2012 - Like the Brits do

He is alive. Finally TG is feeling well enough to venture outside, and just in time for New Year's Eve. We go slow, as not to excite him. He has been in bed for almost a week.

The evening has come, and we dress in our sports coats. We are to have New Years at the British High Commission. Our flat mate, Rohan, a bright exceptionally witty and humorous mocha colored brit has friends whose parents work for the embassy. We all together pile into an auto-wala, the small green and yellow cabs without any doors and windows, and fly over to the imposing guarded building. Well, we attempt to fly. These little cabs are hard to flag down tonight. I don't know if its due to it being New Year's Eve, or maybe we are terribly unwelcoming done up in our western dress, or if it is some strange reason all together. We finally manage to flag one.

About half way there, our driver pulls over. No, we lean into to tell him, this is not where we want. No, he nods understanding, and then makes a tooth missing grin and gestures drinking from a cup. We glance up at where we are, pass the swarming holiday crowd, mostly comprised of young men, and we can just make out the words 'Beer, Wine, Liquor'. Our driver means to take a couple shots of something strong before he takes us to our final destination. Ha! I begin to cackle to myself. We have an alcoholic for our holiday driver. He returns quickly, having quenched his thirst for the moment, and off we go again, bursting through the cold night air. All is well, until something bursts our tire. We have a flat in the middle of the road on New Years' Eve. TG and I jump out. Standing with our arms out, directly in front of the bright headlights of Delhi traffic, we hope that one of the warm fuzzy glares ahead is an auto with an empty pocket and an open mind.

We arrive finally, thanks to our hero of a replacement driver. We sign ourselves in at the gate, as the guards watch on. These fellows, who are all Indian, are in a seemingly great mood, and they are all smiles as they gesture us in. We follow Rohan's friend, Joslin, into the festivities.

Inside, it is like high school all over again, except with a bar, thank goodness. The band is mom and pop style, quite literally. Our young host's mother sings the female lead, while other Embassy employed individuals and their friends make up the other instruments. They play Beatles and 60s American Folk Rock. Twinkly lights and small balloons are hung in the small square gym like space, and round tables with white table clothes frame the bandstand stage. We shake hands with the others at our table. We are at the "kid" table, so it seems. The daughter of the official, and her friends, all in our late 20s and early 30s. I feel terribly young for a moment, but the anxiety passes with the time, and with the drink.

We are twisting and mashing, seizing in fits of alcohol and retro fun. There is nothing cool or smooth on this dance floor, but the stranger the better. It is about to be 2012, and we are all on our feet, our children's table having conquered much of the space, and there are no egos here, just foreign faces, lost in English rock, bad wine and whiskey, and the movement of a world about to be born.

" 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Happy New Years! " The auditorium yelps in union. The poppers or cracked, and hands are shook, and embraces are had. We gather round in this criss-crossed arm circle, and we sing 'Auld Lang Syne' while mashing into each other crookedly. The last words of the song are sung into the center of the circular jam, and we unwind. TG and I are standing next to each other, having survived the youthful festivities. We smile, and he kisses me, fast so I don't see it coming. We linger in the strange scene, with the balloons, the brits, the bass, and our bully display of affection.

"That is how you celebrate New Years," TG declares, releasing me from his embrace.
Indeed, I think to myself, and I nod.

The Sound Here

Morning Dust- Taken with a disposable Kodak camera- Photos by Grace

The sound rises up, instead of the sun. It fills the air with its strange warmth. I can't tell what direction it is coming from. I open the double doors from our bedroom, and step out onto the balcony. Just a wet dark mist, and the sound, but I still can't tell from what direction it is coming. The corner that our balcony overlooks is still sleeping, as I should be. It's is 6am on New Years' Eve, and all the trees are filled with the sound of singing. It is a choir of chanting, praying perhaps, and no other sound in this strange busy city has yet to compete with this melodic enterprise.


It is often there are sounds emulating from some corner of New Delhi, and I can not tell what it means, or the direction it came. We are living in an orchestra pit, and I am newly blind musician, never sure when those around me will play, and I am still unable to play along.

