Barbara's Travel Blog

Day 2 in Jaipur

For my second day in Jaipur, I hired a rickshaw driver for the day, so I wouldn’t have to deal with as much of the begging and pushy salesmanship I encountered the day before. It was a relief to be able to get in the rickshaw and zip past the throngs of people, though at intersections there are always beggars approaching anyone with white skin to ask for handouts.

In the morning I visited the Amber Fort, which is really more of a palace, built by Rajasthani royalty in 1592. The fort was pretty cool, but with so many forts in India, they’re starting to all blend together. I did like the hall of mirrors, and the queen’s garden was an oasis in the middle of the desert. (FYI, the fort's name comes from the person who built it, not from there being any Amber in the fort.)

More than anything though, the grandeur of the fort made me wonder about the living conditions of the rest of the population at that time. The more I travel around India, the more saddened and discouraged I am by the pervasive poverty. With more than a billion people in this country, and such disparity between the haves and have-nots, I can’t foresee circumstances changing any time soon.

After the fort, I went to visit an aura reader that Joe and Lori had visited the day before. Joe in particular had a really impactful experience, and I was curious to see what he might say about me. A lot what he told me was personal information that I don’t really want to get into on my blog, but I’ll say simply that it was a profound experience. I didn’t tell him anything to start with, he just hovered his palm over mine, then asked if my Mom is a nurse or a teacher (she’s a nurse). He went on to tell me things about myself and my Mom that were very specific and accurate, and gave me insightful advice about my career and relationships.

Today I’m headed to Goa, where I am tentatively planning to spend a few days in the capital city, then move on to one of the southern beaches.

In the pink city

On the train from Ranthambhore to Jaipur yesterday, I ran into Jeff, an American I had met on one of my safaris, and his dad, Chuck. They were heading to Jaipur as well, and decided to stay in the same hotel as me. When we arrived, we found Lori and Joe from Canada, and Lisa and Mark from Washington D.C., all of whom I’d met in the train station in Agra, where we spent a few hours together waiting for our delayed trains. All seven of us headed out for dinner and drinks last night before Lisa and Mark caught a midnight train.

Our hotel, the Pearl Palace, is a gem, with a cute rooftop bar, artistic decorations, funky furniture, and wi-fi (for a fee). And all for a mere 400 rupees a night (less than $10). Right now I’m camped out in the Internet room on a couch that looks fit for a king (or in this case a queen).

So far I’m liking Jaipur much better than Agra, thanks in large part to the great hotel and my new group of friends. But like all Indian cities (at least in my experience thus far), it is noisy, crowded, hectic and demanding. My patience with Indian cities is starting to wear thin, so it’s a good thing this is my last city before I head to Goa, land of small towns and lazy beaches.

I did have to laugh last night though at a conversation Lori, Joe and I had with our rickshaw driver on the way to dinner. His name was Han, and he was particularly interested in me, since I am single and American. He said he likes to meet American women for drinks and dancing, because they are more “open-minded.” I said, “You mean more willing to sleep with you, right?” To which he replied, “Exactly.” We couldn’t help but laugh, and hey, he gets points for honesty.

I spent this morning exploring what is known as the “pink city,” so named because virtually all of the buildings in the old city (a walled-in area that contains the palace and lots of older buildings) are painted a dusty pink. I think I blended in pretty well with my surroundings there, what with the fact that my version of a tan is rather pinkish, and I was definitely coated in a layer of dust after walking around there for a few hours.

Among the more interesting sights of the old city were the city palace, which is both a museum and a living palace that is still inhabited by the royal family (and their red-turbaned guards); Jantar Mantar, an unusual observatory filled with giant, bizarre instruments used for calculating time and tracking the positions of the sun and stars; and Hawa Mathal, a pink sandstone, honeycomb structure that was built to enable the ladies of the royal household to watch the goings-on of the city without actually stepping out into it.

Unfortunately, as always, the rickshaw drivers, shop owners and beggars wore me down long before I lost interest in the sights. There are so many fascinating things to see here, but it often feels like a monumental effort to do so.

When monkeys attack

For the last few days I’ve been at Ranthambhore National Park, in the Rajasthan region of India. The park is part of the Project Tiger program, and is where you are most likely to spot a tiger on safari in India. Apparently some of the parks in the country, some even with “tiger” in their name, have experienced such extensive tiger poaching that they have none left at all. At Ranthambhore there are currently 36 tigers, spread out over 1334 sq km.

