, a pleasant Indian guy named Manjit befriended me and talked to me in extremely broken English about India, the US, almonds, and relationships. Being exhausted and a bit baked from the hot bus, I found it extremely difficult to hold a smooth and comprehensible conversation with him, but it seemed to all work out. And after he asked me if I was married, I told him that I make only friends and he agreed to be friends with me. He was a bit upset when he realized I was getting off of the bus earlier than he thought, and I gave him a quick handshake as I ran out of the bus to catch the transfer before it left without me.
There was also a group of British college guys on the bus, and I ended out helping them find a place to stay on their stay here, near my hotel. One of them is particularly cute, but anyways… There is another American girl who joined up with them in Amritsar, and we ended up having a good night as I showed them around the town and went to dinner at one of my favorite little spots for momos. I slowly realized that I was paying forward to this group of 5 the help that Josh gave us 5 before coming to Dharamsala. Only this time, they know where I am staying and my phone number, so maybe I will be seeing those kids more often while I finish my stay in India.
I got back into the Pink House and Javid welcomed me back while we talked about the trip. It was nice to see a friendly face that I know after 8 hours in a bus.
It is really good to be back in Mcleod Ganj.

Day Trip: Amritsar

2009-08-09T16:54:00.002+02:00

We packed up and made an early day trip to go to Amritsar in Punjab to see the Golden Temple, which is the main Sikh pilgrimage.
The carride took 7 hours one way, which actually isn’t too bad in India. Most trips anywhere seem to take at least 4 or 5 hours in this country. I think this is because of a handful of reasons:
1 – The cars are not typically top-notch quality
2 – No one really goes over 40 km, it seems
3 – All of the roads go through cities and towns, so even if you are not far away from your destination, you will probably get caught in traffic somewhere
4 – Cows
5 – Poorly paved or completely dirt roads that are waterlogged or full of potholes
6 – Rickshaws

That said, the carride was not great. The driver refused to put on the AC while in Punjab, unless we paid another 500 Rs. We refused, and while the temperature crept with the humidity we begrudgingly sweat more bullets. Might I add that Punjab is essentially desert, which is a great difference from the Himalayas in all possible ways. Finally the driver relented halfway through the trek and put on the AC for only 200 Rs. He then did not take us directly to the Golden Temple; instead, he plopped us inside of an arbitrary parking lot a 10-minute rickshaw ride away. Let’s just say that, with all of Maulin and Tara’s luggage in tow to haul all the way there, we were not very happy with him.
So we got into the Golden Temple a bit late, and missed the last available beds they were going to have for us in their temple’s dormitory. We were frantic. So we found ourselves running around with luggage to all of the nearby hotels to find a good deal for a night room while we stayed in town. We ended up ushered into a hotel (CJI) where they showed us many rooms and bargained the price with us. We were in a rush and did not want to meddle too much with rooming, so we hastily picked a room and dropped our luggage only to run right out, dripping with sweat.

Why were we running, you might be wondering.
To go to the India-Pakistani border, of course.
Now, parental units, before you scream and pull hair, I must emphasize that everything I did was completely safe and actually really enjoyable. What happens on the border of the two countries (in Atari) every evening at dusk is what they call the Border Crossing Ceremony. The guards on both sides of the country perform something like a dance on either side, and the border gates open up for about 5 minutes and they do a militaristic dance with each other (rifles, sabers, and all). Music plays, people sing and chant, and people dance everywhere on the street. Each side has a set of stadium seats, where people cram in to watch and cheer on the spectacle, shouting with love for their designated country.
It reminded us three of a football game, really. Cheering sides for “opponents” during they have a shout/dance off. Popcorn and drinks were shelled out, pictures and shouting were constant, and everyone’s shirts are clinging onto dripping bodies from the body and outside heat in the desert land. What was really interesting about the different sides, when comparing the two, was that the Indian side had FAR more people on its side than the Pakistani side. The Pakistanis were segregated on opposite sides of the bleachers: men on one side, women on the other. Also, India was playing cheerful Bollywood pop songs for people to dance, while Pakistan was playing propaganda-like government nationalist jingles while designated flag holders danced for everyone else to sit and watch.
We were really lucky to be a white foreigner that day, too. We got there just before the event began, and a bunch of little kids dragged us to some guard on the side to show us the “Foreigner VIP Seating” section. That’s right, the Indians had to sit in the back of the bleachers while all of the foreign “white” folks got front row seats to the whole spectacle. We were late enough that they actually planted us three on the street curb, and I was so close to the event and border that I was sitting right behind the rear of a very sweaty guard.
Maulin kept getting yelled at by the guards because he kept standing up to take pictures with his massive camera. The only problem is that Maulin looks – well, in fact, he is - Indian, and they kept yelling at him in either Punjabi or Hindi and trying to get him to go to the Indian section. He had to pull out his passport a few times and yell “NO HINDI! ENGLISH!” before they got the point.
After the event, I got right to the gates and took a picture. I was literally spitting distance from Pakistan, or even sweating distance (which was actually happening quite a bit). If I had fallen, my head would have been in another country.

Completely riled from the event, we got back in Amritsar to eat dinner at The Brothers, which is apparently this really famous Punjabi diner with Punjabi dhaba. We had really large Thalis, and I excitedly sucked down papri chaat for the first time since I landed in India.

We got back late to the really magnificent Golden Temple to look at the grounds while the temple was lit up. As a note to those who wish to come to this place, please note that walking into this place with a tank top and short shorts is an OK thing. I was fully covered, with pants and a long sleeved kurti. And you must enter the temple with a head covering. I had bought a shawl before arriving for this matter, and even Maulin had to buy a bandanna to wear into the temple. Also, you cannot come in with shoes (which they actually have a safe depository for you to place your shoes), and before walking up the steps, there’s a pool where you must wash your feet.
Even though there are very strict rules to this place, the Sikhs (particularly at the temple) are super gentle people, and incredibly kind. They serve free food and chai all day and night to pilgrims and visitors, regardless of whether or not you are Sikh. In fact, anyone can also help and volunteer at the temple. You can help clean dishes, serve chai or food, make the food, or help clean the premises. All you have to be is respectful, and they will take you in as one of their own.

There is a man singing live that is aired on the speakers throughout the temple 24 hours a day. This gives the whole place an incredible energy and sacredness to it. The actual area is mostly white marble and a kind of fortress wall that encloses all of the Sikhs in a large courtyard. In the middle of the courtyard is a very large pool with big fish swimming in it. People are bathing in the pool, and praying. People are praying everywhere, nonstop.
In the middle of the pool is the actual Golden Temple. It is a small, but still breathtaking, golden-laden building with Middle Eastern influence. People line up all throughout the day to walk in and pray for a few minutes in the temple. Around the pool is where the sacred texts are put in rooms, where men sit and read all day long. At night, the edges of the pool and fortress walls are lined with pilgrims sleeping on the marble floor in clumps, regardless of religion, sex, or race. The whole energy of this place is super intense, and the constant worship that goes on here humbled me.

We took a nap and woke up just after sunrise to go back to the temple to see morning prayers. The quiet, solemnity of the temple at night was replaced by overwhelming solemn, pious praying by thousands of Sikhs. Everyone is praying, kissing the ground, singing, praying, and praying. We walked around and saw the Golden Temple glitter and glisten in the new sunlight, and I sat down to watch the lines of people pray in the temple.
I was overcome by the experience and energy of the whole place that I began to cry under my shawl. It was not an uncontrollable cry, and it was probably aided by my lack of sleep, but tears streamed down my face for a little bit, while I sat alone and explored the vibes radiating all around me.
As I sat alone, a very tall, large Sikh man dressed as a guard (staff in hand) came to me and peered down to ask, “Punjabi?!” No, I’m not a Punjabi, as I wiped away tears. “No Punjabi? Hindi…?” Another man comes over to peer with him and ask again, “Hindi?!” This was the first time I had ever in my entire life been asked if I was Indian. Nayee, I’m no Indian, nor do I look it. But they were very friendly and asked me where I was from, and if I liked the temple. I loved it.