I took a walk the other day, my first real exploration outside by myself. I am feeling nearly well, but TG is slower on the recovery side. The air smelt of fire, and the dust was exceptionally thick. I walked my soled feet down the dirt streets, my eyes pointed straight ahead, my head low, as not to interact too much with those around me. I have found I have a habit of looking too much at people, and they in turn try to sell me the world. "Rickshaw, Rickshaw! Food, Food!  Sarees, flowers, pots and pans...! " and it goes on. The thumbing drive of any great city, consumerism, and it is strong and alive here, but I am not buying into it.

http://chanderifilm.com/blog/seeyousomewhere/index.php/somewhere/055b-lajpat-nagar-delhi-jpg

Fruit Stand- Taken with a disposable Kodak camera- Photo by Grace

The central market is one of the oldest markets in New Delhi. Found in Lajpat Nagar, it is just a stone's throw from where we are staying. The day I visit, it is busting at the seams from all the feverish Holiday activity. Overflowing with women in heavy shawls, dark veils, bright sarees, and western jeans, they each stop, pause, then walk, and chatter. Each telling the other of their lovers and problems, while discovering some trinket along the way. There are men, some with heavy full beards and turbans, some barefoot, some wearing suits, and they are much more casual then the women, with their hands in their pockets and their comfortable western dress. If they have found a bargain, you can not tell by reading their faces. Families and couples, and teenagers, all funnel about examining the Holiday wares. It is like the street traffic, and we all find our own way, through the close crowds and the sparkling valuables.

I step into a couple dress shops, in an effort to find something that might help me blend in, but after several examinations of the same heavy brocade and silvery intricate threads, and price tags that do not seem so reasonable, I relinquish my search for local attire. I am not taking part in the busy consumption, not finding exactly what I am looking for, whatever that may be.  I meander a while longer, but un-accostomed to the crowds and the aggressive manner of the locals, I trudge myself back home. I do buy a couple of bowls of noodle soup from the chinese restaurant down the street, for the ill one still in bed, and I fill my colored cloth sack with the hot salty goods. The light is beginning to fade. It becomes dark quite early here.

On the way home, I encounter something lovely; a small boy, half my height. It is hard to tell how old he is, for he is so tiny, and his features so delicate, but he carries on down the road with his back straight and his head high, and he seems older for it. His feet are bare and muddy, and in his small hand he grasps a silver pail, which I assume is filled with some edible treat, and the other hand, he holds a bag of milk. The hood of his sweatshirt is up, hiding most of his face, but it does not muffle the sound. He is singing. Bright and loudly, a simple melody I don't know, and using words I don't understand, he sings, happily, as he makes his way back home.

I smile wide in response, and forget myself for a moment and look at him. He stops singing when he catches my glance. We both walk on, silently, but as I pass him, he opens his mouth again and continues to sing, unperturbed by the interruption. We both separately carry our simple dinners back home to our loved ones. There is always sound here.

Sick, just Sick

View from Kwality Hotel - first day - Taken with disposable Kodak camera- Photo by Grace

I wake up too early. The glow outside has just begun to work its way through the smoggy cloud cover, burning a hole into my diseased brain. I have the traveler's illness; Shakes, chills, fever, and nausea. India waits outside for me, and I sit inside trying not to shiver so hard. Ugh! The waiting is almost worse than the flu-like symptoms. It will all pass, but ugh the waiting.

Outside the pigeons and dogs make more noise than the people. The animals here are such an integral part of the landscape, that I feel they must be mentioned frequently. They own the trash strewn streets, as much as the human locals. The dogs sleep in the middle of the dizzying road ways, deaf and blind to the suicidal rush around them. The cows that carry the carts seem so large to me. Their prominent shoulder blades and full horns piercing the sky, as they meander down the road. The fat pigeons' coo is constant, like an alarm clock that keeps going off after each hit of the 'snooze' button. Delhi's creatures are all so incredibly street savvy, and here I sit unable to walk the streets with half the amount of ease.

