In which Alison has two very big days, and manages to keep her cool by wrangling people.

Well, we've had an exceptionally busy weekend!

Saturday morning, bright and early, we all piled into the car and headed out for Imfluzi National Game Preserve. It's a national park that holds all of the "big five" (lions, elephant, cape bufflo, rhinos, and cheetahs). The road up to the park (which was about three hours away) was exceptionally well paved and fast. We were soon on the way (with the help of Gertrude) and out of the city. First, we passed through areas of suburbs that looked very much like where we were staying, then slowly the landscape became dryer and more arid. The houses, instead of being made of corrugated tin, were made of mud, and they were round shaped with thatched roofs. These are called Bosutos and are very common in Lestoto.

After driving for about three hours, we arrived at the park. The very first thing we saw as we pulled in the gate was a zebra standing by the lodge eating away. And then, from somewhere in the grass, a family of warthogs apeared and the little ones stated playing. There were six babies and one large, but very ugly, mother. We sang "Hakuna Matata" for her, but I' m not sure she appreciated it.

Our safari guides arrived with two huge, ten-seater open vehicles. This made me a little nervous, remember that at Lion Country Safari hands and arms were to remain inside at all times! but i figures the guides knew what they were doing. I got to sit next to Prof. Mallinson, who had shown up with his students from Swaziland. They were all traditionals, so we let them ride with Endera, Jill and Jenn and all of the adults came with us in our huge jeep. As we took off, we could see this huge expanse of African landscape spreading out before us. It was truly amazing, with hills in the background, acacia trees everywhere, and lots and lots of grass for animals to hide in. Along the four hour trip, we say some amazing things: an elephant that was eating right up next to the road, so that we could smell be sap fromt eh bark; a giraffe who was surprised by the appearance of the jeep and started running right along side us; a very far away view of a watering hole with impalas, zebras, elephants and cape buffalo. Lions who had just killed something and were lounging down by the river. The baby rhinos who were following their mother.

The driver told this great story about a obnoxious group of high school guys (rugby team) that he had in his van. They were so annoying that they threw a can of coke at a cape buffalo (the most dangerous animal in Africa, they don't stop attacking until they are sure that yo uare dead). He got so annoyed that he told them that was the end of the trip, and headed back for the gate. As they were nearly there, they ran acorss a pride of lions, resting right by the road. The guide took the keys out of the Jeep, tossed them among the lions and told the boy who had thrown the can to go get them. The boy was terrified, and crying, and then the guide stepped out of the Jeep, clapped his hands twice, and teh lions got up and trotted away. He said that we were much better than those kids.

We had to leave the park when teh sun was setting, and the light looked absolutly lovely on the landscape. It was dark when we got back on the main road, and about two hours into the trip we started to see lightling on the horizen. Then the wind started going wildly, and we were suddenly involved in a huge lighting storm. The only other storm I've ever seen like this was when I was at camp and we went on the trail ride. The sky was just a constant, moving picture of lightning going off, and we were sitting there transfixed. Bob got us through fine, and by the time we had gotten home it had died down, but it was still a scary experinece.

The next mroning, we all got up early and put on our Sunday best, because we were heading to mass at the Church on the Hospital grounds. When we arrived at the church, a line of white-dressed boys was heading in with insence. Singing was going up around them, and it was cear that there were too many people to go into the main door. We ran around to the first side, but that was full. Finally, we tried the last door and the usheress led us to seats right up front, with a wonderful view of the church. THe church was lovely, it and open with paintings of angels and two huge murals (one with the sacrafice of Isaac, one with the Last Supper). At the start of the service, the organ played a hymn and the whole church started singing. The voices had that slightly off kilter sound of African singing, and as they went on people started clapping and swaying from side to side. Through the whole service, whenever the music stopped a voice would cry out, either from the side or the back, nd the whole congregation would start sining again without accompaniment, even more joyfully than when the organ joined them. It was impossible not to sing along, even though I didn't know the words (a lifetime of following Hebrew has made me good at picking up the gist of sounds). I sang, and clapped, and amused the little girls in white dresses who were sitting directly across from us in the church (in the universal way of children, they were not paying much attention).

I couldn't say anything about the content of the service, which is too bad because the priest was clearly very passionate. His style of preaching was more what we would associate with a baptists or other kind of clergy than a catholic priest. One woman even "caught the spirit" while he was preaching, which the catholics among us said wasn't usually for their churches. Otherwise, things proceeded in a way that I am told is fairly typical for mass. At the end, the congregation sang "Hark! The Harold Angels sing" and "Oh, come all ye faithful" in Zulu, but I sang along happily in English which made the lady across from me smile. All in all, it was a great experience.

After Church, we headed into Durban to do brunch at a art gallery there. The brunch was lovely, and the shopping was amazing. Everything was produced by local artists, and we spend many a happy rand (and hour) there getting gifts to take back. After our shopping, we wanted to head to the beach. The best beach is Durban is found near the Suncoast Casino, which was a glitzy place which wouldn't have looked out of place anywhere in America. We headed in, and I noticed immediately that the vast majority of people inside were Indian. This was interesting, since we hadn't seen many Indian people, but I guess that this is where they hang out. The beach was great, warm water with big waves. I didn't swim, but I waded in and had a great time. Then we all sat on the beach just enjoying the fresh air and the sense of peace. We had dinner overlooking the water at a restuarant in the casino, and then headed home.

In which Alison takes care of patients with strokes, delierium, and chexia but is still pretty much ok.

For those who don't want to read beyond the "spoiler bar" just know that I am totally fine and having a better time that I thought I was yesterday. Those who dare, read on.



WARNING: THIS AND THE REST OF MY ENTRIES MIGHT NOT BE FOR THE FAINT OF STOMACH.



I was in the medical unit today, which is mostly long-temrm or paliative care for peple with HIV. I say mostly, and for the duration of this trip I think you should assume that patients have HIV less I say otherwise, it's so common in the hostpial. Endera was working wtih me, through somewhat reluctatnly. She had been working on this unit the day before, and had lost several patients during the day. We started the day just looking over the unit. There were only two nurses for the unit, which consisted of two rooms: one for women and one for men. The staff don't wear TB masks, though we do, which is a bone of contention between us (but I'm not going without it, even thorugh the windows are open). The rooms each ahve ten beds in them, and the men's side was full though the women had only three patianets. Of those three, only one was fully conscious. In the men's side, the look of the patient's was striking. At least five of the patient's were nothing but skin and bones (from AIDS related wasting or chexia), one was unconsious, one was both, and the man in the far corner was...well, he looked from a distance like he was completetly grey colored. When we got over to him, we saw that what we had thorugh was skin coloring was coming from the fact that every surface on his body was peeling. His entire body was sloughing off, and it was on the bed sheets and floor around him. One patient was delious to the point of having halluincations of pills that he mimed putting in a drawer, and thinking he was in a hotel and wanted to leave.


We started with one of the unconsious women, a patient that Endera had taken care of the day befoere. She had had a stroke while they were with her. Her pupils were unresponcive, and her NG tube was draining "coffee grounds" which indicates taht she had a bleed in ther GI tract, and Dr. Schivone was worried that her stroke was really a bleed into her brain. We talked to the DR about it and they also seemed slightly concerned. They said that they wanted to talk to the family to get a more complete history, and the nurse on the ward stated that "there is no family". The dr moved on after ordering an x-ray, and we were going to move on two when a man and a woman walked onto the unit. "Are you relatives of this woman?" Dr. schivone asked. Turns out it was her sister and brother, and they said that she had come to the hostpial several times for severe headaches. She'd been taking lots of pain medicine, and I wondered outloud if it might be an asprin type substance that she was taking. Dr. schivone as very proud that I had asked, but we didn't fine out (though we had the South African name of the drug, so we can look it up).

As Endera worked with this patient, Dr. Schivone and I moved to the other unconscious patient, who was having some drool issues. As I cleaned her up, DR. Schvone (hereby known as Deb, it's too hard to type her whole name), told me about her case (HepB, fluid in her abdomen, she'd be unconscious all day the day before). She ahd me paplate her abdomen to find her liver, but as I did so the woman's arms started mvoing down to protect her belly. Dr. schivone tried to keep them out of the way, but she got more and more agetated and finally openned her eyes. W tried to reassure her (and I stopped poking her) but it was actually kind of a good thing since she hadn't been awake for a while and now was speaking, even if we didn't understand her.

As we were telling the nurse about that patient, the nurse mentioned that she had found a pressure ulcer on the men's side, and asked if we would like to dress it. We were really excited, since this was a chance to do a proceedure that we'd be prepared for for a while, and headed over. The patient, David, had some paralysis and wasn't able ot help us move himself much (his ulcer was on the left side) when we got ready to move him, we saw that the sheets were soiled. Deb ran to get more, and endera and I talked to him a bit. We asked his name, his age, and I checked that he had uninated (and it wasn't drainage or stoll as well). He said yes, and that he was sorry. WE both told him not to be osrry, he was in hostpial, and I guess he was getting to like us because he started saying "it hurts" and showed us a penile ucler that looked painful. Just as Enera and I were showing that we had no idea what to do with that, Deb came and we told her about it. We cleaned him up, and rolled him over to the ulcer (it was stage three, and the skin was sheering off arund it where hte nurses would pull the sheet to mve him). WE told David that we would be back, moved him off that side, and took our info to the nurse. The nurse (a guy we didn't like very much) said that David never says when he needs his sheets changed, he just sits there without complaining. I wondered how ambarassed he must be that he needs that kind of help. They didn't know about the penile sore (he'd never shared it with them). I felt like, even in a short time, we'd made a different with this one patietn. Endera put a dressing on it, and he seemed more comfortable while we were there.

The last patient that I really took care of was the man with no skin. WE went over to check on him and found him shaking like a leaf, enough so his whole bedframe was moving. I got a termometer (glass) and put it under his arm, while the nurse covered him in blankets. His temp was 38.4 C, which is high, and we went to the nurse to get him a a\tylanol. As DR. shivone wehn to get it, I talked with him a little. I can't imagine how scary that must be, even DR. Shcivone ddn't know for sure what was going on. His chart stated that he had come in for an URI, and absolutly no mention was made in the nursing notes to the fact that all of his skin was falling off. It was abserd, the fact that this huge thing was happening to him and as far as the chart was concerned he was "bathed and comfortable". Finally, we got him some drugs, and he stopped shaking, but two hours later his temperature was still 38.8. We were leaving at that point, so I just reported off to the nurse. This was during visiting hours, so a woman was sitting with him. Several of the pts had felame visiters, and I looked at these womn and wondred if they were sisters, girlfriends, or wifes, and if when they looked at these men they saw where they wouldbe in some small amount of time.