And Then There WereThree

2009-08-09T16:53:00.003+02:00

We all woke up for breakfast at Nick’s once again. We actually have been there every day we have been in Mcleod Ganj. The reason has been due to this elusive dessert we have been waiting for: banoffi pie. Now, it’s not really that big of a deal…it’s simply banana coated in toffee/caramel, and dished out on a dessert crust. But since the first day we have been here, and Hanan made a comment about how banoffi pie is (and since every time we have gone to Nick’s they’ve been out), we made it a mission to get this pie once and for all. We ended up buying an entire round of banoffi pie and downed it in 5 minutes flat, with mixed reviews. It was all right, but my favorites are still coconut-chocolate dishes.
We broke up after wards to get some last minute shopping for Hanan and Amber. I helped Hanan select three handmade singing bowls with good tones, which was actually a lot harder than it may sound. We had to try every bowl in the shop and see which sounds suited our fancies, and then retry the other bowls to see if we really didn’t like them, and once again try to the bowls to double check if they sounded good. I, personally, am one to think that if you like the sound, you like the sound, but Hanan is meticulous in his purchases and wanted just the right sounds.
We met up for lunch at Peace CafÈ before sending Hanan and Amber off in a Jeep back to Delhi for their flights. It was bittersweet to send them off; our group of five was so much fun and worked so well together. But we parted smiling, saying, “See you in New York! Get ready for class!”
Tara, Maulin and I were left watching their Jeep ride off, and wondering what to do now for the rest of the day. Being all so easy going, we actually struggled a bit with making plans: I don’t care, what about this?, sure I don’t mind, what do you want to do?... So we walked around and landed in an Internet cafÈ to check out our emails. I am always amazed at how much can pile up in the course of a few days without having email access. In the states, I often feel like nothing happens and that I get no emails. Here, I’m still plowing through tons of emails, professional and personal.
We came back to the hotel to figure out a day trip in a few days with Javid. To put a plug out there for Pink House, Javid is incredibly helpful! He has really great advice about where to eat, what to do where, and what is the best way to get around to areas outside of tiny Mcleod Ganj. He also has been able to do the booking for us in our day trips and departures from the area. And he will also continue a nice conversation with you about your life, his life.
While talking about our day trip, Javid put out some whiskey for us to taste with him as we talked about his experiences in the business, and about his life in Kashmir. It is one thing to read in magazines about what certain areas of the world are like and the dangers of being there, but it’s a completely different experience when someone you are sitting in front of you tells you their story. He was telling us stories about certain militants doing really awful things to him and his friends as students, being locked in campuses while other areas are gunned down, friends whose whole families would be slaughtered by a group of men, and real terrorism. He spoke with such honesty, and his tales of growing up as a Kashmiri, as well as his struggles being Kashmiri and Indian, spellbound me.
We left a while after our talk with Javid, stunned silent, to have a simple dinner at Norling before everything in the area closed. Most things in this town close around 9pm, it seems. Early nights and early days seem to be the Indian way. At least we have balconies on our rooms to sit out and talk on after hours.

The next day we experienced the massive pancakes as Peace CafÈ, with a very large banana layer on top of the cake-depth of the pancakes. It was kind of like giant sweet Tibetan bread, which reminds me of an English muffin to a degree, only with a sour taste and slippery outside.
We failed at finding astrologers to read our charts, and succeeded in finding another street that we had yet to scale the days before.
We found ourselves going to the Tibet Museum, where we learned all about the basic history of Tibet and the tragic stories of them and the Buddhist monks’ experiences of being controlled and abused by the Chinese occupation, as well of their incredible stories of exile. Some of the pictures were hard to see, and often I found myself feeling a sense of hopelessness while reading some of the terrible things that they had to incur. But then I would try to remember that these people survived, and are living now safely in India where they all seem to be picking up the pieces from shattered Tibet. I am in awe of what they have been through, and how strong they are to hike all the way here to find better, peaceful lives for themselves AND STILL have the hopes to return to an emancipated Tibet.
The Buddhist monastery has a cafÈ attached to it to help teach some of the refugee youth some skills that they can use; cooking is a useful tool, and serving helps them build social confidence as well as math and listening skills. They also have the best pizzas in town. The three of us ate two of them, and brought back half of the “Pizza Much Too Hot” (it was much too hot).
Another relaxing day passed while rain pelted the buildings. We sought refuge in a nonprofit cafÈ, Rogpa, and had some tea and chocolate goodies. I ended up getting into a conversation with the woman who was working there as a volunteer about yoga. My next task at hand in this town is to land a good yoga class that I can go to daily, and (as a yoga teacher) she had some good tips of the yoga.
And then Maulin, Tara and I ate a pretty good Tibetan dinner at Yak Restaurant while discussing politics, as any good policy students should before bed.

Day of What?

2009-08-09T16:53:00.001+02:00

By the third day we had stuffed ourselves silly, and had shopped around quite a lot. We all picked up our Christmas presents for the year, that’s for sure. But I am unsure about what exactly went on one of our days. I know it rained, as it does everyday. I know I finished reading another book (“The Blind Assassin”) while in a coffee shop. And I know I chit chatted with Maulin while in the coffee shop as well.
I think I skipped dinner to read, but I don’t remember if that was on another day. I also think I went to bed early, but I’m still unsure.
This is the issue I’ve been dealing with since my laptop croaked on my file brimming with my trip’s details.
I wish I could remember if this day happened at all…

Trespassers on Tea Gardens

2009-08-09T16:52:00.005+02:00

We woke up one morning with a Jeep waiting for us to go to the tea country, Palampur. This is exactly how it sounds, the area where tea gardens and factories are. The roads to the country are windy and bumpy, and our driver was not merciful on these roads for us foreigners, making us all quite a bit carsick.
No matter, we ended up trespassing into the tea factory and the manager found us as we edged closer to some drying green leaf crops. Instead of kicking us out, he gave us a tour of the grounds and showed us the methods they use for making tea. The tea odor was pungent, but still really good to smell, especially after our joyride.
We walked around the area a bit more and found ourselves in a very pretty garden with tea plants and flowers in co-habitation. Thinking it was a state forest of some type, we relaxed on the path and ate a few biscuits. A car with an older man came down the road, however, and we quickly realize we are actually chilling out on a family driveway. The man insisted on us coming to his house for tea, so we quietly and apologetically made way onto his balcony, overlooking a beautiful meadow and forest. While his English wasn’t good, and we couldn’t really talk much with him (basically, we sat in silence), his hospitality was great, and we were given chai tea with little cakes to munch on before heading back to our Jeep.
We road further in the Jeep until we arrived at an old resort (Taragarh) to lunch. Apparently this used to be the palace for some big hotshot way back in the days. When we got there, we were the only people around, safe some groundskeepers and scant staffers roaming the grounds. We ate a really delicious Kashmiri meal in eerily silent and fancy restaurant (with linen napkins), and decided to scale the hotel to see what it was like.
The hotel was creepy. Very creepy, and might I dare say extremely haunted. There were no hotel lodgers there, and everything was laced with cobwebby antiques. The rooms were old and musty, though lavish in their old trinkets and beds. Animal hides lined the hallways with very old portraits of kings and other royalties, and sculptures of lions and other exotics sat staring at you as you walked down the hall. Up the narrow stairs you find a dark spa area with angled ceilings and signs for stone massages.
Tara made a good comment that we were like the grad student grounds in movies that land themselves on abandoned plots of land and play around there with an air of self-entitlement, only to run into some kind of doom. Luckily, we made it out all fine, but it was still a creepy experience.

When we came back to Mcleod Ganj, we opted to go to the local theatre and watch a 2 USD screening of The Darjeeling Limited. I am glad that I saw the film while in India because I have a completely new idea of what India is really like, and I could pick up a lot more in the film and its portrayal of India.