Neighborhood Rickshaws -Taken with disposable Kodak camera - Photo by Grace

Prayers, whistles, and calls of vendors permeate the thin walls. We are up in the trees, in an apartment for ex-pats, in a room we are renting for the week. We are sitting pretty, since we are not sure where we might be next. TG has found someone who might want to hire him. Dr. Joshi, is helping to head up an internationally funded project that focuses on India's agriculture in rural communities, and how to help prevent the negative impact that climate change can have on these farming villages. TG spends his days researching, between his sweat induced dizzy spells, and taking care of my whining ass.

Down an Alley - Taken with disposable Kodak camera - Photo by Grace

It's all to be expected. Two days of international travel through infested airports and recirculated air, then arriving in a country that is known for its unsanitary conditions, of course we are going to be ill, and at least it is not worse. TG has a meeting with some more of the heads of this project sometime this week. By new year's eve perhaps we will be in good health, TG will have a job, and we will finally be able to begin to tackle India. I light a candle and say a prayer, hey it can't hurt.

First Glance

HIS -  12/11/2011  11am
The pigeons are always having sex. Just like the dogs, and the insects, and all of god's creatures. But the people fuck only with great and beautiful inhibition. At this point I could launch into a diatribe about India and the stigmas amongst the sexes, but I will save it, and describe the Metro.

Arriving in India after 72 hours without more than a wink of sleep, the airport was eerily deserted, and I cast about for the most inexpensive way to reach the city. Eventually I stumbled upon the underground mausoleum, which is the new Airport Express line of the Delhi metro system.  Their halls, of which any great city would be jealous,  were all but deserted in the early afternoon.  Escalators carried me down to a shiny new commuter-train style empty capsule that, with a cheerful honk, shot me to the New Delhi station. The new line cuts through long shallow forests covered in dust with the occasional laundry adorned apartment building rising enigmatically above the tree tops. 


As soon I dragged my wheelie suitcase out of the metro and into the smoggy noon streets of the city, I was greeted by three, and approached by six, gentlemen wishing to offer me their assistance.  Auto-walas each had a different official government tourist information bureau that I should visit for maps and other essential information. I turned them all down, but had no idea where I was, and just rolled my suitcase down the honking, sidewalk-less boulevard, until an entirely friendly and un-salesmen like middle-aged man took an interest me, as an English experiment, and walked down the road with me a few blocks. When he realized that I had arrived five minutes ago, he too directed me an official government tourist information bureau, but out of kindness instead of commission. The tourist information benefactors inside allowed me to use their internet and telephones to find the numbers and emails of my friends in the country.  They also shared tea and a meal with me, and so I felt obligated to take their suggestion for a hotel that night, which was clearly over priced, but what are you going to do? 

First Glimpse - views from our balconies- more to come - music from Iron and Wine & Lynx

HERS - 12/22/2011 9pm
Lines, lines, and paperwork: that is what the Indian Airport is about.  But, I have learned patience, almost. I pass through the Duty Free, and he is on the other side. We awkwardly run toward each other, and embrace in a strange collision of remembers and precursors, too overwhelmed by the moment for our brains to know what to do. I ride that metro with him, the one that is like a space shuttle, and we arrive in the dark and fog of another land.

New Delhi opens up to me, first in the worn, dark faces of the rickshaw drivers and the Auto-walas, and as we load up our belongings into one rickshaw, the rest of the city begins to speak. The cool wind rushes past us, as we dodge honks, animals, and vehicles.  We are all racing in the wrong direction. Not one person knows what is the right way; they only know their way. The crumbling forgotten buildings and glowing signs of questionable hotels loom in slow roaming fog that seems to be the product of car light, kilos of dust, and constant movement. Perhaps it is just my mood, but I find this land bound dust cloud magical, and it makes the arrival all that more momentous for me. It easy to imagine that it is a different time, in some undiscovered country, and all that lay ahead is unknown except for adventure and romance, which is always guaranteed in stories such as ours.