The park is gorgeous, with dramatic ravines, rocky cliffs, wild jungle, lakes and rivers, occasionally dotted with crumbling ruins. A massive fort sits on top of a bluff, standing sentinel over the massive park. In addition to tigers, the park also has caracal, leopards, jungle cats, hyenas, foxes, jackals, sloth bears, spotted deer, sambar deer, Indian gazelles, bluebulls, crocodiles and 300 species of birds.

I was fortunate enough to have tiger sightings on two of my three safaris. On my first day, I saw two 8-month-old tiger cubs (which are much bigger than the cuddly, hold-in-your-lap size I had imagined), who were lurking in the grass while their mom was off on a kill. It was fantastic  to see them in the wild, and I was amazed at how well they blend in with the grass. I did manage to capture one with my camera, though from quite a distance.

My second sighting was on my third safari, when we saw an adult female lazing around in the shade of a tree. It was a better sighting than my first in that we were able to watch her for about 20 minutes, and got to see her stretch, roll around on her back, and bat the air with her massive paws. The down side was that we were watching through several bushes, so it was impossible to get any photos of her.

Almost as interesting as seeing the tigers was watching the vehicles jockeying for the best views. When a tiger is spotted, word somehow spreads through the park like wildfire, and all the jeeps and canters in the area rush to get a peek. (A limited number of vehicles are allowed into each of the parks five sections at a time.) Thankfully, the tigers are used to the vehicles (which must remain on the dirt road), so they don’t pay any attention to the excitement their presence generates.

Other animals I spotted during my three safaris include monkeys, spotted deer, sambar deer, peacocks, baby crocodiles, bluebulls, birds and an owl.

All of the animals were quite docile, except for one monkey that we saw at the end of my second safari. We stopped at a security gate on our way out of the park, where a large black-faced monkey was sitting nearby. He seemed mildly curious about us, when suddenly he leapt onto the jeep, lunged at a three-year-old girl, and reached down into the bottom of the jeep for a bag of snacks sitting below her. I have no idea how he knew the snacks were there, and the whole thing happened so fast we had no time to react, but afterward the park staff did managed to get most of the snacks back, and even made the monkey do a couple tricks in exchange for an orange. Needless to say, the girl was quite traumatized, and afterward for several minutes all I heard from her was upset-sounding Hindi, occasionally dotted with “monkey!” in a sniffly voice. Thankfully no one was hurt, and I laughed when later that day I heard the story from another traveler – apparently word gets around outside the park too.

The Taj Mahal

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but only one word truly captures it: Breathtaking.

More photos at http://babas.typepad.com/photos/my_gap_year_4/.

Agra: Not my cup of chai

After barely 12 hours in Agra, one thing is clear: This city and I do not get along.

Things went reasonably smoothly this morning – the hotel driver was waiting to pick me up at the train station, the hotel allowed me to check in at 8:30 in the morning, and I had a pleasant enough lunch in the hotel restaurant.

But as soon as I stepped foot outside the hotel, I discovered that Agra stinks. Literally. Like sewage. It smells vaguely like sulfur, but by comparison the sulfur we have in the U.S. is downright pleasant. Or maybe it really is sewage. I don’t know, and I hope I don’t find out.

Worse though were the rickshaw drivers (both motorized and bike-powered) hounding me with every step. I was walking a mere 200 yards to an Internet café, and was hassled by at least a dozen different drivers trying to get me to use their services. Initially I would politely say no, or explain that I was just walking up the street. But they kept insisting that they needed the money, and that they could wait for me, or take me later, or tomorrow. I got so fed up with one guy that I actually yelled at him, but it made no difference whatsoever – he just kept it up. If the walk had been 400 yards, I probably would have decked him.

After the madness of the streets, I decided to ease some of the tension with an Ayurvedic massage at the hotel. Now, I’ve had massages all over the world, and among them I’ve certainly had my share of bad ones. There was the scary Russian lady who pummeled me like a side of beef in Washington; the obviously untrained Vietnamese woman who swished her hands back and forth and drew squiggly patterns on my back; the bizarro Italian mud massage followed, literally, by a hose-down. But I’ve never had to actually tell the masseuse (female in this case) to stop touching me you-know-where.