Trekking

2009-08-09T16:52:00.004+02:00

Our group woke and ate breakfast on the roof of the hotel, overlooking the Himalayan peaks. It is odd, but I have noticed that everytime I look out at the mountains surrounding us, I end up drizzling tears down my cheeks. I am not really sure why that happens (I don’t feel like I’m crying), but it doesn’t really bother me. Anyways, I ate up a muesli joy for breakfast. After eating only Indian breakfasts for the last month, the honeyed muesli was a blessing to my tastebuds.
We decided to hike to a nearby waterfall during the day, called Bhagsunag. Javid told us it was an easy 45-minute hike, and we were eager to move our bodies after the long haul to Dharamsaala. So we grabbed some water and our raincoats and headed that way.
And then the skies opened and poured on us. For about an hour or two, the rains came down on us while we slid up (and down) slippery dirt roads and rocks to the waterfall. I will be writing a complaint to the manufacturers of my “weaterproof” jacket when returning to the US; after 30 minutes of rain, my entire body under my jacket was sopping wet to the point where you can ring it out and have a stream come out.
We still felt like hiking, so we trudged through the rain and found ourselves at the mountain crevice with the waterfall tumbling down the side. It is really a pretty waterfall, though small. I am afraid of heights a bit, so I didn’t dare look down the cliff drop of our hiking route, but I’m sure the look down was very pretty as well.
The rain finally began letting up, and we found ourselves at a little restaurant nestled on the waterfall, away from the path. It was kind of an odd place to find a restaurant, but there it was. We were not hungry yet, and we decided to take a path less traveled. That is, we decided to rock scramble the waterfall. For those who don’t know the term, it is exactly as it sounds: you scramble up rocks, usually up a mountain. I have done this before while in New Pawltz once, but I still made the boys in our group spot me while we climbed up the mountain. It actually was a really enjoyable hike, and we got to be creative as to where to place our feet, how to cross certain water streams, and how to climb up large slippery rocks. We worked very well together while we scrambled up the rocks, actually. Everyone supported each other and no one got upset if someone needed extra time to haul him or herself up. Bags were shared between everyone, and when Amber found two leeches on her, Maulin gallantly helped her take them off as she shrieked and Tara laughed. We joked about how we had to go back to Wagner and make a pitch that all incoming students need to go on a rock scramble to teach great team building.
In retrospect, I believe that the best connections made (whether it be personal or professional) usually come about after the people experience something where petty arguments and silly tensions are prohibited. For example, rock scrambling…where teamwork is needed for the sake of life’s safety.
The sun came out, and we settled ourselves right near the very top of the precipice, completely alone from any form of civilization. We relaxing and dried off as the rocks below us dried in the warm sun with us. We chewed on some nuts and lay around while the green shrubs and trees completely surrounding us glistened with fresh virginity. Water pipes lined parallel to the streams – which I gather to be water gravitational flow energy methods. Once dried, we descended the mountain cautiously, and totaled our hike for about 4 hours! We celebrated back at Nick’s for some more momos.

We came back and relaxed in our rooms. I watched the fog roll in over the mountains, slowly blanketing the entire area in a thick white coat.

We made our way finally to the Tibetan Buddhist temple complex, Namgyal Monastery. For those who still don’t know this area well, Mcleod Ganj is (again) where the Dalai Lama and Tibetans have sought refuge after the siege of Tibet by China.
We walked into the complex and found ourselves surrounded by monks paired up in twos, rambling to each other in Tibetan while slapping their hands. Apparently, in the evenings, the monks get together for debate, as part of their studies. We are still unsure about what they were possibly debating, but some monks looked serious while others laughed with each other.
The temples in the complex are really beautiful. The Buddha shrines have Tara and other deity gold figures accompanying them. The walls are covered in colorful murals of Tibetan/Buddhist deities and priestly figures. The offerings on the shines where that of Oreos, Nutella jars, Chocopie boxes, and honey; these are, after all, the standard food offerings of our generation.

After eating a Tibetan dinner at Shambala and sneaking in a Tibetan coconut-chocolate brownie dessert, we went back to our rooms and played another night of Uno.

Arrival in Dharamsala

2009-08-09T16:51:00.002+02:00

The bus to Dharamsala was a rickety skeleton of a bus. The bus was completely full, and our luggage lined the aisle of the bus. These buses make local stops while traveling long distances, so we were never at a realy full-throttle pace. However, our bus seemed to take longer than usual, and our 4-hour trip on the bus ended up taking 6 hours uphill. The ticket man on the bus was obnoxious and always yelling at someone. I found it very funny when the bus driver tried abandoning the ticket man on the side of the street at one of the stops we made.

I napped as we craweled up the Himalayas to upper Dharamsala. We ended our bus at Mcleod Ganj, and owner of the hotel we were staying at, Javid from Pink House, met us and led us through the town to drop off our bags and rest.

Mcleod Ganj is absolutely amazing! We are at the top of a large chain of mountains and can see the clouds hanging on top of the mountain tips. Hawks sway around the hotels in our area (which are all on the slopes of the mountains). The air is fresh and cool. The actual town is very, very clean (even on American standards). There are Tibetan monks roaming everywhere on the streets. Did I mention that there are Aryvedic-Yoga-Massage-Reiki-Healing centers every 2 feet here? And with that comes a whole lot of white people and tourists; most of the people here are either Tibetan or yogi/New Age/hippy/backpackers seeking refuge in the tops of the Himalayas. A lot of little shops sell hippy outfits and Buddhist books and organic/healthy restaurants crowd the 3 main streets here. It's actually really easy to forget completely that this is actually a place in India, to be honest. We have been joking constantly that we are in the middle of some chasm of the world, not clinging to any specific country identity. We are in the middle of monsoon season here, so it rains at least once a day, and the fog rolls in over the mountains all of the time.

After getting our nice rooms set up for our stay here, and a cup of Kashmiri green tea with Javid, we went to Nick's Italian Restaurant for a large lunch. We hadn't eaten dinner or breakfast because of the travel, so we were all pretty ravaged by the time we got here. Entering this clean shop, we noticed that most of the people here were tourists (aka non-Indians), which is a complete turn around from the last few weeks in India. But we ate, and we ate a lot. Lots of food, and that means 5 desserts. We have been filling ourselves silly while we have been staying in this utopian town. We really like the momos here, which are basically simple dumplings. We eat them daily.

We shopped around in the cute shops and green markets a bit in the main roads before heading over to the town "club", Xcite, for some aperitifs. This place was hilarious....they only had 2 things: one type of beer, and one type of fruit wine. Both of which were really awful, particularly the plum wine I ordered. And they didn't do alcohol by the glass, but rather by the bottle, meaning that we were stuck with large jugs of bad wine and beer. The place was very sticky and the menus had bad English and bad humor rolled together, making our whole experience hilarious and very enjoyable.
We ate a Tibetan dinner at Mount View, which was not great. At every restaurant we have gone to, they don't have half of what we try to order, which makes our experiences even more enjoyable and humorous. Really it doesn't bother us, but it always brings us a bunch of laughs.

We ended the night joking around and playing Uno in the hotel rooms until later in the evening.

Delhi – Agra – Dharamsala

2009-08-09T16:50:00.001+02:00

Bleary eyed and fuzzy brained, the 5 of us (Tara opted out of the trip) took a cab to the New Delhi RR Station to make our 3-hour train ride to Agra. Having heard horror stories of the Indian railway system, I was nervous, but found myself pleasantly surprised at the easiness of hopping a train! Maybe it was just because we were up so early…
We got into our AC Chair Cars, which were really nice! These cars are very comparably to the Amtrak trains we have in the US, and the AC was well accepted in our group (since it is unbelievably hot in that area). There was even a Western toilet with toilet paper in the back of the car, for our foreign conveniences. We were given a complimentary Indian breakfast – cleverly coined by the train as Meals on Wheels – that was actually quite tasty and held us over for the few hours on the train. All of this on a train, for roughly 8 USD.

Getting off at Agra was another story. The packed station was shuffling with foreign visitors confusedly looking up at hopeless Hindi signs, hoping for signs that would bring them to the safety of the Taj Mahal, away from the station’s lepers and loud noises. Our group of 5 grumpily pushed through over to the tourist booth in hopes to make train reservations back to Delhi later the same day, as well as a fast driver who’d show us the Taj and get us to a lunch stop before running to the train. We only had 4 hours available to tour the area before having to get back to Delhi; Tara, Amber, Maulin and I had a 9pm overnight train to Dharamsala that we couldn’t dare miss.

While in line, we met a guy named Josh who had the same kind of agenda as us for the day (he had a 9pm flight to Sweden he had to get back for in Delhi). And so he filled out our 6-some. Josh was a really fantastic 29 year-old Canadian eco-engineer who had been in India for 2 months already, and was on his last day in country before moving back to Canada with his Australian girlfriend. He had spent his time in Dharamsala, interestingly enough, and had a lot of pointers and tips for our vacation in the mountains. He was our miracle savior of the day, and he led us through the train system with a lot more ease than we could have without him. Without him, we probably wouldn’t have been able to get back to Delhi on time.