My last adventure invovled taking a patient downt o x-ray. Th trip itself wasn't that exicing, except being able to talk ato the male nurse, and Benny (a priest in traiing who ehlps out in the wards) who are nice guys, and the x-ray tech, who was "so impressed' that i'd been able to say "hello" Zulu, but the patient when we moved him was nothing but skin and bone. It was so strange, like moving a man made of paper mache. I was afriad that his bones would come through his skin every time I touched him.

At the end of this long day, I had spent half of it "holding up the walls" as magie would ahve aid and the other half changing beds and doing other little things. I felt a little like I had been too hestitant, again, to interact with the patients, but Deb cought me on the way out and said that I ad done and good job and jumped right in. It was a great feeling to hear her say that, and made me excited to go back next week.

TOmorrow: SAFARI!

In which Alson makes two mistakes that she can remember, but still feels pretty good about her day.

Today I was in the Labor and Delivery ward that was run my midwives the midwife obstetrcis unit (or MOU for short). I went with the idea that I was just going to be obnoxious and follow people around, make them let me help, and basically just make a nusence of myself. Unlike in India, mifiery here is a three year degreee and they can (and do) deliver low-risk babys alone. The unit has six beds, and women in early labor sit in the waiting room until they are deemed ready to move to a bed. Mother's deliver and then are moved to the recovery room (with ten beds) for six hours. Then, assuming they and the baby are ok, they go home.

I started by learning all of the midwives names. They talked to me a little about their work, my schooling, and how I would have to go to school for six years to be midwife (the whole accelerated thing is hard to get their heads around...its easier to just say that I'm finishing my four-year degree). They were shocked. But, their two year "general" nursing has no rotations through clinical areas like peds and mentla health, just basic medical/surgical nursing. They then started going into the room of a woman who was moaning really loudly, and I noticied that she was laboring hard and her contractions were close togetehr. I let Cathine and Courtney (who were with me) know that she was close and we went in and hugged the wall while she gave birht. They don't do epidurals (or any pain meds) so it was a pretty nerve-rakcing things to watch. The nurse stuck her fingers into the vagina, and then positioned the scissors for a episotomy (the baby wasn't crowning yet) and cut very, very, slowly. The mother seemed almost out of it, but was able to push. The nurses kept telling her to push, even thorugh the strong contactions that she had been feeling seemed to ahve decreased. Finally, she pushed out a little girl, who was slightly blue but crying. The baby was taken away, and the mother layted back while her cut was stiched up.

At this moment, Dr. schivone came in. She a nice lady (a mental health nurse) and she is very good with patient's but some of the things she does make me alittle uncofortable. She went right in, stood next to the patient, and started speaking to her in very bight, happy English about the little girl that she ahd had, and what was she going to call her. The woman clearly didn't undertstand everythign that she was saying, and i couldn't help thinking about how I would feel if I had ust given birth with no meds and someone started speaking perky Frnech to me (it would not be pretty). I was probably jsut feeling very akward, and afraid of doing the wrong thing, which never seems to run arcoss her mind.

Dr. Schivone then went into the waiting room, sat right down next to a woman and started teaching about labor breathing. She looked at me and said "this woman needs a labor coach" so I sat down and chatted with her a little. The language barrier may not be as extereme as it is in Inida, but it was enought ot make conversation, strained to say the least. I was glad that Lunch came quickly.

After lunch at the cafeteria, we rutenred to find that a bus had dropped off four mothers, two who were in active labor and one who was screaming her head off. I took a gulp and went in with ehr, said hello and my name and started holding her hand and tlaking to her (luckily she spoke fairly good Englush). She alreaay had a daughter and was having a son, and was HIV postiive (50% of mothers are). I stayed wiht her off and on for the aftnoon, holding her hand, helping her get comofrable and sit up, and trying to support her (all mothers labor alone here, just like in Inida but with even less nurse support) Iwas told to leave her alone because she just wanted attention, but she semeed to be really scared. Her first child had been born at home, and she ahd never been to a hostpial before.

At one point, she said that she needed to use the bathroom, and I told the nurse, who told me to put in catheter. She came in, dumped some supplied on the table, and left. Putting in a catheter is a sterile proceedure, and in the uS everything comes in one kit that you open at the bedside. This colelction of gear on the table was unsettling, but I started to put things where I thought it would make sense and be sterile. I was doing well until I actually had to put it in, but I didn't aim correctly and unsterilized the whole thing. I knew I had to start over, and knew that I wasn't up for this. The woman was crying, and I felt awful. LIke a failure because i had not been able to put the catherer in, and like a I had failer her. I got the nurse, who put it in with reasonable sterile technique in about five seconds.

Just as I had managed to talk myself down from that one (I didn't know, it was so fidderent from the US, I didn't even have any lubriactation, ect) and realize that asking for help is somethime she best thing that you can do for a patient, I managed to make another mistake. The paitnet said that she wanted to sit up, so I got her up and held her there (she was really unsteady and tippy). She starteed trying to turn around (bad idea!) and said that she wanted her bag. Iwas afraid to leave her on the table, so I helped her down as I ran for the bag. She directed me to take out a white plastic bag, with some pills in it. I was looking at her as she popped on and started to take in, and I stopped her and told ehr that I had to check with the nurse. They were in her bag, so I assumed that they were pain pills or some other OTC medication, and I didn't want her to take anyhting that wasn't ok. I brugh tthem to the nurse who said "Oh, yes, she can take these, she's due" I asked what the pills were, and the nurse said "AZT".

Oh. I felt bad again, that she might be embarassed or anxious that she wouldn't get her medicaiton. I brought ti back with an I'm sorry, and a cup of water, and reazlied taht I wasn't totally off the mark. Never would a patient be able to take a medication in hostpial without the nurse checking on it first. I had done the right thing, given what I knew.

When time came for us to go, we all gathered by the van an reazlied that we had all had rough days. For Endera, two patient's had died in the medical unit. Jenn had done CPR for a baby that died in the NICU. And when we got back and were able to check internet I had bad news waiting for me. We allagreed that she didn't feel ike dinner out, and so had pata at the B and B and went to bed early.

More about Today Tomorrow.

In which Alison is NOT in India, but in South Africa

Well. This is different.



I'm in South Africa now for a program with my school, and promised that I would try to keep u p with blog stuff if possilbe. Now taht the internet is fixed, Ill get down to it. Same rules apply: no making fun of spelling mistakes, and this is as much for me as you so I tell it as I see it.

We arrived on Tuesday night, and walked into the Druban airport. That's where I met the Traditional stduents who are coming with us for the first time, Jill, Jenn and Endera. Jill had come from Rome (her family had spent x-mas there) and had sat in the airport for ten hours waiting for us. I can't belive she didn't do anyhting, but then again, she didn't really know anything about the area. They are all very nice. Jill is my roommate, and is bright and bubbly. She reminds me fo Kyla VEry much. Jenn is the model of the group (like Abeje) and is planning to work on neonatal intensive care. Indira was in one of my classes, but she was a little quiet but really sweet.

We all got into the huge white van, and Bob Norton (our teacher DR. Notron's husband) took off. The van was standard shift, and even through we had a GPS device we were soon lost. Dr. Notron had the GPS (Gertrude) in her hand, and was not able to turnon the sound. Finally, I got a hold of it and turned n her voice (all my expertice with E mily is paying off) and read the directions so we got easily...back to the airport! The GPS was trying to go home! We reset her and made it ot the hotel, while is unfortunatly on a hill on which the van stalle dout, but we got it going again. I can tell that Bob already hates the van.

We split up into rooms (I ended up begin the odd-second degree student out) and couldn't belive our luck. The rooms are lovely, with huge white fluffy beds, nice showers, lovely decour, and huge windows onto the garden. There's a pool and a lounge, and breakfast was going to be 7 the next morning. We were asleep right away.

The next morning we got up and had a wonderful breakfast, cooked by Emma our hostess. Eggs and tomato and mushrooms and all knids of good thigns. We went ot eh ospital, were we met with the cheif docotr and the nurse manaager who assigned up all exactly where we wanted to be. I will be working in the midwife labor unit and HIV treatment unit. I also volunteered to go out the first day on the mobile clinic. I was looking forward to seeing the counrtryside.

Yesterday, we got up saying that we neeeded to be at the hospital for the mobile clinic at 8:00am, so of course we didn't leave until 7:45 and were running in the gate at 8:05. Catherine and I ran to the front desk, where the lovely lady looked us up and down as I said, "wearegeorgetownstudentssupposedtogoontheMobileclinic" Her responce? "Yeeeees....they left you."

Well, shoot.


But, luckily, she took pity on us, finding a driver, Dennis (the menece) and have him drive us to where they were working. The drive was near the hostpial, up into the hills. We passed a "town" though I histate to call it taht since it had no center, nothing but a taxi stand (were people could catch the cab to Druban and Pinehill) and a meat shop made out of siding. We drove a little farther, and pulled into a clinic, in which the mobile unit was parked in the parking lot. Turns out the mobile clinic is less mobile than I would ahve throught, just going to local community clinics to do testing for HIV and CD4 counts. We were taken under the wing of Sister Doris (it's a little strange being around so many nuns) who runs the clinic. She sat us down in her office, and started seeing patients. It reminded me very much of Inida, except Sister Doris stopped in the midst of every patient to let us know what was happening, what was being said, and what she was going to tell the patient. This was really ehlpful, becuase so many of their stories had very little to do with why they were here.

A few patients stood out for their injuies: a woman with vaginal discharge (gross), a child with infected foot sores (really gross), a woman whose arm had been burned in a parafin cooking fire. But three stood out because of their stories. One man, who came in with penile discharge, was sent to the van for ain HIV test. He said that he had had a girlfriend who refused to use condoms, and had run off recently. I think there might have been more to this story (we talking in our HIV class about how common it is for men to have multiple partner ehre, and how NOT using a condom is a sign of trust and indicates that you are the "main" woman, so some women don't want to sue comdoms so they move up in the pecking oder. I ahve no idea if that was at play here, but it was an interesting thought). but he had a really nice demenor, just really friendly and jokey about his past, even in front of the strange white girls. It made us feel like "all verterns together" as if he expected us to be on his side. But, after he went to the van, one of the workers from the testing came back saying taht he had just tested postiive. He said that it was "just good to know", but I couldn't imagine the impact of this on his life. Another patient already knew that she was postive, but her husband didn't know. She didn't want to go out of the van to get her CD4 test done, so we had to do it in the office, and then she was terrified that her husband would know that she'd had something done because of the pin-prick. She started pumping her arm fast, probably to get rid of the mark, but that just made blood gush from the puncture. The last patient was a seven year old (who looked more like she was 5 years old0 who had a vaginal dicharge and Sister suspected that she had been abused. She denied it, but it was still such an upsetting thought. She was so tiny, and with erh fine features and short hair she looked just like an elf.