Then tonight I took a shower, which was actually quite pleasant, except for the fact that the tub wasn’t draining very well. Little did I know that the tub is connected to a drain for the whole bathroom, which was clogged, so all my shower water was backing up through the main drain into the bathroom and my entire hotel room. By the time I got out, my room was a 1-inch-deep lake, and very soon a hotel staffer was pounding on my door because water was seeping into the hallway. I had an entertaining minute of him yelling at me to open the door and me yelling back that I would do so as soon as I could get some clothes on, which for some reason he couldn’t seem to grasp. Or perhaps he didn’t want to. Anyway, after a half hour the staff had the drain unclogged and the water cleaned up, and I was just relieved that I hadn’t left any of my belongings on the floor.

Tomorrow I plan on waking up early to go see the Taj Mahal at sunrise, but I have to say I’m a little nervous – I can only imagine what else Agra has in store for me.

P.S. After my trip to the Taj Mahal this morning, I can only say I dislike Agra even more. Inside the grounds of the Taj Mahal everything was peaceful and enchanting, but outside I was harassed by vendors and rickshaw drivers, plagued by swarms of mosquitoes, saddened by sick and mangy dogs, disgusted by huge piles of camel dung, and assaulted by countless foul smells. I can’t wait to get out of this city.

Sensory overload

This week was my last as a Cross Cultural Solutions volunteer. On Thursday Ben (who completed his program at the same time) and I packed up our bags and returned to Delhi to complete our final exit interviews.

Leaving Dharamsala was bittersweet… I’m sad to leave behind my volunteer friends and the staff, who have been like a surrogate family for the last six weeks. At the same time, I’m excited to be traveling and seeing new places again, and a little relieved to get away from the madness that has reigned since the new volunteers arrived. I didn’t even bother to say goodbye to one of our new roommates, who snapped at me the morning I was leaving about cleaning up my mess in the sink before I left. In truth, the drain was clogged with stinky cheese that some other volunteer put there – but I guess she’ll find out who’s really making those messes when I’m gone.

Ben and I opted to take a car/train combo instead of the overnight bus ride from hell, which allowed us to travel during the day, see some of the north Indian countryside, and visit the Golden Temple in Amritsar, in the state of Punjab. The temple is the most sacred shrine in Sikhism, and Sikhs from around the world come there. The temple was gorgeous, and it was fascinating to the sheer number of people there participating in worship, holy bathing and other rituals.

The trip was enjoyable, but also a shock after the relative peace and quiet of Dharamsala. As we drove into Amritsar, I felt completely overwhelmed by the noise, pollution and crowds. The traffic was intense (to put it lightly), and everywhere I looked I saw chaos. And did I mention the noise?

Thankfully, our train trip was a pleasure after that craziness. We were delighted with the meal service (snacks, tea, and a multicourse dinner in tiny trays), and there were even outlets to power our laptops. And as always, I was amazed and delighted with the porter service at the train station. It’s astonishing that you can pay roughly $1 and have a guy hoist your excessively heavy bags on top of his head and carry them wherever you like.

Ben and I spent Friday running errands all over Delhi, then had our CCS exit interviews and goodbye dinner. Unfortunately, from the exit interviews it sounds like the Delhi volunteers had a much different experience than we did. They were very negative, complaining about the rules and restrictions and schedules, while Ben and I were like some sunshiny commercial for international volunteerism. Somehow over the last six weeks we eased up and became very laid back and slower-paced, so it felt almost like an assault to encounter all their negativity. Thank goodness I chose Dharamsala!

This morning I made my way by train to Agra, where I plan to see the Taj Mahal tomorrow. This will be a busy week of travel around the “golden triangle” region of India, then next week I’ll head south to Goa for a couple weeks of R&R on the beach.

Thanks again to everyone who has been following along on my blog and sending me notes of support. It means a lot to hear from friends and family back home, as well as the new friends I’ve been making along the way. Best wishes to all of you, wherever you find yourself at the moment.

Note: I've added a new photo album for the remainder of my trip: http://babas.typepad.com/photos/my_gap_year_4/.

Preserving Tibetan culture

Today we visited the Norbulingka Institute Center for the Arts, which is dedicated to preserving ancient forms of Tibetan art. Students are required to study for a minimum of six years to master art forms like statue making, thangka painting, applique and tailoring, woodcarving, carpentry and metal craft.

While there, we had a chance to observe students and employees painting and sewing, visited the temple, and waited out an intense rain storm in the center’s store. I was tempted by everything there, but sadly the prices were way out of my range.