The driver takes us through the crooked alleys, the garbage stained, and vendor filled side streets. I am enthralled. This place is more than I could have imagined. I inhale the layers of poverty, spice, decay, and color, and it all wraps around me like some bright jeweled sari, and everything is different. I am different. I can't wait to wake up new, in New Delhi.

HOW TO TRAVEL: JUST GO!

Okay, so I lied, the next post was going to be from India, but I received a comment from STEAMTRON, saying hopefully he can travel as much as I have,  and I just wanted to respond to that.

I have been to a good amount of places in my few 25 years. My thought is this; there is so much world, and so many people, I want to try to see and experience it all before I die. Many make excuses for themselves and never go to the places they dream.

TOP REASONS WHY PEOPLE DON'T TRAVEL

• They don't have the money
• They don't have anyone to travel with
• They don't speak the language
• It's not safe

TRAVEL CHEAP  

In order to travel, you have to know how to budget. I have often gone places with very little money. Book ahead and look for deals. You can save hundreds of dollars by booking transportation and accommodations months in advance. Choose cheaper destinations where you are likely to get the most for the exchange rate. Don't be afraid to go off the beaten path. It's always cheaper in the less touristy areas, so do your research. Don't be afraid to be dirty or uncomfortable. I've slept in airports, on buses, trains, couches, floors, places without functioning water or toilets. It can really be more fun than you expect, and it teaches you to be patient and grateful. Plus it makes for much better stories. Be social and make friends. The locals always know what, where, and how, and for the best price. Ask them questions, they are your best resource. Save indulgence for the last. Is there a place you really want to see, or experience, or stay, but it is more pricey? Don't let that get in the way. Travel cheap the first part of your trip, so when it nears the end of your stay, you still have the resources. Then you will be able to treat yourself, without the guilt and the worry of having spent most of your money right off the bat.

TRAVEL ALONE  
I usually travel by myself. We can't wait on others to make adventures happen. Traveling this way can be amazing and terribly addicting, but there are ways to make traveling by yourself easier. Bring small items from home. Whatever you bring should be pocketsize and light. You can bring a picture of family, a rock from your local stream,  a concert stub when you went out with your best friends, a musical instrument. Items like these help to make you feel that you are not so alone in the world, and sometimes ease the frustration that comes with any sort of travel. Be observant and follow your instincts. You have to look out for yourself. If you don't feel safe for any reason, get out of there. Better to be safe than sorry. Avoid extreme amounts of alcohol. Getting plastered in a foreign country is ill advised, unless you are already familiar with the area, the people, and the language. It's hard to keep a straight head and clear mind, if you are hanging over a strange toilet. You will spend less, be less likely to get lost, and probably remember more! Make friends. When traveling by yourself, it's much easier to meet other people. Hostels are great way to go, or the hotel's lobby or bar. Sign up for group activities, if you don't want to venture around by yourself, or join a language or culture class, or ask the place you are staying about local hangouts. Reach out and have fun!

COMMUNICATING 
It is terribly frustrating when all you want is a bathroom, and no one understands you well enough to give you directions. Learn phrases and simple words. Things like, where is the bathroom? Do you speak English? How much? Help, Thank you, No, Yes, I don't understand, How do you say... These are simple things to pick up. Practice before you arrive, and focus on pronunciation and simplicity, instead of fluency. Write words and phrases down that you hear. You want to know what someone said? Bring a little notepad where you can write things you want to know. Just a few things each day. Bring a dictionary. At the end of the day, before you go to sleep, look up the words you heard through the day. Write them out. Eventually they will stick. Smile and be respectful. No one wants to help someone who isn't appreciative or understanding. If you don't like the food, keep it to yourself. If you don't understand a custom, don't stick up your nose. You are not better than those around you. When you are open, curious, and genuine, people will respond to you positively. No matter what country they may come from.