The clinic closed up early because of the holiday (New Years Eve) and we headed back to the clinic for the afternoon. We stopped at the cafeteria for lunch (the caf is great, a huge plate of hot, homemade food for less than two dollars) and chatted with Dr. Nortons husband, who was also at loose ends. After we finished our lunch, I wanted to go for a walk around the compound (I was feeling a little claustrophbic) but Catherine (who is a muhc better person than I) said..."Oh, what can we do? We'll stock stock-rooms!" Luckily, Dr. Schivone asked us to come with her to Peds. It was a rather frustrating experience, but it a good, growing way. I just felt so...not sure what to do with myself. At first, Dr. Schivone handed me a stack of papers and told me to file them in the patient's charts (which are at teh ends of their beds, old school style). I though, ok, I can do this. UNfortunatly, three of the patient's we'rent there anymore and one was mis=labeled. Having failed to complete that task (though I did as much as I could) I was set losose in the main room with children in it. While Dr. Schivone always had something to do, I was unsure of how to start. The kids were of all ages, from infants to ten year-olds. Some had HIV complications, some had burns, some were there for other things. Finally, I helped Mustafa play the hand-clap game wiht the kids, and then set them up coloring. We finally left just as I was learning words for animals in Zulu. I can now say "Hello", "I'm fine", "whats your name?", "fish", "dog" and "I'm ALison".

After we finished at the hostpial, we headed back for our new-years party. We showered, got dressed up, and went down to Caitlin and Catherine's room for a little champange. Then, we all piled into the van (with Gertrude the GPS device) and went into the city for dinner. The restaruant we went to was right on the Indian ocean, and there was a drumming group and fire-works over the water. We had our first South African wine, and had a wonderful time. Dr. Norton's husband (Bob) told the story of how they met on New Years Eve when they were in High School (they had each taken other blind dates to a party) and it was very sweet.

After dinner, we came back and watch the countdown on TV. The tradtiional students wanted to watch a concert, and it made all of us feel very, very old to keep saying "Who;s that singer?".

I went to bed shortly aftermidnight. More about today, tomorrow!

In which Alison tried to make up for her excessivly short posts the past couple days

Ok, sorry about that little tiny post yesterday. Know that is represents about 15 minutes of effort (I really think that the last keyboard was mis-wired…either that or my typing skills have deteriorated further than I thought).

So, anyway, what have I been up to? Let’s start with a fuller account of my first time in Delhi. I actually don’t mind Delhi. When you leave the train station, you walk out into the Main Bazaar, which is full of tourist restaurants, hotels, and shops selling all the things that you might buy in India and then never wear again (hammer pants come to mind). I got up (as I said) and had breakfast and met the rickshaw driver who had taken me to my hotel the day before. He asked how the place was (fine) and then asked if I wanted to see the shops. Now, when I was planning to get to Delhi I went though the guidebook and circled all kinds of places that I wanted to see and go to, but the truth is that I was pretty burned out at that point. I really didn’t need to see more monuments, or buildings, or anything and was kinda just killing time, so I said ok. He got in an auto rickshaw and took me through Connacaught Place, the nice area of town, stopping at lots of stores where I had to oo and aww and then get back in the rickshaw. At each shop, once they heard me sniffling (I’ve developed a cold, I think) I was given tea and cookies, so I was pretty happy. It’s funny, but people here are so interested in selling you something, they don’t actually seem to listen to you at all. You can say “No, I don’t like Pashmina’s” 50 times, but they will still pull them all out for you and ask “What happened?” when you move away. You have to stop taking things personally. Like all the people yelling “excuse me!” in aggrieved tones, the men saying “I just want to talk!”, the reminders that “you promised to see my shop!”, and the fact that, even if you are in the middle of talking to someone, if a man comes in all communication will be broken off and you will be expected to wait until he leaves.

Anyway, at about noon I decided I was tired of “shopping” and had the driver leave me at the Indira Gandhi museum. I had wanted to see it, mostly because it is in her old house, the place where she was shot, and because Prof. Brodkin had all those great stories about living there with her. It was a nice, modern, white house, full of geometric patterns (it kind of reminded me of Nora or Becky’s house, actually), most of the rooms were emptied to make way for exhibits, but her study and dining room were left as they were. They looked very comfortable, full of nooks and crannies to read in. Some of the artifacts were interesting, especially gifts for other foreign dignitaries (I remember that being my favorite part of the Kennedy exhibit as well. It would be awesome to get presents like that!). As we wended our way along, moving though her life, we eventually ended up in the garden where she was shot. Now, I don’t know much about the actually circumstances surrounding that, except that she ordered an attack on the Golden Temple and was then killed by her own Sikh body guards. It seem s to me that if you are being personally guarded by religious men, and then attack their holy place, it would be time to change body guards, but what do I know.

After the museum, I walked back toward the main shopping area, slowly, enjoying the sidewalks and the trees. I was defiantly in the ritzy area of Delhi. There were huge houses, with guards, and plaques saying things like “Minister of Health”, “Justice So-And-So”. The sidewalks were kind of funny, because the planters were placed exactly in the middle of the walkway so that there were, in effect, huge holes in the sidewalk ever 50 feet. It seemed like they were trying to discourage anyone from doing anything crazy like, say, WALKING on it. The streets were wide, and full of modern cars driven by spiffy dressed men and girls in Gucci sunglasses. Clearly, I had hit a real city.

As I said earlier, I wandered through the main shopping district, where you can find anything from McDs to Lees to Gucci to Godiva. It was nice, like walking down Michigan Avenue, except I realized that if I were at home, everything would be decorated for Christmas, while here all the Dwalii decorations have come down, and it’s pretty empty. It was getting dark when I made it back to the hotel, and I settled in because I had an early train to catch the next morning. My train left Delhi at 6:15, and arrived in Amritsar right on time at 2pm. I could tell that it was the right train, because it seemed everyone butme was Sikh. I was so exhausted; I just got in a rickshaw and told him to take me to the temple. As I walked out of the rickshaw, I was faced with a huge white building. It looked, honestly, a bit like a colonial mall (an image not helped by the fact that there were tons of shops on the outside). I checked into a room, dropped my things, left my shoes, and started to walk inside. I knew that I needed to cover my head, and there was a large bucket outside full of triangles of fabric for people to take from. I started to tie one, babushka style on my head, when a guard with a huge spear cameover, took it from me, and re-tied it doo-rag style. While thinking that this looked particularly ridiculous given the pink flowered cloth that I had chosen, I stepped though the pool of water by the entrance (to wash your feet, and it was warm!) and went in.

It was absolutely lovely inside. The Golden Temple in the middle is set off by the white buildings all around, and the singing coming from inside was sent out on all of the loud speakers around the complex. Most people were just walking around, circumnaviaging, whole familes from tiny turbaned kids to grandmothers. Some, the really tough, were bathing in the pool around the temple (it was really cold). I wondered around myself for a bit, just getting my bearings and enjoying the peace. I think that if would have been worth the trip just for that moment. Everyone was kind and smiling at me, and the kids were adorable (though many did have that “Mommy! What’s that!?!” look in their eyes when they saw me). After a while, I got hungry (I hadn’t eaten since some bread on the train) so I went to the communal dining hall that is set up to feed anyone who comes, anytime of the dayor night. I sat on a mat on the floor with a bowel, plate and spoon and, as I waited, volunteers came around with hands full of chapatti and really tasty dahl, and water. It was simple, but wonderfully spiced and neverending. When I was done, you simply hand your plate over to another volunteer for washing. I really enjoyed it, the whole idea as well as the actual food.

It was dark by that point, so I went to bed, and woke up sick. Not sick with intestinal distress, but lazy don’t feel like getting out of bed sick. So, I didn’t, mostly. About 1, I got up to eat and to see the Sikh museum in the Temple. It’s full of oil paintings describing the various horrible ways that Sikhs have died over the centuries. There are people losing their heads, people being burned at the stake, people being sliced from many angles, as well as pictures of those killed in Indira Gandhi’s attack on the temple, and on other uprisings. As I was heading out, a man walked up to me and asked if I wanted to go to the border closing ceremony that night. His price seemed fair, and I felt like a bum for not doing anything all day so I said ok. He said we were leaving at 3, so I had enough time for another nap.

At 3, I went down to find his Jeep, and found a family already waiting there. I was in the front seat, they were in the back, but I did hear them speaking a few words of English. As we got ready to leave, the driver asked me to move to the back, and I did saying that I hadn’t been feeling well that day and might need to stop. “Oh,” said the mother of the family “My husband hasn’t been either, so we’ll look after you both”. Turns out they were living in England, and were visiting the Temple and some friends in Delhi. The son was UK born, so he and I chatted the whole way up to the ceremony. There were also some newly weds in the car with us, and even though they didn’t speak much English they were all smiles. It was a really nice little group, and the 45 minute drive out of town to the border went really fast. When we arrived, Bindi (the mom) suggested that we all stay together so we could find the car later (which saved me having to bed to stay with them!). We lined up near some gates for a few minutes, and then they opened and people took off running toward the boarder, as if they were trying to jump the fence. Really, they were only trying to get good seats, but we were all laughing at the people’s high spirits and running along a little. To get to the area where the ceremony takes place, you have to walk though a series of line-control switchbacks, which are mirrored on the Pakistan side. It was really funny, running though them, and seeing the people on the other side running and waving. We all waved back at them.

When we arrived at the ceremony area, we had to go through one of my favorite Indian things, the Indian metal detector. They are everywhere (at rain stations, at the entrance to the Main Bazaar in Delhi) but seem to indicate nothing. Some aren’t even plugged in, and if they go off (as they always do) no one cares at all). It’s really funny. Still, we went though and then were divided into the men and women’s sections, so I was with Bindi and the Bride (who’s name I didn’t catch) in a much more sedate area while the other guy s were in the rowdy boys section. Some guards, with amazing hats, brought out Indian flags and some girls got up and ran with them past the stands and then to the gate with Pakistan, where they waved them at each other. Bindi looked at me, then got us up and ran us down there to grab a flag! The guard pushed other people off so that the foreigner could run with it (seems backwards logic to me, but whatever) and Bindi and I ran past the cheering crowds. When we were done, some of the girls grabbed me and started dancing to the film music that was playing, so I was quite the center of attention. Then, the cheering started. There was a definite “MC” who made sure that people were cheering the correct things. The popular cheers were all call and response. I didn’t know what they really were, but my mind filled in the sounds to be something like: “Hindustan! Jinnah-bagh!”, “Harold Pataki!” “One day, martyrdom!”. My personal cheer “You can’t even keep your country together long enough to hold a stupid conferece!” may not have been catchy, but was satisfying.