I was also finally able to learn about the Panchen Llama, whose picture we’ve seen all over Dharamsala over the last six weeks. As the tour guide told it, the Panchen Lama is equally important to the Dalai Lama. When the Dalai Lama left Tibet for India in 1959, the Panchen Lama stayed to look over the Tibetan people. He became part of the Chinese government, but was too pro-Tibet, so it is believed the government murdered him. He was then reincarnated as a baby, who the Dalai Lama officially recognized as the Panchen Lama six years later. At that point, the Chinese government kidnapped him and his family, and they have not been seen since. It’s unknown if he or his family are alive, but if so, he would be about 18 years old now. The picture of the boy to the left of the Dalai Lama is the reincarnated Panchen Lama. (Note: The guide’s English was a little rough, so my apologies if I’ve mixed up any of the details.)

On the way home the weather kicked it up a notch and began hailing. By the time we got to the taxi drop-off point, ½-inch balls of hail were pounding down on the roof of the van. We got the driver to drive us much closer to the house than he usually goes, then ran downhill to get to the house. By the time we got there we were soaked through, and my umbrella was bent from the hail. What a day!

More photos at http://babas.typepad.com/photos/my_gap_year_3/.

Lasting impressions

With only two more days in Dharamsala, I’ve started the routine where I think about everything as my “last.” My last time sitting on the porch in the sun looking out at the valley. My last time at the Internet café with the nutty owner looking over my shoulder. My last time watching Lucky the dog cuddle with his unnamed kitty friend.

This week I’ve also had a few Dharamsala firsts. On Sunday afternoon, the air suddenly filled with flying insects, so many that we started to get nervous. It turns out they were flying ants about to die; there’s a saying in India that comes from the ants that goes something like: “You get your wings right before you die.”

We also had our first birthday party since arriving here. Yesterday was William’s birthday (he’s the youngest son of the family that’s traveling for a year). We helped his parents track down a pizza place, and they found a bakery to make a couple cakes. It wasn’t quite up to the standards of pizza and cake at home (not least of which was the pizza with corn on it), but beggars can’t be choosers.

The saddest last of all came this morning, when I said goodbye to Anil, the northern India CCS director. He’s off to the U.S. for a few weeks to meet with the CCS staff there, and I’ll be gone before he returns. I’ll miss hearing his hearty laugh, pestering him to quit smoking, and gossiping on the sly with him.

Last hurrah in McLeodganj

This weekend the gods decided to favor us with spectacular weather for my final weekend in Dharamsala. The sun was shining all weekend, and we shed our jeans and sweaters for t-shirts and capris. Ayala, Ben and I headed to McLeodganj for the weekend to get in some final shopping, complete our three-day cooking course, and escape the madness of the now-crowded volunteer house.

Friday night we spotted posters for a “mega-concert” that was a benefit for a Tibetan women’s program. We knew the Himalayas were playing, but we were surprised to find it was actually a variety show – though it felt more like a high school talent show. There were ear-splitting Tibetan singers, a three-person circus act from New Mexico (slightly random), a Tibetan comedian (not particularly funny, since we don’t speak Tibetan), and several of our “favorite” American cover songs by the Himalayas. The best part by far though was during one of the Himalayas’ songs when a couple dancers come out and rocked the house with the most energetic dance performance I’ve ever seen.

Saturday was the final of our three-evening Indian cooking class with Mrs. Nisha. She runs the Taste of India restaurant in McLeodganj, and during the course she taught us how to cook about a dozen delicious dishes, including my personal favorites malai kofta, palak paneer, samosas and rice pudding. We got hands-on practice preparing samosas, so hopefully I’ll be able to recreate the magic at home.

Of course, no weekend in India is complete without spotting a few entertaining signs and labels. My favorites of the last couple days were the trash can sponsored by the Jedi Knights, and the drinking water bottled by a plywood manufacturer. Because nothing says clean water like plywood.

Fire me up

Life around the house is getting a little easier each day, though there are still certain - ahem - personality differences to work through. Everyone perked up a couple days ago though when the weather started to take a turn for the better. A highlight was Wednesday night, when Ayala brought out her fire-dancing paraphernalia and performed for all of us, followed by another Ben Ross original concert. Very cool!

More photos at http://babas.typepad.com/photos/my_gap_year_3/.

A new era

After nearly a week of just Ben, Ayala and me, it was different – and if I’m honest, a little unsettling – to have nearly 20 new volunteers descend on the house on Tuesday morning. Ayala and Ben now have new roommates, while I was fortunate to get my own room after a month of sharing.

It’s hard to express what the three of us have felt this week without sounding negative about the new volunteers. It’s not them, but rather their energy that has disrupted us. Somehow over the last month, without noticing it, we have adapted to the Indian way of life. We are more relaxed, calmer, slower-paced, and largely indifferent to time. Today someone asked Ben if she was late to lunch, and he replied, “There’s no such thing as late.” That pretty much captures it in a nutshell.