So we grabbed two government cars and drove to the Taj Mahal. Our driver was extremely helper, and told us to avoid guides and souvenir people while on the grounds, since they would swindle us out of oodles of money and it would be better for us to get the full experience of the site without anyone telling us what to look at and ushering us hastily out. We got to the grounds and walked through security to the Taj.

And now I will write an ode to the Taj Mahal. I don’t mean to sound clichÈ when I talk about World Heritage Sites, however I feel it necessary for such a monumental structure in our world. There are few places on Earth, I feel, that actually live up to such massive amounts of hype and make you feel like it is worth the trip, and I can honestly say that the Taj Mahal is one of these rarities. The real beauty of the whole place is in its simplicity. There are no gaudy decorations glued onto the sides of the walls or at the base of the structure. It is just all white marble. Granted, it is a bit gaudy in terms of burial grounds, but the simple architecture and immaculate symmetry makes the place feel pure and serene, much like a calm lake might be. The veins of the marble give the illusion that the Taj is always in subtle movement. The marble is soft to the touch. There is a certain quiet solemnity emanating from the Taj, making a relaxing buzz of someplace sacred. Indeed, though not a temple, I feel that the Taj is a sacred place. I felt an excitement that put me beside myself that was smoothed over with the serenity. Josh put it well while we were walking around; he said with a slightly freaked out tone, “It is so peaceful here!!!!” Well said.
I imagined that the Taj Mahal site would be this highly packed, busy and noisy spot with scores of tourists walking around talking pictures. Maybe it was because August is the off-season (think monsoons), or maybe because we were at the site early in the morning, but the Taj was not really that crowded, to my relief. They gave us footies to put over our shoes, but I opted for the barefoot option with the Indians, and waded the grounds on the cool marble for over an hour, soaking it all in through every pore.

We regrouped and left with two hours left before catching our train. Despite our best attempts at pleading for a local food join, our driver dropped us off at a very touristy restaurant, Indiana Grill. I hope you saw the pun in the restaurant’s name. Though disappointed with the tourist prices and lack of Indians in the place, the food was satisfying. Though I was sad that my aloo chaat was nothing yoghurty but something with a lemony zest.

When we arrived with our unreserved car tickets for the 4-hour Delhi train back, we were shoved into a sleeper car. The sleeper cars on trains are everything you’ve ever heard about for Indian transportation. There are 2-3 bunks hanging clumsily on the walls of the narrow cars. There is no AC in the cars – which was especially hard in the sweltering heat. Instead, three meager fans on the top of the cars sadly attempt to whir around warm air in the compartments, while an open window supplies the hot oxygen to breathe. Large families come onto the trains and fill all of the upper bunks and floor space with scores of suitcases and luggage (to go where, I am still unsure). The stenches of the cars are of bodily functions usually kept in the comforts of home, while the Eastern toilet broken stall door swings open during the ride. Men walk around with chai and samosas during the trip (though I’m unsure who’d eat such hot foods at these temperatures), while others walk around with buckets full of precarious vegetables, swarming with interested flies.
We walked on and found ourselves piled into our area. It felt like the longest ride back to Delhi. We simply sat on the benches and waited to get into Delhi, while looking through the barred windows and feeling the sweat slide down our backs nonstop. The heat made us quiet, and the smell outside made us even quieter.

We ended up getting slightly lost 17 km outside of Delhi for about half an hour, not really sure where we were or why we weren’t able to get into Delhi on our train. We quickly hopped onto another local sleeper train and got into Delhi with two hours to spare before our next train ride.
We finally thanked Josh for all of his help, wished each other luck, and Josh walked into the crowd, never to be heard from again. We didn’t exchange contact information or last names; he was just a travel buddy for a day. It was really quite a romantic situation, come to think about it. Wherever you are now, Josh, I only wish the best.

And Molly and Hallie parted ways with us in the hotel. They were not continuing on with us. After our 4 weeks of fieldwork together, we split in half, and Maulin and I joined up with the other two and sprinted to Old Delhi RR Station (quite different than the New Delhi RR Station) to find our 11-hour overnight train.
We met up at the station with another Wagnerite who was traveling with us, Hanan.
While running to our train, one of my tennis shoes apparently fell out of my bag, and a very nice Kashmiri guy ran over to me to give it back to me. The situation was a little bit reminiscent of Cinderella, though I am well aware that a tennis shoe is far less attractive than a ballroom shoe. He was very sweet, and was interested in why I was in India, where I was going, and where I was from.
We got onto our train to find we had found the wrong car, and were actually placed on the opposite side of the train in another tier car. Frantically (and with 10 minutes before leaving) we jogged over to make our chairs in time. We were in AC 3rd Tier Sleeper Cars. There was a lot of confusion about who really were the holders of our chairs, and after finding a conductor; we ended up pushing out a bunch of people for our chairs. Ironically, the man who found my tennis shoe was the man I had to push out of my chair.
Though an upgrade from the sleeper cars back to Delhi from Agra, these cars were very similar… only this time we were actually intending on sleeping in the bunks. Luckily, the AC was working in the car, so that made the trip a lot easier. However, these cars have no privacy (no curtains, no nothing), so anything your neighbors want to do or say you get full view. This was unfortunate for Amber and I, who were separated from the other 3 (our group was book-ending the entire car). One of the confusions about who had our chairs was because we had a family of 9 sitting in our area of 6 bunk beds. They had 5 little children and an old grandmother packed away in the area, and had no intention on leaving the space. Amber and I got our own side bunks, but the family managed to have the 9 of them in 6 bunks. I still don’t understand how they managed.
The toilets on the trains were literally holes in the train cars. You could look down and see the tracks speed by as you did you business. They put signs all over the toilets asking riders to avoid using them while stopped at a station, which I definitely understand now. It came to my realization that for at least 10 hours of my life I was, by using the toilets on the train, consenting to open defecation in India, despite my entire project’s goal of eliminating it.
The family began to worry me when, at 10pm at night, they started feeding the little children sugared biscuits, and followed the snacks with a full-fledged Indian dinner they packed. I was intending on sleeping for the night, but it was beginning to look dismal with fully fed children by my bed. Also, apparently the family had other members in other cars, so there was a constant opening and slamming of the car door near our doors with people coming in to talk with them.
Luckily, everyone in the car fell asleep, and I slept peacefully on the bottom of the bunks. We slept all night, as the train hobbled and swayed from one train station to the next, on our way up north. We woke up at 7am, just in time to grab all of our bags and get off of the train at Pathankot to make our switch to the bus for Dharamsala.

Last day in Bhubaneswar

2009-08-09T16:48:00.002+02:00

I am devastated. 10 pages of blog posts out of the window, all because my laptop corrupted my file and now my long memory has sunk into the technological abyss that is Apple.

I will try to redeem my posts, though they might be less graphic and beautifully written as they were when I first wrote them.

I do believe my last post was about being in Bhubaneswar for the last time.