After a while, the guards made everyone sit down, and they and the Pakistani guards quick-marched and high-kicked very fersomly at each other for a while before they brought the flags down. Then the last bus rolled though(to more waving) and we all packed into the car to go home. I was glad I had went, it was really fun, and especially glad that I had met such nice people to give me some moral support when I needed it.
So, the next morning I headed back to Delhi, and vegged out. That’s kinda what I feel like doing today, honestly. I don’t know if I am tired or sick (I’m aiming toward sick) but I just don’t feel like doing anything (which, you will all agree isn’t like me). All I really want to do is lie down and rest. I feel like I should enjoy my last day here (hard to believe, LAST DAY) but it’s taking a lot of effort just to type this post.

Tomorrow I will be heading home, so I will see some of you then and more of you soon. I promise a nice, finishing post after I get back and am feeling a little more energetic, but for right now, I want to leave you with the song I feel has been the theme song for India. If Morocco’s song was “Hotel California”, then this one is “Happiness Hotel” by the Muppets (I hope that Kyla, Lisette and John especially can relate to it). Here are the lyrics:

Oh there's no fire in the fireplace
there's no carpet on the floor
Don't try to order dinner, there's no kitchen anymore
But if the road's been kind of bumpy and you need to rest a spell
Well, welcome home, to Happiness Hotel.

If you got luggage keep it handy
but you're runnin' out of luck
Cause the bellhops ain't too organized and the elevator's stuck
So if you don't mind friendly animals and can learn to stand the smell
Well, welcome home, to the Happiness Hotel.
Welcome home (welcome home),
Welcome home (welcome home),
No matter where you wander you will never do as well

Okay, the lobby's looking shabby and it's got the wrong address
And the whole dang thing has been condemned by American Express
Still the management is cheerful though the whole joint's gone to hell
Well, welcome home, to the Happiness Hotel.

Oh, there are bugs (there are bugs)
And there are lice (there are lice)
Sure, we have our little problems, but you'll never beat the price

You got every kind of critter,
you got every kind of pest,
But we treat 'em all as equals just like any other guest

Though you're cleaner than the others,
still as far as we can tell,
You'll fit right in at Happiness Hotel
We'll fit right in at Happiness Hotel!!

In which Alison write no where near as much as she intended, but wishes everyone to know that she is fine and will write more tomorrow morning.

So, I’m really glad I went to Armistar (really sorry I chose this internet café though…the keyboard is horrible). Look, I’m really sorry, but I’ll write more tomorrow. I really just cannot type here.

in which Alison makes a plan

Very, very short post tonight everyone. Quick rundown of Delhi: Day One. I got up, had breakfast, got taken for a 2 hour shopping trip/rickshaw ride, saw the house where Indira Gandhi was assainated, walked to through Embassy Row to the nice shopping area of town, saw an Indian McDonalds (they have Maharaja chicken burgers, instead of Big Macs), thought about going to the movies but didnt, watched a terrible christmas movie at the hotel and cried like a baby, took a shower, had dinner, and did internet. Whew.

Tomorrow I leave on the early train for Amristar, and I'll be there until the afternoon of the 15th. I'll check my e-mail then. My leg is much, much better.

In which Alison is beset by evil spirits in the form of monkeeys, rickshaw dirvers, and stairs but manages to have some nice times anyway.

Hello Everyone!

I made it to Delhi, not without incident, but before I go into this post I want to say that I am totally fine, staying in a nice (if a bit pricey) hotel with a soft bed, TV, shower and room service. My mental state is pretty good, and (at least so far) Delhi seems better than Agra (though since Agra is right up there on my list of most awful places in the world, I'm not sure that's much).

After I blog posted the last time, Lisa and I met up for dinner. I wanted to go somewehre nice, away from the Taj Gank tourist ghetto where all you can find are bad Indian food and even worse "travellers" food like banana pancakes. We went to a place recommended in the guidebook, called Only, which was a little expensive, but amazing. We took a cycle rickshaw tog get there, whcih is my favorite way to get around. It's slow, but quiet and calm, and you can see everything going on without being assalted by it. The driver said that he would wait for us, and we wentinto the restaruant where a tabla player was slofty saranading the diners, the tables had white linen. It was a nice change, and the food was amazing! We ended up saying there for about two hours, just chatting and eating, enjoying the nice atmosphere and the music (which was a bit bizare once the tabla player was joined by a piano, which played selceions such as "Amazing Grace" and "Frere Jaque" for no apparent reason). After dinner, we split up, but I was really glad that I had met such a nice person to share some of this experience with.

When I got back to my hotel, some of the guests were in the restaurant watching an American movie on the TV, so I pulled up a chair and joined them. It was called "The Assignment" and was oneof those terrible secret agent thrillers, but the best part was it stared Donald Sutherland, looking especially creepy. During the comertials, we talked amoung ourselves about placed that we had seen, where we were heading and what we recommended. One Irish guy was headed to Varanasi, so I gave him some tips, the Romanians were coming from Delhi (which they also panned). After the movie finished, I headed to bed.

I got up way too early, after telling myself that I was to sleep in! I didn't have anything to do but have a long breakfast, and do a little early shopping which I don't want ot go into too much, except to tell about one store I ended up in, just to lok at the amazing marble inlay work that they did. The had all kinds of plates, glasses, and tables with floral dsigns shining on the walls. I got to chatting iwth the owner, and mentioned that i like some thing but they were 1) took expensiive and 2) not quite what I would have liked. "No problem," he said, "when do you leave?" I told him the next morning, and he said that if I did like something, they could make a disign custum for me. We sketched, negotiated, and I came away with what I felt was a pretty fair price. As I was leaving, he said "We will be working tonight, around 6pm. Would you ike to come and watch?" I said I would love to, and made a note to come back for that. Then, I headed out, got a rickshaw, and asked to be taken to the Agra Fort.

The guide offered me the usual deal, 10 rps per hour for a tour of the city, and i said that I would think about it. 15 minutes later, I was staring at Agra fort and thinking "Wow, I don't want to pay to see another building right now". I took a browse through a postcard book, wqasn't that impressed, and flaged my rickshaw guy again. "Let's try the baby Taj", I said, which is another Mughal tomb across the river. He took me there, making conversation on teh way (includingabout who I thought would win the American election), and he dropeed me off outside the gates. "Take your time!" he called out.

I went in, and was really impressed. The "Baby Taj" is actually the tomb of the Grand Wazir who was the grandfather of Mumtaz Mahal, the queen who inspired the Taj. It was desined by his daughter, who was also a queen and one of hte most powerful in Mughal history. It's made of white marble and inlay, though the shontes aren't as bright and it isn't nearly as large as the Taj. But it's in this lovely garden, backed up on teh river, full of birds and monkeeys. I spent about an hour just sitting and ejoying the quiet, watching the monkeys run upa nd down the paths. AS I was headed out, the whole pack of them started walking past me. "Oh, look how cute" said ALision the stupid touirist, and started taking video of them. Just as I was clicking hte camera off, one of hte males decided that I was WAY too close for comfort, and launched himself at my skirt. Before I knew what was happening, I had a monkey hanging off me, the safety pin I use ot make the skirt smaller had come lose so it was coming off, and i was screaming like a banchee and running toward the main gate. A whole crew of Indian tourists stopped to watch as I was screaming "oh, my God, get it off" and the poor monkey was now triple terrified, of me, my screaming, and falling off my skirt! Finally, he got loose and I ran strightinto the waiting arms ofa very sweet mother-aged woman who conforted me in Hindi-English. I calmed down pretty quickly (once I put my skrt back on) and saw that the monkey hadn't touched me at all. I was even able to laugh about it, but only when the monkeys were at a very safe distance.

After all that excitment, I decided it was time for lunch. I had my driver take me back to the Old City area around the main mosque, where my guidebook recommended a place for having great thali (thali is a set-meal with chipatii, rice, curries, dhal, curd and a sweet of some kind). This place did not disapoint! The curry was tastey, the rice had peices of panner and veggie in it, and for desert I was served the BEST gulab jamon I've ever had. It was hot, fresh, sweet, cakey, and totally amazing. After that, I wandered around the bazars which were really busy, and sold the usual household items and clothes without anything that was really intersting for me. I had sent my dirfver off (he had tried to tell me that htere was no restaurants "for me" around here, and I told him that i would find one) but he said to meet him by the fort when I was done. The fort was about a half hour walk away, and during that walk I was stared at, spoken too, and even grabbed at, and generally harrassed more than I had been in the whole 9 weeks I have been here. Agra is a pit, was my decision.

Still, it was nice to walk through the fort park, and wehn I met my driver again I agressed to the old "You go look at shops so they give me money" routine. I felt ;like I had really exhausted anything Agra had to offer, and so I didn't mind finishing the afternoon just riding around and seeing the expos. We went to a few places, and it was nice but nothing htat i saw was really ispring. At about 5:00, I got dropped back in front of my hotel and got a tea at a local rooftop with an amazing view of the sun setting one the Taj. When it was dark, I went back to my marble shop to see what was happening.

I learned that I was vastly underpaying them. IN every shop I'd been to that day, I'd heard "We do work right here, I am craftsman, everything is done by hand" but at this place you can actaully see it being done. It was completely incredible, like a live Mr. Rodger show, to watch them chip out the white marble under the design, then take the tiny peices of colored stone and place them (making adjustment if things aren't perfect) and glue them all by hand. I was there for three hours, and in that time I saw about half of the work being done. I also was served lots and lots of tea, and kabobs, and had a nice chat about America with the stonemasons. It was amzing, but I had to leave at nine to get back to teh htoel before they locked the door. I found the staff in the TV room watching Om Shanti Om, which is a very popular movie our right now thtat was being illegaly played on the local station. The plot was a biut confusing (I missed the begining) involving a love storyin which both of the lvoers were killed, but then he comes bakc somehow (unclear, reincarnation?) and gets revenge on their murderes. It was fun, escpecially the flashback to the lvoe story, because that was set in teh 1970's (and you havn't seen 70s hair till you've seen INDIAN 70s hair). The lovers were also film actors (and the murder was the director) so they spoofed a lot fo Indian movies that went over my head, but also 'Singing in the Rain" at several points, whcih I did appreciate! That ended late, and I went to bed much later than I thought.