SAFETY 
I often hear stories of people getting mugged or worse when they travel, and how it's much more dangerous traveling alone. I have been in very few dangerous situations, even though I am a young petite woman traveling by herself, but I try to follow certain rules. Dress down. What does that mean? It means, don't advertise that you have money. Don't wear jewelry or watches, clothing with labels, or that are made from expensive materials. If you are a woman, wear baggier clothes, as not to advertise what might be underneath. It's good to have a hat also, to cover your hair, or face, and avoid unwanted eye contact. Wear your passport, id, and money under your clothes.  It's much harder to steal from someone if they can't reach your valuables. Avoid putting such items in your pockets or purse.  Blend in. So what you are caucasian, and everyone else is not. Try to wear what the locals wear. Eat what the locals eat. Do what the locals do. Don't advertise that you are foreign and don't know the language, unless you feel safe or need help. Have an emergency fund. Like Forest Gump said, "Shit happens." Keep a little extra stash of money in a sock, or a box of tea, or a hidden pocket. You never know if or when you might need it. Be prepared. Try to keep the number of the hostel or hotel or a friend on you.  Try to have a safe spot, like a cafe, library, or church. It's a place where you can duck into that is public if there is trouble, use the bathroom, or phone, or just get your head together. Most likely a spot you have visited already during your trip, and is familiar and safe. Avoid certain areas all together. Don't go where even the locals are scared to go.  Pay attention and research the areas that are best left alone. Some experiences are not really worth having.


The way I travel isn't for everyone, but if these are the things holding you back, don't let them.
If you want to travel just go! Just be smart and safe about it :)

Without Words

Before I take off, I want to give you all a taste of what is to come, through the eyes of those who have been there before...

 I present the beautiful, the strange, and the struggle that is India. For those who love and live here the country has another name, HINDUSTAN. 

   Tiruchirapalli Rock Fort

http://omelyn.com/2011/08/beautiful-collection-of-historical-india-wallpapers/

Refugees from floods in Madhepura receiving food packets from the National Disaster Relief Force

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/09/scenes_from_india.html

Bengal Tiger leaping to freedom after being released back into the wild by local vets in the Chatma Forest District of the Sunderbans

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/09/scenes_from_india.html

Carrying out a Hindu tradition while celebrating Janmashthmi     in Mumbai

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/09/scenes_from_india.html

http://www.infohiway.net/2011/09/21-magnificent-photographs-of-india.html

http://www.infohiway.net/2011/09/21-magnificent-photographs-of-india.html

  

http://www.gacheson.org/index.php/Team_10_India

During a victory rally in Jamu, an angry policeman throws stones at protestors

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/09/scenes_from_india.html

Catholic Nuns in Kolkata honoring Mother Teresa on the 11th anniversary of her death

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/09/scenes_from_india.html

http://trendland.net/the-colors-of-india/

Celebrating the spring Festival of Colors, otherwise known as Holi

http://www.smashingmagazine.com/2010/03/20/the-beauty-of-india-50-amazing-photos/

     An aerial view of India and its lights

http://leadenergy.org/2011/03/indias-clever-nuclear-power-programme/

http://www.visittnt.com/india-travel-themes/culture-heritage-tours-india.html

  New Delhi pedestrians

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/09/scenes_from_india.html

 

   A man watering his camel near the Taj Mahal in Agra

http://tulane.edu/cps/students/study-abroad/india.cfm

The Third World Baby and the Red American

TG has finally arrived in New Delhi, India. I stay up through the morning to chat with him on social networks. He is lost in the whirl of noise and sound, and I think he is having a problem wrapping his western head around the new color and chaos.  He has also arrived during Muharram.

Muharram/Islamic New Year in India

"Muharram (or Muharrum) is a gazetted holiday in India, marking the start of the Islamic year. It is the first day of the first month in the Islamic calendar. "
http://www.timeanddate.com/holidays/india/muharram


Muharram fell on November 26th this year, and the holiday goes on until December 25th. Many shops are closed, or have alternative business hours, and TG is lost, not understanding the workings of this place. "Things have not been... easy," he tells me, and I can't help but laugh a little to myself. What did he expect?