The new volunteers, however, are full of excited energy, hustling and bustling about, stressing about this and that. Which is exactly how we were when we got here, but I didn’t realize it would upset the balance in our little world.

So we’ve found ourselves being a little standoffish at times, holing up in my room, where we can retain some semblance of the vibe we had before. We chuckle at the same things we ourselves said and did a mere four weeks ago. We’re trying to break out of that pattern though, because we’d hate for our new roommates to take it personally.

Meanwhile, today I started my new placement, helping two Indian college students improve their conversational English. We were supposed to start Monday, but they cancelled the first two days due to heavy rain. I have been paired in my assignment with Andrew, a 13-year-old boy from Maine who is traveling with his family (mom, dad, two brothers) for a year.

The first day was a bit like pulling teeth – one of the students wasn’t able to make it, and the one that did come isn’t particularly talkative because he lacks confidence in his English speaking abilities (he doesn’t seem to get that that’s the point – talk and you’ll get better at it). Meanwhile, Andrew also tends to be shy with new people, so between the two of them I really had to work to keep up a flow of dialogue. Andrew and I made plans to clip out articles to discuss tomorrow, which hopefully will give our conversation some direction.

Tomorrow, Ayala, Ben and I will start a three-day evening cooking course, learning how to make most of our favorite Indian dishes, including malai kofta, samosas, saag paneer and more. The class is at a restaurant in McLeodganj that we tried this weekend that was fabulo, so we’re very excited!

Out and about

This weekend was plagued by rain, hail and thunderstorms, but in spite of the weather (and my lingering head cold), Ben, Ayala and I were determined to get out of the house and have some fun.

For starters, we tracked down what we believe is the biggest grocery store in McLeodganj, which carries such coveted items as Swiss chocolate, Kraft macaroni and cheese, and de-caf tea. Much to our delight, they also carry Bhuira jam, which is “collected by the children of Himachal Pradesh” (after all, who doesn’t love child labor?) and Happiness biscuits (because in spite of popular wisdom, happiness doesn’t come from within, it comes from a packaged food product).

Saturday night we tracked down some live music in the form of the Himalayas, a local band. They were playing at an open-air restaurant, which was fine for the first hour, but eventually drove Ben and I to head down the road to purchase some Tibetan wool blankets. Unfortunately, they only played a couple Hindi songs - the rest were mediocre covers of American songs.

On Sunday we really got local when we went in search of a barber to cut Ben’s hair. As you can see from the before and after photos, he did a good job, although I was disappointed that Ben wasn’t offered a beer with his haircut. After all, it was a saloon and beauty parlour.

Ayala and I also found a Tibetan massage center behind the saloon, where we had the coldest massages of our lives. I guess it should have dawned on us that they probably wouldn’t have space heaters like our middle-class house does. Brrr!

Saying goodbye

Last week was my last working at the daycare. This week a new batch of volunteers will arrive and take over my role there, and I will spend the next two weeks helping college students improve their conversational English.

Unfortunately, after Tuesday’s bout of stomach ick, on Wednesday I came down with a nasty head cold that kept me home for two days. I was determined to go in on Friday, my last day, no matter how I felt, but it was less than optimal. To top it off, the assistant teacher wasn’t there that day, nor several of the kids who walk to daycare with her each day – so I missed the chance to say goodbye to several of them.

Nonetheless, it was great to see most of the kids one last time, and I pulled out all the stops on Friday, bringing materials for coloring, animal toy fun time, a big inflatable ball to kick and throw, and play-dough that Ayala and I made from scratch (a huge hit).

In the last four weeks I’ve learned a lot about what inspires these kids, how unique and special each of them are, and how to work around the language barrier to still connect with them in meaningful ways. I have become their “didi” (“older sister” in Hindi), and over the weeks they have come to be increasingly affectionate with me, coming to sit on my lap, seeking my approval of their drawings, and even giving me hugs (a practice that seems to be lacking here for some reason).

I see so much spark and potential in these children – from Rachiv, whose exuberant laugh just lights up my day; to Muscan and Sagar, brother and sister who are smart as whips and could conquer the world in a heartbeat; to Anagar, in whom I can already see the seriousness and authority to be the perfect father figure.