Then next morning was super hetic. I had to get my train ticket (from the travel agent who was araging it, pickup my marble stuff, checkout of the hotel, and get breakfast by 9:00). The ticket guy was late, so tiwas 9:20 by the time I started out (my train was supposed to be 10). I got in a cycle rickshaw, who promised to get me to the station in time, but thne went back and siad that he couldn't and I had to take an auto. I was really mad (I had taken all my stuff and put it in his rickshaw already, and he had driven me to where his auto driver friend was waiting so there was no other transprot around) but I got in and got there in pleanty of time, though I refused to pay the 50 he asked for. When I walked into the station, I realized that my train wouldn't leave until 11 (it was late). Pissed and tired, I was walking down to my platform when, on the last step, I turned my ankle and fell flat on the pavement. I must have scared the two men who came running to help to death, because I Was in horrible pain, and then I felt ike I might faint, so I was screaming and crying and moving away from them so I could put ,my head between my legs and then just liein on the platform. Eventually, they got my calmed down, and I was placed on a bench with a steady stream of chai (the cure for every ill) and a host of concered citizens around. I was able to convicne them that I didn't need a doctor (I had a sprained ankle, the only thing a doctor would say was "Hmm...this is sprained. Better get the RICE going") and it didn't hurt too much by the time the train arrive (2 hours late). On the train, I napped with my feet elevated on my bag for most of the trip, thinking that things could have been a lot worse (This could have happened when I was just starting, I could have actualy broken my ankle and had to fly back to Dr. Roy, I could have hit my head or broken my luggage, ect). The only thing that was troubling was my trip to Armsitar. I baught tickets to leave early on the mroing of the 13th, and retrun to Dlehi early afternon the 15th, but I'll have to see how my ankle feels.

I found a hotel, and have been holed up with the TV basically ever since. I'm doing pretty much ok (wrose comes to wrose, where I am there is roomservice)( but I will try to get out and do something tomorrow, if only to see if I can. I may also breifly update just ot let you all know whether I'll be going or staying (my hotel can keep my luggage, so I don't ahve to worry about that at least).

I'd by lieing if I said that I wasn't counting down the days till I come home, but we'll see if Dlehi has anything to offer. See you all soon!

In which Alison visits the Taj Mahal. Nuf Said.

So, guess what I did today?

Oh, first of al HAPPY BIRHTDAY FREDDIE! I LOVE YOU! I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to call on your birthday, but I will bring you a really good gift to make up for it! Me! (Kidding)

But, before we get to me, standing at the Taj Mahal at dawn, we have to leave Varanasi. After I finished blogging, I took Ravi out to lunch (where he had a harried conversation with the waiter and then ordered the cheapest thing on the menu). And afterwards, he took me out for a ride in his uncles boat, for one last trip down the river. It was really lovely, a slightly cloudy but warm afternoon, and we took the boat over to the far shore. Varanasi is amazing in that one side of the river is covered in buildings, but the other is completely desereted exect for a few huts used by shadus and other holy men to meditate. Ravi said taht some men have lived on this side for years, sustained by offreing people bring with them on their boat trips. We didn't see and swamis, but a wedding boat pulled up about ten minutes after we landed. We were watching fropm a distance, but as soon as the little girls saw me, they rushed over with the "What's your name" "Where are you from" "How are you" routine. These girls actually spoke very good english, and were telling me how Varanasi has lovely wedding traditions and did I want to dance with them. Pretty soon, I was in the middle of a circle of clapping women, trying not to make too big a fool of myself as I danced with the bride. Everyone was laughing and smiling, and as soon as I tried to leave the cirlce I was pulled back in. I left after about 10 minutes, though, since in my mind this was the bride's special day and she didn't need to be sharing it with some white girl.

We walked back to the hotel, and sadly checked out and got myself to the train station. I was sitting on the train, waiting to pul out, when a girl that I had met briefly in Darjeeling sat down next to me! It was lovely to see her (her name is Lisa) and we learned that we were heading to Agra together and we chatted through the whole trip about traveling, family, christmas, food, everything. She's Canadian, and has been away from home for 16 monthes! She's been in China (she worked there for a yera) and is now psending a few months in India. I couldn't imagine being gone that long. The train was alittle late getting into Agra, the first train that I've had been more than 20 minutes late. Lisa's train to Varanasi was over 12 hours late! I guess I've been really lucky in that regard.

We got into Agra and were a little overwhelmed and very tired. I had called my hotel ahead, and they aid that they had free pick-up from the station, so I was heading to the phone to let them know we arrived when Lisa grabbed my arm and pointed out a sign "AVISON, USA" that a driver was holding up. After establishing that it was, indeed, for me, we headed out for the quick ride to the hotel (which was otherwise pretty unispiring). LIsa and I decided to share a room (which was 350 to shrae, but 200 to have on your own. I don't get that math) and head out to Fahtah Sikri after berakfast. Fahtah Sikri was built by Akbar the Great, and was supposed to be his capital except it didn't have enough water supply and so couldn't be supported. It really well preserved, and you can see all the different areas of palace life (the haem, the private quaters, official audience rooms, where the servents lived, ect) It took about an hour on the bus, and every step of the way we were hassled ("Ricksaw? Cycle rcikshaw? Taxi? There are no buses. It takes took long. You don't want to ride with locals. ect"). It was much more intsene than I found Varanasi (though Lisa said that she felt really hassled there, so maybe I just developed the evil eye).

The ruins are in the middle of alittle, lively town, and we got a snack of their famous biscuits before heading up to the ruins. There are two sections, the free mosque area and the palace, for which you have to buy a ticket. We were accotted by a guide as soon as we stepped off the bus, and he offered two hours for 30 rps, which didn't seem so bad. he lead us up to the mosque area, where we were followed by neckless salesment, beggers, and men who were selling cloth whih their sign told us would be "Dontated to poor widows and orphans". In the middle of the mosque is the grave aof a sufi saint,to whom Akbar prayed for a son and who granted him one. WOman still go there and tie red ribbons on the carved marble latus work to pray for children or other wishes. Our guide told us that no one goes in empty handed, and LIsa bought a thread while I pulled one off the string bracellet that a child sold me in Darjeeling. "There," I said, "No empty handed". I tied is around the window, again wishing vague good wishes, and we moved on through the huge red snadstone buildings. AFter about one hour, we had visted everything that there was to see in the mosque and were ready to head to the palace. Our guide said "This is whre ym work ends" and we were surprised, since he had said 2 hours. After a ittle debate, we gave him half the rate (also, I was annoyed with him for not keeping the salemen away from us, when iasked him to). Feeling a little overhwelmed and frazzled, we bought our tickets and headed into the Palace.

IOt was like night and day. The palace was quite, there were only a few guides and they were with groups, and the guards were helpful when we asked what we were looking at. We just sed our guidebooks to navage, read aloud to each other from Lonely Planet and Rough Guide, and just enjoyed the buildings and the gardens. My favorite was the house of the favorite wivves, which was carved in flowers and fuits, and was high about the garden so it got cool breezes. There was also a main audience chanber with a hug central piller with four bridges radiating out ot the corners of the room. This was for Akbar to have religious discussions, he stood in the middle and had people from each relgioun stand on one of the bridges.

After we vinished viewing, and sitting, LIsa and I got a very late lunch then headed back to Agra. e arrived just after dark, and when we got back to the hotel I was ready for bed.

We got up today very early to see the Taj, arrivng before dawn at 6:30 am. Even though it was really took dark to take picutres, it was amazing to watchi the light come uip, turning the buiding blue, then pink, then organge, then tellow, then white. It was always a little hazy (they say that snog is a real problem here), but when the sun shone in it was really amazing. Not he most beauiftul place I've ever been (that would be Tintagel) or the most appealing buiding I've ever seen (that would be Montecello) but it wasjust like you imainge it will be. The inside was my favorite part (and not just because it was warm). The tomb of Mumtz (the wife for whom the building was built) is in the center, decorted with flowers and the 99 names of God. The kings tomb is to the west side f hers (the mecca side) and is also decorated with inlayed flowers and script. The whole thing is surouned by a screen made of cavred marble, with more flowers decorating it. There are roses, voiltes, nassisus, and eachmad eof tiny tine peices of stone. It was really amazing.

The gardens were eaceful, but there was nothing to eat and we had to leave about 11 just becase we were hungry. You probably could have really spent whole day there, just enjoying th eway thew light changed. I know I'm not being very deep about my visit, but Agra doesn't lead one to really ddep thoughts. It's dirty, not very appealing (at least the area I'm staying in) and everything is a hassle. After we got back, I checked out of our hotel (I didn't really like it, and I found another one that had rooms for 80 rps) checked into the new one, did a little walking around the area and quickly figured out that you were not supposed to leave tharea around the Taj. SUUsalyl, I'm fine, but walking there was quite unpleasent. I headed back to Taj Ganj (the travellr area) quickly and found this internet. I'm going to stay here tomrorw, head to the Fort and the Old City area (hoefully a little more appealing tahtn this ). I was supposed to stay one more day (I had given myself a day to rest after arrinvg, but ended up going to Fatah Sikri), but I think I'l probably just take the bus to Delhi the morning of the 11th. no one hs had nice things to say about Dalhi yet, and since I'll have so much time there I'm looking into staying one or two days, leaving my luggage at a hotel, and taking the fast morning train up to Armstiar aftr all. I'm done wiht night trains, but a day train I could deal with (expecially if I dodn't have to worry about my rapidly increasing load). I'll let you know how it goes, but probably won't write again until I hit Dlehi on the afternoonn of the 11th.

In which Alison goes to a Bollywood movie

Yesterday, while eating puri with potato curry in a leaf bowl on the street, I was suddenly transported to Grandpa’s garden, just because they included dill in the sauce, sometime I haven’t tasted since I’ve been here. I don’t have much to report, but I’ve been kind of taking a break from sight-seeing while in Varanasi. The whole place is quite a sight, honestly, and I don’t need to do more than wander in the Old City maze of streets and get myself lost to be totally enthralled. It really is one of the most strangely pleasant cities I’ve been in. I can see why people stay here for months and months.

Last night, though, was very exciting because I went to the movies. The first day I arrived here, I picked up a “friend” on the ghats, who walked me around the different sites telling me again and again, “I’m not guide, won’t take money”. He did take me to see his shop, but I didn’t like anything and he didn’t press me. Since then, I’ve seen him a bunch of times as I’ve been wondering around, and we walk together a bit. Yesterday morning, I mentioned that I wanted to se a movie while I was in India, and he said “Oh, how about tonight?” Since he’d been a perfect gentleman since I’d met him (and was a good 4 inches shorter than I was) I said ok. We met at 5:30, and he said that he was taking me to see “Doom”.

“Nope.” I said, “I’m not seeing Doom, I wanted to see an Indian movie”. “This IS Indian movie!” he said, “It has cheating, and police, and love, and music and dancing!” Since that sounds like no description I had ever heard of “Doom”, I took a chance. We walked the 15 minutes to the theater, and he bought me a ticket for the balcony (the most expensive and nicest area, he told me). The movie was actually called “Dhoom 2”, and it was quite old, so the tickets were only 10 rps each. It stared , Hrithik Roshan otherwise known as the Man with Three Thumbs, and , Aishwarya Rai the girl with the green eyes from ‘Bride and Prejudice’, and was one of the best movies I’ve seen in a while.