I was born in the Philippines. We lived there for 3 years prior to coming to the states. Since then, I have lived in California, Hawaii, Idaho, Colorado, Mexico City, and Spain, and during that time I have traveled to many other states and countries. I know the pacing of the non-western world. It was the rhythm in which I was rocked to sleep. Mexico City, the third most populated city in the world, is one of my favorite places. The crazy just makes more sense to me. 


I send him links to everything from hostels to rental agencies. I am not usually so organized or well informed, but something about travel does this to me. 


He has already wandered on to the women's compartment on the train, and was yelled at by a lady who had her head covered, and taken advantage of by a taxi or two.  He sticks out like a sore thumb. He is over six foot, with skin the shade of glue, and ginger hair, and he is often wandering through less touristy areas. The locals stare at him.


I can't help finding all this very funny. I know he will find his footing. Until then, he will just have to become more accustomed to tripping.


Countdown: 5 days until I meet him there! 

TO READ MORE ABOUT MUHARRAM : The ISLAMIC NEW YEAR
http://www.timeanddate.com/holidays/muslim/muharram-new-year

The Cry for Energy

" India is currently the world's second most populous country with 1 billion people but by 2040, India is expected to become the world's most populous country..."
http://geography.about.com/library/faq/blqzlargecountry.htm

With a country so heavily populated, energy needs are high, but with India's wobbly infrastructure, few are blessed with constant electricity, and others suffer entirely in the dark. India's need to "go green" begins with energy. 

The boy I am following, we will call him TG, is an American from Tennessee, and has been working for the Department of Energy for the last three years. He has been "connecting the dots" for companies and persons in the U.S. who need to make alternative energy choices. His job was to advise, research, and provide data, in an effort to help ease the transition to renewable energy. 

He has left this job for the idea of India. He hopes that his skills will be utilized there. He hopes he can do some good, and perhaps help those who are not as well connected or financially able. TG is currently unemployed.

Victim of Poetry

I wasn't sure at first. Go to India? Why? What would I do there? I am not the type of girl who follows a man. I'm not the type of girl who is naturally good at relationships. Romance, yes. If it were a class, I would get an A. Long term partners, I would fail miserably, and then the instructor would go out of her way to advise me to focus on other subjects. Life had always come between me and my partners, and when it did, I would often welcome it. 

Now here I was, puppy drooling hopeless slap happy over some boy I had known less than 3 months. Danger! Danger! The warning bells were going off, and as usual I ignored them. I was a victim of poetry and idealism. He had offered me something that no one else had before. He wasn't persuading me with silly promises, or lavish dreams, stability, or flowers. All he offered was an opportunity, a chance to be and live in this strange country, and perhaps find another path for myself. He offered me friendship and freedom.


So I find myself subleasing my Portland apartment, donating and selling half of my clothes, putting work on hold, and packing a single suitcase for what is sure to be the best sort of adventure. The kind of adventure where nearly everything is on the line. Damn poetry!

What he writes me...

Once down the hill - see my river before it gets too low.
Too much thinking what should be done.
Turn left past the burnt out church; head up the washed-out drive.
You'll have to walk up soon.
Come see the garden that you planted;
harvest time went on by unpicked, but the garden remains.
There's a hole in the woods behind the dock.  A foundation for a thing
unbuilt.
We can make love in holes like these.  I think,
about you, maybe more than I should.
I think of the friends that I've told I'm dead, and
all the other times I've lied
about the places I've been since then.  Its all the trouble
of explaining the things I love instead
of them, and you, lying on top of heaps of golden seeds,
beckon me on Halloween, and call out to me through laugh and scream,
in pleasure, pain, and alone in dreams;
here on the ground there's a boiling whistle getting louder each time
you sing.
You get in my eyes and between my teeth.
When you walk, I follow the red dirt under your feet.
Your body is a basket.  You fall apart; you unweave.
You come back together after you leave.  You come in and out, then you
come and sail through
the waves and the caves and the blue breath of you. I want to be in
your body, and there's a mud hole nearby,
just in case we're feeling too dry.  We need to rub the red mud on
 each other from toe up to tip till we're slathered and slip our bones
all betwixt one another; then we must lick the eye lids of each other to
keep from going as blind as the others.