It breaks my heart though when I remember that these kids all come from needy communities, and thus are from the lower castes of India. The caste system, though no longer legally in place, still exists socially, so these kids may not make it through high school, much less get a college education. We’ve been told that education is free in India and anyone can go to college, but the tent community down the road from the daycare is a stark reminder that what is technically available vs. what is feasible are two very different things.

Regardless, I hope that my participation as one of a series of volunteers in this role will help encourage and inspire these kids to keep learning, and to see beyond the borders of their community to realize they can do and be anything they want.

As I left the daycare on Friday, the kids waved and shouted “Bye Didi! Bye Didi!” to me for the last time, and I left with a sad heart, but a huge smile on my face.

Indian Culture 101: Festivals and Weddings

On Thursday Kathleen and Justine departed, and on Sunday Jason, Monica, Hannah and Liz followed, leaving just Ben, Ayala, Heidi and I for the next week. We were sad to see the others go, but are curious to meet the new volunteers, who will arrive next week.

Meanwhile, in the last few days have been one fun lesson after another in Indian culture. This weekend was Holi festival, which celebrates the coming of spring with drinking, dancing and color. Everyone runs around for two days dousing each other with colored water, rubbing colored powder on one another, and pelting everyone with water balloons.

Ayala and I walked around town a little on Saturday and got moderately covered with colored powder, which seemed to deeply amuse the locals. I don’t think they’re used to seeing westerners participate in their customs.

Then on Sunday we celebrated Holi with the CCS staff, which made Saturday pale in comparison. The staff – and soon the rest of too – didn’t hold back in rubbing vast amounts of colored powder in our hair, on our faces and on our clothes. Lalu and Goldy got on the roof and doused anyone foolish (or drunk) enough to stand near the building with buckets of water. We played drinking games, danced, and were just generally silly. We all agreed we need to start up Holi celebrations in the U.S. – it beats the pants off our commercial-driven, colored-powder-lacking holidays.

In the midst of all the Holi celebrations, we also witnessed the build-up to the wedding of our next-door neighbor’s son. For days the house has been decorated and we’ve enjoyed the sounds of live bands and singing for hours on end. We were invited to the actual wedding ceremony, so Ayala and I had our hands hennaed that day, which women traditionally do for weddings.

The ceremony was held last night at a community hall about an hour’s drive from Dharamsala. That is, it would have been an hour if we had made no stops. But our two-van caravan stopped multiple times to pre-party by the roadside, so we were pretty lively by the time we got there (don’t worry Mom, the drivers weren’t drinking). For some reason, drinking at weddings is only for family and is restricted to special areas, so everyone else gets lit in advance, and/or secretly drinks from their own stash at the reception.

The wedding itself was a whirlwind. We arrived around 9pm, and shortly thereafter the bride was brought in. The crowd (which we were told was about 500 people) then rushed the stage to take endless photos and video. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought the bride and groom were celebrities. The actual ceremony involved the two of them placing wreaths of flowers over each other’s heads – and that’s it, now they’re married. There was recently a big scandal where a bride got all the way to the stage, then put the wreath over her lover’s head instead of the groom. And thus she was able to marry her lover, because once the wreath is placed, that’s it – no undoing it.

After the wreath-swap, we enjoyed the trays of food that passed non-stop and joined in the dancing a bit. Unfortunately, one guy got a little overly friendly with Heidi, and when it was time to go, he kept insisting that she couldn’t leave, because she had promised him another dance. One of the staffers pulled us out of there and we gratefully made our escape.

We did wonder why we were leaving after being there only an hour and a half though. It turns out that they were about to begin a long ceremony that involves walking around a fire several times, and if we hadn’t left then, we would have had to stay through the whole thing. So off we went for our extremely bumpy ride home, stopping once to change a punctured tire – such are the risks of driving in India.

Today I stayed home from volunteering – apparently amidst all the excitement of the last few days, something didn’t sit well with my stomach… again. I wonder how long it takes to build up the iron stomach this country requires? More than three weeks, of this I am sure.

More photos at http://babas.typepad.com/photos/my_gap_year_3/.

Misty mornings

How lucky am I to wake up to this view?

Reading the signs

These two signs amuse me on the way to work each morning. The first one, I eventually figured out, is an attempt at dissuading speeders. As for the second, who wouldn’t want spiritual guidance from their tailor?

 

Total "awww" moment

Today I had the best moment as I was entering the daycare. Rachiv, an adorable little bundle of energy, saw me coming in and his face totally lit up. He shouted out "Didi!" (which is what all the kids call us - it means "big sister") and came barreling across the courtyard to fling his arms around my legs. Be-still my heart!