Our team – though excited to sleep in and planned the day accordingly - was woken up on our last day in Bhubaneswar by the front desk, begging us to come to breakfast because they had made us boiled eggs. Their attempt of a peace offering, though small, was well appreciated, but we still do not think highly on this hotel. We walked around briefly in the already sweltering heat to pick up some final things before packing, and headed back quickly to our room. Instead of us all going to the caves near town, we opted to take it easy and run a few errands before we started our crazy few days of constant travel. I took a nap.
I woke up with Maulin and Molly going to get our freshly pressed, crispy laundry from the cleaners. It is hard to express in text to relief and joy we all felt of having real clean clothing; after roughly 3 weeks of being soggy and smelly, we felt like humans again. Though, the cleaners did manage to burn a few holes in select clothing, but beggars can’t be choosers over here in India.
One of our last goals was to find a spiritual bookshop that Gobardhan at GV had told us to go to for some great Aryuvedic health snacks and supplements, Gita Press. Some men told us the night before that it was over by one of the several temples in town, no problem. But alas, here in India things can never really be that easy. We walked around aimlessly looking for this shop, ping-ponging the main busy street, to no avail. We asked several men, who all pointed us in the opposite directions, implying that no one really knew what we were talking about.
Something I don’t remember if I’ve pointed out yet; the people we try talking to here for help, usually men, do not like talking to us women. It doesn’t matter who is trying to talk to them; they will always direct their responses to Maulin. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m white or a female (I’m assuming the latter), but it can get frustrating after a while, feeling invisible and all. This happened when looking for Gita Press. The idea was my brainchild, and I would ask the men, but they would beckon over Maulin after my inquiry and begin talking to him with their answers. I don’t know how it would matter exactly; I assume that they’d have the same response whether it was Maulin or me to whom they were talking. In any case, we were led in circles and considered it a failed mission.
After eating a pleasant lunch at the same place we ate the night before, we packed up early and headed to the airport for our Indigo flight. The airport is so small that it wasn’t even open yet when we arrived, so we had to wait outside until someone came and told us they were ready.
They made me open up my big luggage and rummage through it because apparently my jump rope could have possible been a weapon of mass destruction.
It has come to my attention that I, much like an infant, sleep at the instant feeling of moving vehicles (cars, trains, planes, etc.). It seems that the whirring of the motor and lulling motions zen me out to the point of oblivion, and I am rendered useless until I close my eyes and doze off. So, I tried very hard to stay awake during our 2-hour flight, but the buzzing of the seat defeated my efforts, and I was out for an hour.

The team arrived in hot, sticky Delhi, and was hit with a kind of culture shock. We had grown accustomed to the underdeveloped rural world in Orissa, and were a little taken back by the loud blaring of the city. The airport was shiny and buzzing with loads of people. And most differently, there were quite a lot of foreigners (aka white people). Having been 1 of 5 white people within a 20-mile radius, this was something I surprisingly had to readjust to. Also, when landing at a restaurant for a late dinner, we were pleasantly surprised to find that the restaurant had everything we wanted AND they understood our English well enough to make our ordering process the smoothest we had had in weeks!

We got to our new hotel, Ananda, in Karol Bagh to meet up in a sweet reunion with 2 fellow Wagner students who did their project work in Mumbai, Amber and Tara. It was nice to see more than just our team of familiar faces.
The rooms were clean, and I shared a bed with Maulin because there were no separate beds in the rooms. This was alright, seeing as we were only going to nap for 4 hours that night in order to make our 4am train to Agra in the morning.

Backlogging in Dharamshala

2009-08-05T12:37:00.002+02:00

I have been writing great novel-sized entries for my blog on my laptop, since my last posting. Indeed, far too much has been going on in the past few days I have been traveling.

Why I have not posted them at all:
1 - I have not had time to write much or find an internet connection to post anything
2 - There is little to no internet in this area 300m above sea level
3 - Last night, while writing one of my epic tales, my laptop crashed and potentially killed all of my great writings! I am very distraught about this, but am hoping to later today to restore my computer in some magical way so that not all of it is lost.

Konark & Puri Joys

2009-07-31T19:51:00.003+02:00

We woke up early to find the bus going on a 2-hour ride to Konark and Puri. The ride was bumpy and long, and I was stuffed in the back with a handful of Indian men, but we all got there in one piece, sweating early.

Konark Sun Temple is this large temple from the 13th century decorated with stories and 84 positions from the Kama Sutra (because the temple was used to help propagate the Indian race in the area at the time). It was supposed to be a chariot temple, which had 24 massive wheels and could be hauled by many pulling horses. Though really gorgeous to look at, it was originally a lot larger and more amazing a few hundred years ago before colonists came in and tore up the place. Apparently the temple was 100m tall, and there were iron magnets holding the entire temple structure/complex together. The colonists came in and ripped out the iron rods, making the entire thing collapse onto itself. Nowadays, they're still repairing the structure, but what is remaining is still pretty amazing to look at.

We got to the place and were instantly greeted by an old man who wanted to give us a tour for 200Rs. We said no, but he followed us through the whole entrance process. We finally bargained down to 150Rs total, and he gave us a tour of the whole place. He was rather sweet, and he grew on me after a while. He hustled us around, and explained all of the little stories on the sides of the temple for us, explaining exactly which position that was supposed to be, and what this means, etc. The positions were very explicit, though, so not much had to be left to our imaginations. The whole place oozed with eroticism, and while I was fascinated, I think it may have made some team members a bit squeamish. The whole monument was mammoth, and though there were a lot of blocks put in as braces due to the temple's fall (meaning it lacked any carvings or etchings), it was still intricate and stunning to look at and walk around.

Oh yeah! And a few of my Kanwar pilgrims were walking around the temple, and I would wave to them, and they'd wave back smiling. I have decided now that I will be staying in India, and becoming a Kanwar pilgrim. I will buy an orange getup and Kanwar pole in Bhubaneswar, and start walking. I will then find the love of my life, a Kanwar of course, and I will live happily ever after. At least until I wake up.

There were also a bunch of Frenchies at the site, and someone came up to me and began asking me things in French, which I responded. After a brief talk in Franglish, I now have a handful of people in India who thinks I'm a French woman hanging out with a bunch of Americans. This actually happened a few times throughout the day, and my French-esteem was boosted.

We then took a cab to Puri so we could say that we went to the beach. Our driver played for us children's songs, like "The Hokey Pokey", which was beyond bizarre, but we silently listened and hummed along to the happy melodies

Upon arrival at Puri, I noticed immediately that there were white people here. Quite a few, actually. For such a random state of India, there were actually a large population of white tourists lurking around the streets, and they were not stared at like how we were while by Berhampur. I looked around at the signs in the town to discover that we were in what seems to be in a major New Age capital for Western tourists. There were Aryuvedic Centers everywhere, Ashrams and Yoga spots, hotels donning special massage specials, and a lot of hippy shops to buy linens and cotton purses. As exciting and "normal" some of this seemed at first for me, and I was very interested in looking into the Aryuvedic/Yoga institutes, I was also disappointed that we had found ourselves in an area that didn't seem to hold the same Indian vibe we initially experienced while here.

We first stopped at a restaurant to have lunch. We ended up at Honey Bee, which was western and eastern options! Pancakes and omelets and pizzas and muesli! Everything we were denied at GV, we could get here! It was so good we may have splurged a bit much, but it was so satisfying that I'm going to write it off as simply success. This restaurant was also apparently a hotspot for ex-pats and Western Europeans in the area. We heard a lot of French and Spanish in the little cafe, and they were playing some John Coltrane while we ate. No less, it was a great break form the Naan and chick peas we have been chewing on.

We go to the beach finally! We stared head-on with the Bay of Bengal, which I think is something to drop into dinner parties from now on.

I noticed that the sea water here was a milky chai color, and though it felt good to put our feet in the cool water while the sun beat down on our sweating selves, I didn't dare to rest too long in what may be hazardous water. Anyways, the backdrop was really a sight; temples spotted the skyline, and coconut trees lined all of the hotels and houses on the beach coast. To the northern side, piles of boats that looked more like kayaks spread up and down the edge of the water. The beach was empty, and crabs began coming out of the sand around us while we stood and gazed at the sea and town.

We got a rickshaw that got us immediately onto a bus back to Bhubaneswar. I am going to start calling this the "Ride from Hell". I was crammed into a small seat with some other man, who apparently decided that i was the kind of woman for him. He draped his arm on my leg and kept getting closer to me. A two-hour drive, people, the whole way back. He was eager to talk to me about anything that he could think of, trying to also give me a tour in the bus of his area while asking me questions about my personal life, and most of my responses were short and friendly, but not leading. I was trying to make it apparent that I was NOT interested. No less, he continued, and everything he inched closer to me I would slide further off of my chair, to the point where I was more off of the chair than on it. He finally revealed his age to me (45, unmarried, yikes) and offered to be my boyfriend. Oh no, I responded, I have a boyfriend in America, and we might get married in a little bit. I went through the long list of guy friends I have back in the states to think of who I could use as my excuse (and yes, I did pick one specific friend to use), but the guy didn't ask any more. He kept his arm on my leg though, despite me pushing it off. All of a sudden I notice that the bus is packed, and a man standing up has pressed himself against my shoulder enough that I can feel the outline of his genitalia on me. Man to the right, laying all over me; man to the left, pressing himself onto me. And I sat there, ready to weep and/or scream, for the ride back into town. The men both left, and i whimpered back to my teammates with my tail under my legs, ready to take a well-deserved afternoon nap.