First, let’s set the stage up in the last row of the balcony, where Ravi sat me next to the only other woman who attended the movie. The whole rest of the theaters, probably about 150 people, were men under the age of 30. I got quite a few comments, mostly, Ravi told me, people asking how he got me to come with him. “I just told them that I was a friend” he said. The theater was not a very nice one. Smoking was allowed (though only a few people did) and so was spitting Betel on the floor, which everyone did. My seat smelled a little like sour milk, and was kinda sticky. Still, when the lights went down (after shouting from the crowd that it was past time to start) and the opening music hit, I was hooked. The theme song went sometime like “Dhoom again, I feel my pulse is rising. Dhoom again, I hear it’s going down” with Three Thumbs dancing shirtless (he developed some killer muscles since the last movie I saw him in) in front of scantily clad back-up dancers. The movie opened with him stealing a diamond (“See, he is a cheater!” “You mean thief” “Yes, cheater”) off a train in the middle of the Namibian desert. He came down from a glider, stole the diamond through a window, fought the bodyguards on top of the train using a shield/snowboard and then got away by surfing down sand dunes. And this was the first 10 minutes.

The first half of the movie was him (calling card: Mr. A) being chased by a somber cop with a bumbling sidekick. There were some fight scenes, amazing amounts of slow motion, and as many kinds of moving vehicle chases as you can image (besides the snowboard, there were jetskis, motorcycles, cars, trucks, and skateboards all employed at one point). Luckily, you did not have to have seen Dhoom 1 for this to make sense, though some plot points were, I think a holdover from the first film. The somber cop had a pregnant wife (who he cooked for, which I thought was a very nice touch to his otherwise boring “Good Cop” personality) but was tempted when an old friend from his college days showed up, also a cop (and very, very hot, with long black hair that was always swinging in, you guessed it, slow motion). She went over to dinner at their house with the sidekick (who was in love with her), and then suddenly they remembered that there was a college reunion that night! Dance scene Then they all go tracking Mr. A to Mumbi, where Mr. A himself gets a surprise. A hot female thief who beat him to the diamond he was supposed to steal! She asks to work as partners, he says no, then he sees her at a club. Dance scene (“You see, now they are in love” Ravi filled me in after four minutes of steamy dancing and smoldering looks). They play basketball in the rain (with him in a disguise that makes Clark Kent look good), and if she wins they can partner up. Slow-motion rain basketball in tight tee-shirts. She wins, they become partners, except she is working with the cops all along! Oh no!

Intermission. Men walked up the ailes selling Masala puffs and Betel, and cold drinks. I got a Sprite and thought of Dena (who ALWAYS has to have a Sprite at the movies). A few guys smoked, and then the movie came back on with no warning and people scrambled back into their seats. The girl next to me, who had been sitting up stright while the lights were on, cuddled back into her boyfriend. Hee.

The second half, everyone flies to Rio where Mr. A is going to steal his next thing (his thefts, when plotted on the globe, form the shape of the letter A) except hot police woman, who fell into a plot whole I didn’t understand (Later, I am informed that “She loved the police man, but he was married, so she went away.” Well, that was easy.) Her twin sister happens to live in Rio, though, and is a bubbly and friendly as the police woman was uptight and kinda mean. Of course, sidekick and twin sister fall in love (pretty hilariously, since Twin Sister doesn’t speak Hindi, and all her dialogue was in English and only Sidekick could understand her). So, everyone parties on the beach (Dance Scene) and Mr. A stays with the Theif/Cop (hereafter Sunehri, cause she doesn’t have a convient nickname) at his amazing beachfront house (in separate rooms, naturally) and teaches her about the ways of being a thief. He also makes her a fancy candlelight dinner (which she hates but tried to eat anyway.) Then he makes her a burger and PRODUCT PLACEMENT coke, which she eats in a fancy dress with her feet up on the table. Pretty adorable. Both of them are really appealing actors, and I was very into their love story (and the audience was, for once, totally with me in rooting for the bad guy! Hurray!). They meet at a huge cliff with a waterfall and he appears for the first time not in disguise. He says he trusts her, does she trust him? She says yes. “Then jump”, he says. She does, and he jumps behind her, catching her on his rappelling gear when they’re halfway down. They laugh, and then it’s Carnival, and everyone goes to the same bar and sings and dances. Sunehri meets with Somber Police Guy, and Mr. A sees them together and knows she’s betrayed him. Then, came one of the most horrible scenes I think I’ve seen in movies, where he sits her down and confronts her, then takes a gun with one bullet in it and says that he’s not going alive, so they’re going to play Russian roulette until one of them is dead. She cries, and asks him not to do this. He shoots at her. No bullet. He puts the gun on the table, she won’t pick it up, he makes as if he’s reaching for it again, and she grabs and shoots. No bullet. He shoots her again. No bullet. She won’t shoot him again, but he holds her hand up. “Don’t make me do this!” She begs. He shoots the gun at himself. No bullet. She’s not crying now, just looks at him as he puts the gun against her head. (“She says, ‘I love you’” is whispered in my ear, but I was leaning forward and my eyes are glued to the screen and not really listening). He shoots. No bullet. That was five shots. He smiles, says that it’s ok. She picks up the gun, holds it in front of her, than says “I love you” again in English and puts the gun to her own head and fires. No bullet. He’d palmed it.

Now, if I wasn’t so into the movie I totally would have seen that coming (I’ve read ‘Malcolm X’, I know how these things work) but still, it was completely intense. But, she’s proved her loyalty, and they start planning to steal the gold coins together. (“Now they are both cheaters!”). They steal the coins, and then there is a huge chase down the beach on motorcycles. They split up, and Somber Policeman corners Mr. A above a huge waterfall. Sidekick has Sunehri with him, and when I thought that they were going the “You or her” route, it turns out she’s not in custody, that she’s back on the force. Mr. A looks devastated, and looks behind him at the fall. Then, Sunehri takes her gun out and shoots him so that he falls back off the cliff. “Why!” asks Policeman. “Because I loved him.” She says.

Now, I this point, I’ve gasped and gushed my way through the last half of the movie, and Ravi looks like I’m the most amusing thing he’s seen ever. “He’s not dead” he says to me. In my mind, I heard the Princess Bride (“She does not get eaten by the eels at this time”). OK, I’ve seen the Sting, should have figured that out too.

Six months later, according to the subtitles, in the Figi Islands, the two of them run a burger joint restaurant, her the waitress and him the chef. They are in the middle of flirting in the kitchen (“The cook is on strike until he gets a kiss!”) when they notice that there is no noise out front. They come out, it’s empty, except for Police Guy. He’s found them! Oh no! But, Mr. A says that he’s changed, that he loves Sunehri and has made a life with her, and he promises never to steal again. Long looks between the two men. Two hippies wander and ask “Hey, is this place open?”. “Sure”, says Policeman. “It’s always open”. And he leaves them there and happy, at least until the sequel.

I was defiantly satisfied with my movie experience, and Ravi walked me back to the hotel and wouldn’t take money, even to pay for my ticket (I wanted to pay for both of us). Today, my last day in Varanasi, I’m taking him to lunch to thank him, and he has made me promise that I will come back to se him get married (in 5-6 years). Anyone want to tag along?

My train is at 5:15 today, and I should be getting into Agra at 6 tomorrow morning. Nothing planned for tomorrow, just resting, getting a feel of Agra, and eating some Mugahi food. I’m sorry to leave here, where I know the curd guy, the cheap internet, the way from the hotel to the river. “You can stay here more days,” Ravi said last night, “No problem”. But, I feel like it’s time to move on, I’m ready to get back into the Tourist (though slower paced tourist) track again. I’m going to be visiting the Taj on Sunday, so if I don’t write tomorrow I’ll write after I see it. We’ll see if it’s all it’s cracked up to be.

In which Alison is a river bum on the Ganges, but at least has not grown crazy dreadlocks like lots of the other tourists here

I’d like to open this entry with a HAPPY SINTERKLASS to the two Duchie’s in my life, Michelle and Lisette. I hope that you got lots and lots of good surprises and were not taken to a coal mine by six-to-eight Black men (especially since I’d have to pay more rent). Appropriately, this is story contains a little Sinterklass miracle, straight from Holland, with a little pick-me-up mixed with a kick in the butt.

So, after I arrived in Varanasi, I was pretty tired, a little confused, and trying to figure out where to go next. Sounds like a good time to go to eat. I went to a little place recommended in the Rough Guide, which had live music and apparently good food. Since it’s recommended, it was totally packed, and about 4 minutes after I sat down an older couple was seated with me at my table. I didn’t mind at all. They were 60 (they told me, since they got their first senior citizen discount on the Indian train) and when I asked where they were from, they said “Holland”. I was so excited, telling them about my roommate who was Dutch, my friend from Tamil Nadu who was Dutch and how Dtuch people seem to be following me through the world. The woman, Esil (I think that’s what she said) was a music teacher in Holland who came to India every two years to teach at a school for street children. She showed me pictures of the murals she helped them paint, in between complaining about the food (“Do you like Indian food? I don’t! But I like India”) and the music (“It sounds like a sick cat!”) in the funniest way possible. I told her about my travels, and though she seemed to assume that I had had a much more intense experience than I had (Her tone implied that there must have been lines of the dieing on the hospital floor, waiting to be released from their suffering. She really didn’t believe that it was pretty much ok) we had a lovely dinner. She’s been to India 6 times over 12 years, and I confessed to her some of my troubles with being alone and deciding where to go. She poo-pooed Amristar (“The Golden Temple is lovely, but it’s a day to get thre and a day to get back, and in between you are in Amristar. It’s phfffft”) and provided some good common sense (“You like it here? Stay here.”) which should have been obvious, but of course wasn’t since I was too close to the situation. So, I’ve decided to stay here in Varanasi (which I do really like, it’s relaxing somehow) until the 7th, then head straight to Agra (“You have to do the Taj. It’s like a mountain, it’s there, so you go”) and then to Delhi on the 12th. This gives me lots more time in each place, which I think that I need. I need time to decompress, and to stop moving around every two days. Also, dinner was another new amazing Indian food, Kofta. They were staying at the same hotel as me, so we walked back together (stopping at a roadstead for Gulab Jamon on the way). It was nice to have guides, since it was dark.

The next morning, I got up early for no reason except that prayers to the river started at 5:30 in the morning. I was up to watch the sun rise, then walked by the river and trough the Old City, look for an internet café or food place that was open. One thing I don’t understand about India is why, if everyone gets up at 5, does nothing open until 10 in the morning. I made a “friend” who offered to show me around for no money, just the chance to visit his shop. I let him walk up to the burning Ghat with me, and he seemed like a genuinely nice guy, leaving when I said I wanted breakfast and needed to write to my parents. I eventually ended up back at the hotel, using their overpriced (if really, really fast) internet and eating a lovely breakfast on the rooftop, while the boats took group s of yellow-hatted tourists up and down the river. That day, I was very lazy. I just wandered the Ghats, then when to the train station to change my tickets. This was a bit of a nightmare, as I bought them using my debit card and the station here has no credit card machine. So, I had to fill out a form that they will send to New Delhi which will enable them to credit my accout. About 2 hours into this, I realized that it wasn’t worth the ten dollars, but the process had started by then and you can’t stop burocracy. The worst part was when I came out. My ricksaw, which I hadn’t paid but had asked to wait “10 or 15 minutes!” had gone. So, somewhere in this city is a cheated angry ricksaw driver, and I feel terrible about the bad karma I accrued. I found another rickshaw and then visited a Durga temple, which was a ways away from the Hotel, but worth a visit. The whole thing was painted red, and the floor was clean marble, the statues gold and very different than the ones in the South. These were less representational, more just mask shapes, except for the tigers that Durga rides, which were standing guard over the main shrine and looked like the Lions at the Art Institute. I walked back to the hotel, wandering through the Old City streets, stopping at a restaurant for the best paneer I’ve ever tasted (I know that it sounds like I describe the food a lot, but it’s so good and I don’t want to forget it. As my nutrition book would say, I eat because of external cues (emotion, food being appealing) as often as hunger). That night, I read in my room, finishing The God of Small Things, which takes place in the backwaters of Kerala and late at night, I stopped up at the roof for a midnight drink of hot milk. Dill, the head waiter, sat with me and we chatted through a hot milk and a hot lemon water that someone had made two of by mistake. He is getting married “in 3-5 years” and told me that I need to come back to visit when that happens. I’m really tempted.

This morning, I took a boat ride at dawn, watching the sun come up from the middle of the river, alone in my boat but surrounded by dozens of others. I put a flower candle into the water, not exactly sure what I should be thinking or saying or praying but just sending good wishes out to the world. I saw my first floating baby (children, pregnant women, lepers, and snake bite victims are not cremated, just placed in the water), which was being snapped at hungrily by a dog. Surprising, then that I could eat puri with the richest vegetable curry I’ve ever had for breakfast. The problem with my eating here is that I get starving for breakfast, eat a lot, am not hungry till 3 or 4, then eat a lot again and get hungry by morning. I need more than two meals a day (though I have started to supplement meals with curd, fresh yogurt they sell in stalls in the city out of clay bowls).

Today, I mostly shopped, though for the afternoon I relaxed on the terrace of the hotel , reading abnormal psych. Tomorrow, probably more of the same, but I will write again before I leave for Agra.

In which Alison writes in her blog while covered in the ashes of dead people

So, we last left our heroine tired, sick and cold in Darjeeling. Firstly (I noticed that, when I re-edit this blog after I return to the land where the internet is free I will have to remove three “First”s from each post) if you have to be sick and cold somewhere, it should be here. I arrived from the bus in Siliguiri, which is a no-there-there kind of town if there ever was one, whose only purpose is to provide Jeeps up to Darjeeling. I got a window seat and, with my protector and 7 new best friends, started out on our three hour journey. Right away, I started noticing signs saying “Darjeeling 75 km” and thinking, this can’t possibly take three hours. I was not counting on the fact that it is 75km straight up in the air, with dozens of hairpin turns leading up through tiny villages (where the traffic is stopped by many ox-carts), and past gorgeous views of the pine and tea covered hills. I was feeling better by this point (having ingested nothing since the plain toast six hours before) and really enjoyed having the wind on my face, and not stopping every time someone wanted to get off/on. About halfway up the drive, we stopped at a side-of-the-road restaurant, in a yellow house perched on the edge of a steep hill, looking down over terraced fields. It was so beautiful, if a little precarious, and when I went inside the women were dishing up momos, Tibetan steamed dumplings. They smelled so good, I had a plate of four. This is seriously a “where have you been all my life?” food. I can’t explain it, but the carroty, cabbagey, salty, oiled dumpling taste was really addictive. Of course, half an hour later we had the squatting by the side of the road, but it was totally worth it.

After we arrived in Darjeeling, I went looking for a place to sleep. I found one for a pretty good rate, cheaper because it had no view but it did have a TV and free hot water (by the bucket). I was a little sorry to not have a view, but realized that a huge picture window view meant huge heat-leaching windows at night. After I blogged, I headed out looking for some food. I broke down, kids, and just wanted spaghetti. I know, I know, I promised not to, but I was so discouraged I needed comfort food. I asked a few places, no dice, and finally I ended up at this lovely restaurant looking over the night-lights of the valley which served veggie chowmein. Fine. It was really good. After so many weeks of Indian food, the Chinese tasted really, really good. And, I didn’t feel like I was selling out, since Darjeeling is so Chinese influenced. Win win!

I got back to the hotel in time to enjoy the middle of “Superman”, which I’d never seen but was really excited about. I woke up really early the next morning, mostly because I was freezing, and headed out for breakfast and to take the toy train. The Darjeeling Toy Train (or small gage railroad) is a vestige of the Raj with an adorable steam engine and bright blue paint. I saw it waiting in the station, and all I could think of was the Little Engine That Could. I was taking the short trip, just 45 minutes to a village called Ghoom which has several monasteries and other sights. If you’re more dedicated, you could go to the big town of Karijeoing (three hours), or even back to Siliguiri (seven hours). I was happy with my little ride, though. Mostly, the people on my train were actually trying to go somewhere, so we had little kids on their way to school, grandparents with tons of baggage, and business men with briefcases mixed in with me and the tow Japanese girls down the car. The ride was basically back down the route we had come, with a loop around a war memorial which was meant to show off the Himalayan mountains (they were clouded over). It was fun, though, because of the engine and because all of the people along the track waved to us as we passed in slow motion (Mom, think Dinner Train). After about an hour and 15 minutes (we had a few unscheduled stops) I got off and started walking the 7km back. I was all downhill, and I was glad for the exercise. The morning chill had come off the air, and the sun was shining, so I was in a pretty good mood even as I tried not to get hit by Jeeps and cursed my camera (the batteries I bought were duds). I know that some of you will be slightly amused by this distress, since I’m always the shutter-bug of the group (I can hear you giggling, Jess), but it was rather frustrating. About halfway through, I stopped at another roadside place for more momos and my first Darjeeling Tea. It was very good, hot and steaming, and as I looked out the window of the café and heard the next train coming, my camera started up! Miracles!

I didn’t stop at any of the monasteries; I think that just would have been a little weird. It’s one thing to visit the ashram where you are, as a foreigner, basically given VIP status, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself at a Buddhist Monastery. It was a little weird, though, because I know so many people who would have loved to visit, and would have known the right questions to ask and gotten so much out of it. So, Em, if you’re reading this I was defiantly thinking of you and wishing that you were with me.

I got back to town about noon, and mostly just wandered the streets for a while, getting a feeling for the town. Everything was laid out in layers, each road was a switchback that up past the rows of houses and shops. The buildings seemed too small for what they were, like toy houses. They were all brightly colored, with blue and green tin gingerbread trim and prayer flags and wheels decorating many of them. Those that didn’t have prayer flags had tiles of the gods and goddesses stuccoed into their sides in geometric patterns. Most of the shops were for Tibetan curios, warm clothes, or the fruit/pan/candy/cigarettes stands that are ubiquitous here. I was getting puckish, so I got yet another momo snack at a place with a gorgeous valley view. The people there were exceptionally nice and friendly, and it was no smoking. It’s funny, in the south almost no one smokes, I was shocked when people started lighting up in Calcutta and they smoke even more here. I’m especially annoyed by the other travelers, who are often allowed to smoke in restaurants in their home countries. I bought a few things, including a Tibetan Cook Book as my Darjeeling souvenir. At 4:30, I went to the New Eglin for high tea. After my momos, which were delicious, but a while ago, I was ready for another meal. I walked into the reception of this lovely hotel, a one level sprawling building, with white and green trim, and found myself completely alone. I wandered through dining rooms and into a sitting room that looked over their gardens and then over the valley, when a white-turbaned waiter found me. “High Tea, Madam?” he said to the smell traveler who hadn’t washed her hair in five days. This guy was classy.

Well, I was settled in the sitting room, in front of a roaring fire, and as the sun went town I was served cheese sandwiches, brownies and cookies along with a huge pot of tea. About an hour into my very leisurely repast, a group of Irish men who were actually staying at the hotel came in. They settled down with lots of lilting conversation “We might be in Dublin!”,“Will ya look at that silver?”, “The woman wants your room key so she can put in the hot water bottle, can ya imagine?” The woman in question was a 60 year-old Asian version of Mrs. Claus, complete with bonnet and apron. I was sincerely jealous, and vowed that next time I come to India I will be very, very rich and thus about to stay for months in places like this. I invited the men over to sit in my sectional (since they didn’t have a fire) and we drank tea together until I started getting slightly less classy looks from the waiters (this was about two hours after I arrived) and started to feel sleepy. I trundled off into the cold back to bed, and fell pretty promptly asleep.

In the morning, I stopped back at the place with the view for a breakfast of Tibetan brown bread and tea. I was just getting settled in when I looked up and there, right out the window, were the mountains. It was amazing. It was just like someone had pasted them there, they rose about a blue streak that looked like sky above the green hills. I ate breakfast quickly, then ran out looking for a spot to take pictures (yup, it’s me). I found about 20 people gathered at the observation point, taking pictures, saying prayers, doing Thai Chi to the mountains. After that, I wandered down the hill north of town, visiting some tea plantations and just seeing what there was to see. I got back, checked out of the hotel, stopped for a lunch of Thunkpa (it was in my cookbook, but it basically Tibetan chicken noodle soup) and brown bread and got some momos to go, then got back in a Jeep and headed back to Siliguiri. We took a different road down than we had up, even more steep and passing at least 10 different tea farms. It was a nice way to end my visit, and I got to the train station in plenty of time to catch the 4:50 to Varanassi.

My night on the train was non-descript. I went AC, which I don’t generally like because it’s really cold and the windows don’t open, and the people are much more reserved about personal space. So, since I was on a side-upper bunk, I was basically stuck in a dark windowless box for 14 hours. Still, I slept well, and there were no snorers and the baby stopped crying by 9:00pm. In the morning, I managed to snag a seat on the lower bench, where an adorable child who spoke no English found me and started chattering away in Hindi. She kept saying “Auntie!’ and then following it which a string of words that I could almost kinda sometimes follow (she told me about the train, the emergency window, her brother, her shoes, and my hair). She was so cute, I was almost sorry to get off, but my train was right on time and I got down at the station, called my hotel, and waited for them to come and pick me up.