We went out to an English book shop and bought a few books (seeing as we read all of our books while on campus) to hold us over. We walked around a little bit more around the area, and ate a fast cheap dinner near the hotel before going to bed.

Bhubaneswar (aka: Chaos)

2009-07-31T19:50:00.001+02:00

Our drive to Bhubaneswar was an all-day affair, about 4-5 hours (though we still got to our hotel early). I actually slept for almost the entire time, despite the rising heat in the state. It has been a balmy 40C/104F for a long string of days now, and so we have been plastered into our clothing since the temperature became what it is now. Apparently when I was asleep I missed a pit stop at a tea stand for our drivers while my team watched a mongoose chase on the side of the road (I am not kidding). As much fun as that would have been, though, I much rather the sleep at the time.

We got back to the city, and the loud noises and concentrated rush was a hit in the face compared to our slumbering Berhampur.

Our Hotel Pushpak....what is there to say about this seedy little place...well, we have AC, which was good for some of the members. And there are western toilets, which can be a plus. There are limited assorted creatures, always an upgrade from rural India. Their restaurant is decent, though a bit pricey compared to some of our local eats. And we all share one room, separate beds for all. But....the breakfast that should be complimentary is a farce, and there is no internet. And the rooms/halls all smell a bit dank. They don't know anything about the area of Bhubaneswar in which we are situated... And there is no laundry, which was devastating for our team.

So the first thing our team went to do while our short stay in the city was to find a place to do our laundry. Maulin hauled around our compiled laundries in a big blue laundry bag that Hallie brought, making him look like a modern Indian Santa Claus who's colorblind. The hot weather made our moves slightly slower, but the real problem was the fact that we had no idea where we were going to find a laundry place. Dry cleaners were the only option, it seemed. At first, we walked through alley ways and marketplaces to find many, many saree shops and tailors with no clue about cleaning facilities. But then we finally started to find some cleaners! One issue was prominent: all cleaners were closed for the next 3 hours.

Apparently, in at least Orissa, most businesses are closed for at least 2 hours in the middle of the day. We have assumed this means lunch breaks for the workers, but this seems to be slightly baffling to us now, considering that even restaurants are closed for the same 2 hours, too.

Since the laundry places were so inconveniently placed compared to our hotel, and we had a few other errands to run in the city before the evening, we opted to stay outside. So Maulin became our pack mule and hauled around our laundry throughout Bhubaneswar for a few hours. And our second attempted mission was to get our traveler's cheques cashed at a bank. We hailed a rickshaw and stuffed our stuff in it, going to the "best nearby bank option". We entered Bank 1, to find out that there was an error in the system, and so there was no way to get our cheques cashed. On to Bank 2, our rickshaw dropped us in a completely different area of town, where banks didn't exist, and we walked until we finally found a bank (Bank 2)! We walked in, and they said no way not here, go to the State Bank of India down the street, Bank 3. That bank didn't possess any technology for cheques, but the larger branch 10 minutes would, Bank 4. This is when it became funny. Bank 4! Bank 4, same problem, go to the other chain down the street about 1 km away. At Bank 5, the guy who normally dealt with traveler's cheques and foreign exchanges was out of the office for the day, so he told us to go to their main branch in the city.

Keep in mind, this is not a small city, per se. So we are hailing rickshaws to get to all of these banks, or getting more lost and frustrated and then hailing one anyways, who usually didn't know where we were talking about going. And also remember the large laundry sack the Maulin donned for us, so every time we entered a bank, Maulin had to open our dirty laundry bag for security so they knew we were not, in fact, terrorists with such a strange oversized bag.

At the main branch, Bank 6, the gods had mercy on us, and we finally found someone who could get us money for cheques. We got there around 3:20pm, and they close at 4pm: immaculate timing. It took us an hour to fill out paperwork to get our money, but we did, and now we are ready to go for the next few weeks. We wanted to celebrate with coffee at a big chain with our laundry, at Cafe Coffee Day. We were also excessively (and collectively) grumpy, so it was a good time for a break. However, we got to the shop and found out they were holding a week-long promotion that barred customers (or at least tourists) from buying simple orders of black coffee, and we were forced to order desserts with our drink purchases. Honestly, it was not that big of a deal, but grump Americans can become quite ugly when it comes to hunger and not getting exactly what they want, and so the desserts were finished in delicious grumbles and satisfied whines. I had a chocolate shake that tasted absolutely nothing like chocolate and more like a milky mint drink, which was exactly what I didn't want, but it was still something, so I just shrugged and swallowed down the shake.

We finally go to the dry cleaners and dropped our load off happily. He told us it would take two days (but our departure was later that day they'd finish) and would be done in the evening (but we left in the early evening), so we pushed him to make it in the afternoon before we left. And he refused to touch the female underwear (bras, panties, socks), leaving our team without underwear and clothing for 2 days. Luckily, we had some packets of detergent, and worked on our underwear in our tub and hang it all around our large room. I have been wearing the same outfit for days now.

Our team met up for dinner with a fellow Wagner student, Cindy (who's working in the city for the summer at UNICEF), and her roommate from Delhi, Deepika. They directed us to an area called Mayfair Lagoon, and it was like walking into a fairy-tale; the area was based for a 5-Star hotel, the Mayfair, that held bungalows for each visitor, and had outdoor AC and a line of western shops outside of the gated hotel. The whole area dripped of money and luxury colonial items, and I felt very much like I had just taken a portal to another part of the world. Though I am not very sure if I am alright with these kind of areas all of the time; considering my experience and field visits in Orissa (and India, for that matter), is there really a point or benefit for there to be high-end luxury hotels in areas where begging filth and abject poverty is not even a block away from the grounds? I believe it holds a very skewed, untrue viewpoint for those who don't know any better, or who prefer too much their Blackberry dinners and Chanel coffee cups. Why bother come to a developing country if you're not going to see the developing part, or why it is even called developing? I wonder.

We went to dinner there, though, at the lagoon. And though a bit pricey, the food was absolutely fabulous. We had some dishes I can't pronounce, but everything tasted fresh and clean and good. A really nice restaurant. And there were white people in the restaurant, too! Cindy and Deepika told us about their internship and travels around the area, and we had a really nice night of conversation and laughter. We got out of the restaurant and walked through part of the restaurant that had created individual, modular rooms for dinner partys in front of a well-lit square with tabla and singer on the mic.

We ended our night at a nearby pub, 10 Downing Street for drinks and dance, and i had a mocktail fruit punch that was freshly squeezed with a piece of raw apple (oh ambrosia)! It was exactly what I have been craving! But, despite the glory of the meal and drinks, it was time to get back to reality at the seedy part of town.

We headed back to our hotel just in time to see one man reading a newspaper on a chair, and a cow on the street came over to look at him, and finally ram the man straight off of his chair (light enough to not hurt him, but hard enough to make him roll onto the ground).

Last Days in Mohuda

2009-07-31T19:48:00.000+02:00

So Maulin and I were initially intending on staying for 2 weeks longer at GV to finish up some work while Molly and Hallie headed back to the states early. Despite this brilliant idea, Joe and Chitra felt it to be better if we were to all come and go in one large swoop. So, we are now all out of Berhampur, and Maulin and I had to regroup with a few others from Wagner for some travels up north of Delhi. We had planned to leave, then, on the 29th in the afternoon for the 4-hour car trip. But after a bit of disagreement with some of the staffers, and some car situation that was a bit complicated, we found out that we were actually going to have to leave at 6am sharp. That being said...

Our last day at GV was like we were a group of celebrities or something. Everyone wanted to see us. Joe had also booked a phone meeting for us with a government state official, to add onto our agenda. We were actually trying to get our own work done while we were running around finishing up staff meetings and tying up loose ends. But everyone else was much more important than our silly project. We were all growing (and still are, mind you) a bit grumpy, too. So we ended up having to split off in subgroups of our original foursome and plow through all of the people we had met over our short visit, and cleaning up our office & house.

Our first stop in the evening was at Gobardhan's room. He had made us homemade tomato spicy soup, and wanted to share with us a slew of his philosophies and aryuvedic teas and miscellaneous tastes. Tastes were varied, and often extremely hard to pronounce, but it was pretty enjoyable, and we had the most amazing mango leather ever (because it was homemade!). We were late from our meetings at the office, but we still ended up being able to manage a hearty session of Gobardhan-isms.

We got to dinner and ran around like we owned the place, walking through the kitchen while the cooks chopped fresh fish with hammers and iron sheets. I had a heated conversation with one of the workers (Jacob), which actually upset me a little bit and I'm still working on it. But mostly people congregated around us during dinner to talk to us before leaving. We traded emails with many people, and some hasty goodbyes were had. And we relished in the fact that it would be our last rice and dhal meal, if we chose it to be. And we have; we haven't eaten rice or dhal at all since.

Joe had invited us to his house for late-night drinks. Our group was so excited; drinks with Joe, THE Joe! We hurried over to his house from the mess hall farewells, to find out in a tragic moment that we were not alone at his house. As it turned out, Joe had invited a group from the Board of Directors (because their big Board Meeting was a few days away) to drink as well. So here we are, sitting in a room awkwardly sipping Kingfishers and Fresh Lime Soda with an older Indian crowd, not knowing what to talk to them about, or whether the circumstances were more painful for us or for them. One woman (our team has kindly renamed "Tough Cookie") only gave yes/no answers, and scowled at us with such vigor that there were a few times I thought she was in fact the infamous Medusa and I would be turned to stone if I said anything distasteful, which would be potentially anything (I almost was zapped to stone because I asked her if she worked in government, and somehow that implied if she was someone's wife, which was offensive). Another man was a former Indian diplomat/ambassador, and he was the most talkative to us, so we mostly grilled him about his work while he asked us more about our stay in India and how was the US. The team left as soon as we could, but only after the group of older elite Indians started cracking jokes about people from other Indian states, particularly from the state Maulin's family lives (Gujarat).

Cristina and Julie came over to our house while we all frantically packed until early into the morning, talking about an array of topics and interests. We slept for maybe 3 hours, or at least I did, and woke up from our naps to get into the tightly-packed care on the way to Bhubaneswar.

Chill-out Weekend

2009-07-27T06:10:00.002+02:00

Satuday evening was Berhampur-filled yet again. We went around to the shops that we were shown around the last time to get some standard things, like shampoo and conditioner, toilet paper...and cookies (like you do). It was a lot faster this time around, considering we had a little more understanding of the city's ways and the thrill of being off campus was slightly dulled from our fieldwork during the week.

I was trailblazing the group, getting us here and there in the city. And I remembered then that it was actually one of my favorite parts of traveling to foreign cities; that is, figuring out the city in limited time. It was kind of like I have a compass/map installed instantly into my brain while I look around new cities. I take pictures of specific signs in my head; I make mental notes and signposts about streets; I remember places based on what conversation/thought was going on at the last moment of being there. It makes me happy to know I can find my way around a city, understand how it is mapped out, and not feel totally hopeless there.

Though, I almost got ran into by a cow with a nice set of curved horns pointed directly towards me, because I was paying attention to where we were going...

My group was very surprised at how I could navigate us around the area of Berhampur that we were walking around. I was just glad we didn't have to look as much like lost tourists.

Anyways, we grabbed some goodies, got some fruit and other things....and I got a guy to open up a coconut. The ones with the meat in it, not a green one. It was amazing. For 8 Rs, I got to savor a real live fresh coconut, freshly opened. And I was blissed out for about a few hours because of this amazing and appropriate experience.

We ate some disappointing chinese food this time around before cramming back onto the bus towards GV.

We went back to Cristina (from Romania)'s room and talking about light matters until 4 am. Light matters include: child trafficking, changing the world, women's empowerment, violence, caste difficulties, India, and similar matters.

Sunday is a great day on campus because you can do literally nothing. We slept in late, and woke up for lunch. And read as much of the day as we want.

Another note must be said about our feeding here...about the quantity of food.

So, when Joe first met us while in NYC, he made a point to tell us that we would not be eating much food at all while staying on their campus. Our team had interpreted this as meaning that we'd be only eating rice and lentils for 3 weeks straight during extreme heat, thus becoming very thin in breakneck speed. For me, I was rather excited about the potential of flying to India to live an ascetic monk's lifestyle and coming back super thin to tell the tale. It could have been the most efficient, cost-effective diet ever to hit the fad market!

And then we arrived. Rice, dhal (and often potatoes) are our staple meals, however.....it comes in massive quantities.

I don't know how all of these men and women stay so supremely small. Everytime we eat in the mess hall, I come out feeling overly stuffed and bloated from the large sums of rice they plop onto our metal trays. Granted, having such a basic diet with little seasoning or variety for 3 weeks have made me feel indeed monk-like, but this wasn't what I had in mind. I grieved the first week we were here, realizing that my diet plans had come to a screeching halt. Now I have simply accepted the fact that I will come back the same (if not slightly larger) as I had gone.

Anyways, we went for a walk outside of the compound (because it only took us over 2 weeks to figure out we could actually do this), and it was really great. We first managed to climb over some of the craggy, hilly land that held a GV water tank in the middle of ample briars and sandy terrain. The view never ceases to inspire me. Green hills with puckered tops on one side of our panoramic view roll away into green rice paddy land and tropical trees for the other side.

We stood on our incline to look down on the road and heard very loud Indian music blaring from a rickshaw. And we danced to it, as they stared up at us and smiled. At first I assumed that they had turned it on for only us (since we seemed to be the only ones in sight for quite a long distance), but then shortly after a line of Kanwar pilgrims came walking through the trees, jingling down the road and up the hills to the next Shiva temple. The music was for them and not us, after all.

We walked back towards the campus and some of us went back inside. The rest of us (Cristina, Maulin, and me) walk in the other direction, towards Berhampur proper. It was such a nice day, why not enjoy the walk more? And so we walked past the fields, and trees, and residences, and small villages.

Women walked by us in groups, holding water jugs and field tools on their heads. Some smiled and waved. Some looked at us with a sort of scorn.

The men drove by in usually pairs. They would stare, smile, stare some more, turn around while on their motorbikes or in their cars to keep looking....and more often than not, I wanted to shout "KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD AND STOP SWERVING!" I didn't. When we walked by men, they would gawk some more, and Cristina and I would simply look at each other and smile with a shrug.

We walked for a while and ended up on the campus of the Berhampur University-affiliated College of Pharmaceutical Sciences. In my humble opinion, it is not the best situated campus, but there is it. The campus was strange, and felt more like a ghost town than a university campus. No one was there, and everything was slightly overgrown (though that might have just been that way because most places in this part of Orissa seem to have ruthlessly growing flora). But the buildings were dilapidated and unkempt. Everything was fading. They had a locked up herbal garden that looked overgrown from the outside. They had a college canteen that looked more like a cow shed. And their bioscience department was a blocky square of a building situated in a very obscure field a hundred yards away.

This was the end of our tour of the area outside of campus, and we made it home in time to have a nap before our dinner. Rice, dhal, and potatoes.

Final Failed Village (aka Field Day 4)

2009-07-25T06:04:00.003+02:00

Yesterday, as I was writing in my blog, a sniffling Sudhansu (I think that some nasal bug is going around the office) came to our office and told us that we were, in fact, going to the field in a few hours to our final village, a failed GV attempt.

Unfortunately, I had jump roped in the morning, and it was extremely hot (104F or something?), so I was suffering from dehydration and heat. I had to sink a hydration tab into my water jug and hope that I wasn't going to get sick while in the middle of our carride, or worse...during our focus group meeting.

We were told it'd be an hourlong ride. With the beating sun and the sweat rolling down, I fell asleep in the car and woke up about 2 hours later to find that we hadn't yet reached this far off village. We had, however, picked up some staff woman from another GV village on the way, and an older village man from another village (the oldest GV village, we later found out).

This seems to happen every time we are traveling to villages. It's like once we are driving, our Jeep becomes a bus and more people pop out of the woodwork to get picked up and join us. A lot of random staff members have come with us to places, or have been shuttled from other villages on the way (but now I'm not so sure how "on the way" they all are). There have been a few times where Hallie, Molly and me were in the middle of the Jeep, while crammed in the trunk and front seats were quite a few Indian men; it must have looked like us 3 girls had a whole lot of bodyguards for our travels, as if we are celebrities.