We took a cycle-rickshaw from the station t the entrance of the Ghats, which are the riverbanks of the Ganges. My hotel is right on the river; with a roof-top restaurant and a terrace with a view (my room also has a view, remember Kyla I said I would never take it for granted again!). We had to walk the last bit, through tiny narrow streets that are just as confusing as the souk in Rabat. Luckily, there are signs painted on all the walls directing you to various places (“Vishnu Guest House à” ect. ). We arrived and I was pretty floored. It’s a brightly colored, lovely place. The restaurant serves travelers food, but the banana-peanut butter toast tasted really nice. As I ate, I saw two men deposit ashes into the water, feet from where women were washing clothes. Then I headed out to the river, and took a boat tour in the fog. It was about 11am, but it was cloudy and the river was bathed in blue light. It was just as crazy as you might imagine it. There were men meditating, women washing, boats full of pilgrims doing religious services on the water, a goat had gotten into one of the temples and was eating the marigolds from around the neck of the Goddess. My boat went past the burning ghats, where bodies wrapped in gold foil are placed on sandlewood, the family standing around. I tasted ash in my mouth as we sailed away.

After that, I rested in the hotel until I came here to catch you all up. I have two more days in Varanassi, and I plan to have very little program for either of them. Just rest and relax a little (strange place to do it, I know). I’ve decided not to go to Dhaslama (too cold, too far, too much hassle) and Amristar is a little up in the air. I’ll keep you posted.

In which Alison rides an elephant

So, where did we leave off? First, this post might not be as long as the others for few reasons. First, I'm in Darjeeling, and it's freakin cold (anyone remember Chefchaun? Yeah, like that). Second, the internet is closing in an hour. Third, I'm kinda sick, so I may need to evacuate to a bathroom. But, more on that later.

First, Calcutta. I awoke bright and early (way too early, nothing was open to eat) and walked the km down to the Queen Victoria memorial, which was huge, white and impressive, surrounded by lovely gardens. The memrial is pretty much in the financial district of town, so there was no food to be had while I was walking over, though I did have some tea in a clay pot. I didn't go inside to the galleries, but walked allong the paths and walkaways, watching people job, meditate, take pictures, and generally enjoy the lovely morning. The memorial is at one end of the Maidan, the Central Park of Calcutta. Just outside the garden gates, sheep, carriage horses and cows all munched their breakfast on the grass (must save in mowing and fertilizer!). I watched the morning fog burn off the grass, and took too many pictures of a large white building. There was, near the back, a statue to Edward, which I thought was kind of funny. I'm fond of the guy (He ate at Beckman PLace, after all) but his statue was so sad compared to his mother's city block.

I was pretty hungry by this point, but I wanted to see St. Paul's Church, an old British curch with lots of those memorial tablets that I enjoyed so much. The Church was also the center of Mother Theresa's diocese, and has come cashe from that. It was quiet, as I got there just as it openned, but right away you could feel the difference between hre and Chenni. Instead of "Died at Ooty" (a hill station and presumably retirement type of place) at a ripe old age, the tablets here were full of "Mudered at Lucknow with his wife and infant son", "Fell while recalling his mutinous troops to order and duty", "Perished after much deprivation at Delhi, mourned by her father, mother and brother". Pretty dark stuff to read every Sunday, especially if you were"Mr. Ram Das, converted from Hindism and a member of this Church for 25 years".

After that, I decided that I really, really needed breakfast. First, I tried to get a bagel at New Market, a covered building that houses just about everything you could ever want to buy, including a Jewish bakery. Sadly, even at 10am they were just openning. I said I'd come back and headed back to Sudder Street, and found a stall on the side of the raod selling egg rolls (that's omelette wrapped in chipatti, pretty much). It was good, really filling, and I went to the Indian Museum, the "wonder House" from Kim, which was the only museum that I told myself I would visit in India (I'm not really I museum person when travelling...I mean, they're all pretty much the same and usually expensive for the entertainment). This one is in a big white columbed building, with a lovely courtyard with fountains and flowers. The exhibits are arranged on two floors around, starting wtih long rooms full of duty fossils in old wood and glass cases, continuing through the anthropology of India (dating from about 1920, but really interesting to see the diversity in this one country), and then to animals, plants, sculptures and art. The animals were desidedly moth eaten, but they made me laught because for every full stuffed body in a case, there were at least 50 heads mounted on the tall walls up to the celing. It looked like Gaston's trophy room. I could just imagine them saying "Yeah, I used to hang in some British guy's smoking room. You got a problem with that?".

The scultures were very interesting, shoing the different styles from different regions of the country (but, again, you have to think "Wow, this would all be so amazing if half of it wasn't in London!"). Halfway through my wanderings, I was stopped by a British man who had "college professor" written all over him. He said "what do you think of this ancient art and it's influece in modern peices". I was totally taken aback and managed a "Oh, I don't know much about art" to which he responded, "well, then what brought you here today?" I honestly answered "Kipling" and he walked away.

I wasn't hungry for lunch, so I stopped into the bakery for a creame filled elcair to make up for their lack of bagals. It was wonderufl, and I munched it as I made my way though the city, just walking without any dierection to see what was out there. I was struck by how busy the street were, and by all of the people heading to many different lives, men in business suits, women carrying laundry on their heads, beggers everywhere. The beggers in Calcutta were particullarly visable, though not as aggressive as I feared. Mostly they stopped you in the tourist area, either just saying "Sister, sister" or asking you "No money, just milk for baby". It s a scam that the Salvation Army guy in Chenni told us about, you buymilk from a vendor for 80 rps (about 4 times too much) then you give it to her, you leave, she sells it back to him for 60. S, he's got 20, she's got 60 and you spent 80. I guess there's nothing wrong with it per se, except if you wouldn't hand her 60 rps than you shouldn't be bothered with this. It's funny, because I find it hard to worry about the things that I worry about when giving money in America (it's not really like they can be working, I don't think that she's going to drink it away) but I still don't like to do it. Mainly, becuase most begger only go after tourists (especially children). And I don't like feeling...picked on, I guess? Anyway

That night I took the metro to the train station, and got on the 9:00 train to NJP. I was, again, seated with a school group, but these were the worst, most obnoxious children I've ever seen. I'm being generous saying children, since they were 20 and 21, but they were loud, disruptive and didn't stop talking until 4am and were up and loud at 6. I had to yell at the, the guy sleeping under me yelled at them, the lady down the car yelled at them, but nothing worked. When I confronted their teacher in the morning he gave me some BS about "Young, and high spirited" and "If we were in your counrty" "If I was in my country, I would have smacked them", I wanted to say. Needless to say, I didn't sleep at all and wasn't in the best spirits in the morning. It was then that the cross-dressers arrived. On every train I've been on, the morning starts with cross-dressing eunichs who stand by your bunk and clap really loudly. This is kind of the same logic as the men who call out from cars, I feel. The "oh, well I wasn't going to give you money but now that you have woken me up at 6am I will!", clearly something is lost in translation. This woman, however, walked over to our booth, looked at me, and streched out her hand. "Is that your natural color?" she said, fingering my hair. I nodded. "It's so lovlely". She walked away. I chased after her and gave her 10 rps. Because, when the nicest words spoken to you in 24 hours were from a eunich begger, you have to reward that. She smiled and gave me a blessing, and I felt a little better.

My good mood continuted when I decided not to take the bus to the wildlife park ( I just couldn't face that much hassle feeling as fragile as I was. Anyone who has seen me without sleep can imagine the wreck taht I was) and instead forked over the 20 bucks for a private car. 3 hours later, after a nap and a luxourious ride through small towns, tea gardens, and wheat fields, we pulled up at the "Tourist Lodge". It looked like it had seen better days, but I was happy to find that my room at a double bed (they didn't have singles) and a TV. Unfortunatly, the TV and power didn't come on till 4pm, so I napped some more until one, when I went to the dining hall for our included lunch (chicken and veg curry with rice and papad, spicery than I've had it before, but good). I went to the resption to ask what I should do next, and tehy said that there was a Jeep tour of the park leaving at 3, and I could join if there was a free seat.

Until 3 I wandered around the neighberhood (not much to see, a little convience store where I bought unless batteries (the didn't even fit inmy camera!)) and a loepard rescue where the leopards were in cages, which was just as sad and unpsetting as you might imagine. I went down to the loading area at 3, to find...a school group (thankfully, not the same one or there would have been blood). There was no seat for me, and I wasn't too upset (given recent events) but one of the guides saw me walking away wondering what to do until I could see what movies were on, and called me over. "Would you bve interseted in a bike tour? We could go though the villiage, see tea garden, an tea factory". How much? "No, nothing...I need the excerize!". He was about my hight and couldn't have wieghted more than 120 pounds. I laughed.

So, for town hours, we biked around throughthe sunset villiage, I got a private tour of the tea garden and factory, we saw women on their way home from work with basket strung accross their foreheads to carry them. The people here look CHinese, while those from Tamil Nadu looked almost African sometimes. The girls were friendly and smiled, and the boys where very shy (I dont htink they knew the English to say "Hello, what's your name!").

We got back around 5pm, had dinner at 7, and arranged an elephant ride of 5:30 the next morning. I watched the middle of "midnight Run", Pretty good De Niro comedy, that cutout midway though, then went to sleep.

At 5am, a knock on my door woke me for tea. Luckily, I had slept in my clothes so I was decent. I had my tea, brushed my teeth, and at 6:00 we drove into the park to meet our elephant. The guide insisted we saw a wild elephant near the gate, but I think it was just an off-duty elephant. There were two German people from the hotel (a mother and son, very nice) and a Sikh from the Indian Army who came with us. We were all in the right mindframe, just enjoying the morning and being lifted high into the air on a giant animal, quiet but companionable. Then, about 20 miuntes in, we saw a rustle in the trees. moveing the elephant forward, we came face to face with a one horned rhino, looking like a left over dinosaur. He wasn't scared of us, basically posed for pictures, until he lo\umbered off into the forest. We saw five rhinos all together, and a sabar deer.

After breakfast back at the hotel, I felt really terrible, but had to get on the bus to get to Darjeeling. It was aweful. I finally was crying because felt so bad, and an old man asked me what was the matter. "I have to use the toilet" I said, guietly, but he didn't hear me so eventually I had to yell it to the whole bus. After that, he was my knight errant, making them stop, showing me wehre the bateroom was in this dingy restaruant, walking me back to the bus, showing me whre the bathroom was at our destination, helping me into a shared Jeep to Darjeeling, telling another man (who had also been on the bus) that he better watch out for me. It was so kind, especially since the man who was in charge of me was able to tell the driver to pull over about half way though the ride, so I could squate by the side of the raod. It wasn't as bad as waking up sick in Trivandrum, but it was close.

The ride up to Darkeeling was lovely, but that will have ot wait for next time. I'll be here until the 2nd, and then at Varanassi the 3rd, so expect to hear from me one of those times.



I was pretty hungry after that, but wanted to visit