When we got to this village (quite big, about 264 households, 1200 people), which looked a bit different than all of the other villages we had seen. For one, it was bigger. It was also more narrow and tight (with the huts, houses, and people). And it had some similarity to post-Soviet villages that had been victim to battle. Things were a bit messy, some trash was strewn out on the street, and people were roaming around the streets (clothing optional).

We got out of the car while a parade of children were walking in the street, and they all took a swift halt to gawk at us (again, see "White Stare") while we got onto the street.

We were given chairs on which to sit on someone's porch. It was a very odd setup, and it made us look like we were on a stage, being presented to the town in some kind of panel discussion or whatever, with the white girls in the middle and the guys bookmarking us. The men slowly began to circle around us, in what would be the "audience" section of the "theatre" setup we had going on. No women. Maybe 1 or 2 village women were seen walking through the streets the entire time we were there. Apparently empowerment of women is still weak in this village....

Anyways, as the village men and children stared at us, some of the village leaders took chairs across from us and began answering our questions. They answered a lot of questions for us about their village, why the GV project failed for them, and all of the information we were looking for. I was designated the question asker for Sudhansu, while he would talk to me and everyone else took down the notes. It worked our really well, and our interview went so much better than the previous one!

While we were in the middle of our conversation, some villagers pulled out fans and directed them at us while we were talking. Though extremely helpful, considering the heat, it made talking and listening a lot harder for us.

And then they came out with coconuts for each of us to drink. Straws included. It was an amazing little treat from a village that doesn't even work with GV. They were so delicious, and exactly what we needed with such hot weather.

After our meeting, we scaled the village (and saw broken hand pumps, brick piles in the middle of the road, the area for the lower castes....still no women) and head back in the car to go home.

The drive back wasn't nearly as painful. The sun had gone down some, and we were all in better spirits (because of the coconuts, methinks). We dropped off the people we had picked up back in their designated villages, and head for Berhampur.

Sudhansu gave us a little surprise, though! He invited us into his home (he lives with his family in an area close to Berhampur) to have tea before going back to campus! It was so sweet, and the tea was great, as well as the snacks (called "tiffin" in Oriya & Hindi)!

His house was incredibly nice! I don't just mean compared to the villages we were viewing in the tribal villages, either. The floors were all marble (or was it granite?). The outside ground had paintings drawn by the doors. The house had a courtyard, and clean spacious rooms. There was a refrigerator with filtered water! They had houses in the back that they were renting out to people. They had their own well in their backyard. And they had a little prayer/shrine room off of the kitchen. I was really impressed with his living conditions (I could totally live there...). Clearly his family has been doing alright

We joked around a lot, talking to him while his family looked and giggled at us. Hallie & Molly danced for everyone, and we watched TV! The old 70's show was called "Coolie", and though I didn't understand a word of it, it was very interesting.

Got home, ate dinner, read some, went to bed.

Today is another day at the office (Saturday, I know...). We go to Berhampur for another wild city evening in about 5 hours, and I can't wait!

Field Day 3

2009-07-24T07:26:00.002+02:00

Yesterday was another day in the Jeep, tackling more villages...

Luckily for us, our full days of fieldwork have been on the 2 hottest days we have experienced yet in India. Today is about 40C (104F), but yesterday was probably hotter. It has not been raining lately, which means that the sun is blazing, and the sweat runs down our cheeks and thighs constantly, even while we are doing nothing but sitting on a chair talking. I actually don't mind it so much; it's like living in a sweat lodge. Just have to make sure that we drink enough water, regardless of how hot the water may be.

So we Jeeped it. The drive was about 90 minutes, on rickety, turbulent roads. Some paved, some with potholes, some unpaved dirt paths. Up and down, up and down. Speed bumps are on every road, regardless of it its paved or not. Not to mention that our roads are usually narrow anyways, and everyone shares the roads: big trucks, Jeeps, cars, little trucks, rickshaws, bicycles, pedestrians, cows, goats, water yaks. I'm serious. And the standard driving laws of 2-way traffic on designated sides of the road are nonexistent. Swerving, speed-bumping, speeding, stopping.... Our tailbones are hurting after all of these joyride.

My favorite part of the car-ride yesterday was when we were supposed to drive on a pedestrian dirt road. So basically, this one village was very far out, and nestled behind a huge rice paddy field. There was a dirt road that went to the village, but it was maybe the side of a NYC sidewalk (at most). On either side of this elevated road were rice paddies. We were in a Jeep, and the driver looked wary of this road. We volunteered to walk there, but they insisted...so here we went, teeter-tottering on this dirt road to the village, praying to not tumble into one of the paddies. Mission success.

We started off with going to a school and watching Sudhansu (Soo-dan-choo, our translator) talk to the little kids. The classroom had about 30 kids in it, ranging from very young to maybe teenager, all in uniform and sitting on the floor. They looked very interested by us, but luckily Sudhansu was more interesting. He started singing with the kids, and playing games with them, and they were all taken by his charismatic personality and listening fervently to everything he had to say. He is a great singer, too! It was really cool to hear him sing call-and-response with the kids.

Meanwhile, us white folk were sitting in the front of the classroom watching, and drinking Thums Up. Slowly but surely, the small door of the classroom was crowded by people gawking at us, and the windows were being taken over by curious faces and colorful saree-covered eyes (see "White Stare" from previous post).

We took a tour of this village also, while the community watched and followed us around to see what we were doing.

Sudhansu is really a good translator. He is a 27-year-old single Berhampurian from GV, and he's now our buddy. He understands us for the most part, and he is expressive enough to get his thoughts across, even if his words aren't correct. And he has a great presence; while he translates for us the entire time, he is also managing large numbers of people in a discussion on the Oriyan side. He basically facilitates and leads the conversation on both ends, but he is still able to pull aside and tell us what is going on. He really showed his great leadership and public speaking skills with kids as well. He sings in the car sometimes, and shows us things in the markets. He has taken us to the market twice and helped us get whatever we'd like to get. What a fun guy!

Our next failure village we visited was not very helpful. Everyone was getting tired, and the translations were getting a bit funky by the end of it, so I wonder how effective that meeting really was.

As we were ready to drive home, the GV men offered to show us a deer park (sacred animals here and elsewhere) and a sacred hotspring of Goddess Kandhuni in Taptapani! The deer were adorable (though I was being eaten alive by the mosquitos). The hotspring was indeed hot. It was really neat, walking into this shrine/temple area that was dedicated to this Goddess of the Forest, and seeing a spring flowing into this pool. We walked in it, surprised that anything could be in fact hotter than the actual outside air.

The drive there was really amazing, too. Be surprised, all of my pictures are of these super landscapes. When we were driving to Taptapani, I realized we were driving through a nook of the mountains, and surrounding us were huge, luck mountains. The sunset behind the mountains made it even more incredible.

We talking to our driver about our "town", and I noticed how silly of a concept NYC can be. He asked us if we had mountains and forest, no. Do we have coconut and mango trees? No. No?! No. Do we have any fruit trees? Nope. Rice paddies, vegetable farms? No. (It was really complicated to explain to him that all of our food has to be brought in from other states for our consumption) Do you have blue skies? We don't even have STARS?! Moon on occasion... I think his flabbergastedness was appropriate, and I wonder how we could all live in such an unsustainable environment.

A note on colors: Why is is that developing countries look like bright, colorful rainbows everywhere, while it seems like developed countries are beige, black and white? The colors people wear here are amazing, and happy! They drench their houses with colors. Everything is festive, almost, and your eyes can feel satisfied after a long day because it has been full of colors. And yet, in the US and Europe, it's almost like we are scared of colors. Colors, too bright, too fun. We might be sophisticated, and that means sucking out the great colors of the rainbows from our daily lifestyles and only using them sparingly for "flare". Like color, for us, is a luxury. Why can't colors be prominent everywhere? Any ideas I'm open to hearing.

It was dark by now, and we had to head back to campus for dinner.

And with that, it's my pleasure to tell you that open defecation is alive and well in rural India, still.