Getting a little bit frustrated with the fluidity of life here. Everything changes constantly. One word can mean 10 things. 1 hours means anything between 1 and 12 hours. Tuesday means anything in the same week as that Tuesday. And, apparently, doing something as simple as getting a cell phone is monumentally difficult. I was supposed to be able to buy a cell phone today and had everything ready to do so. Here, even for a pre-paid phone, you need proof of residency, a copy of your passport, another form of ID, the person you are staying with's ID and also passport-size photo of them. I had all of these things, all ready, the only thing I needed to do was go to the ATM and get money. There is a long story with this, I will tell you on the phone tomorrow (if I have money to buy a phone card, that is a little bit uncertain) but it involved me getting dropped off alone at a bank, abandoned, forced to walk home, alone, and then when I got home, listen to 20 minutes of half lecture, half yelling, by my host mom. After that, in tears, I stormed out, grabbed my dutch neighbor (a 65 year old Jainist man who is really one of the sweetest people I have ever met,) and he took me to 4 more banks, none of which will accept my ATM card. SO, now I have no way of getting money. I am not sure if I told you, but $300 of my American money was stolen in Bangkok and so when I got here, I had $200, $90 of which I have left after travelling expenses and a week's worth of buying things that I needed as I started life in India. $90 will get me VERY far, but its still scary knowing that that is all I have until I get ahold of my parents and figure out what to do. Its more about adjustment at this point than anything.
We had a crazy night last night. On Sundays, no one really does anything. So, after an entire day of sitting around and getting homesick because we had nothing better to do, all six of us met up at our local hotel bar (totally sketchy place where indian men like to sing Akon's "I Wanna Fuck You" when we walk in), and had beers. We restrict ourselves to one glass because it would be very dangerous to walk down the street if we were at all intoxicated, but it is nice and refreshing to sit around and talk and drink something cold. After our beer we decided we would go out for a nice dinner because a few people were craving meat. So, we started bargaining for an auto-rickshaw. I'm not sure if I have decribed an auto-rickshaw to you before, but it is a 3-wheel vehicle that should never be on a real road and should be restricted to the streets of Toon Town. They are open on both sides and in the back, have just a simple bench seat, and usually have a tiny windsheild with a wiper that doesn'y work. these are the only means of transportation in India, and not only are the NOT restricted to quiet, quaint neighborhood streets, they choose to drive down only the busiet, most dangerous streets in India, and therefore, the world. I am cheap, and ever more so after discovering I cannot get money at this point, and so we refused to spend $2 on each of the two rickshaws we needed to get across town to the restaurant we had been recommended. So, after a fair bit of bargaining, walking away feigning anger three times, we finally convinced the driver to take all six of us in a 3 passenger rickshaw for $2. were litterally in a human pile, carefully folded into the rickshaw. It is very important to NEVER leave ANY appendage sticking out of the open sides because in almost every short trip in India, you will be side-scraped or bumped by passing cars, motobikes, camels, horse and cart, cow, or cyclist. It is also very important to tuck all belongings of any value into the center of the rickshaw so that theives cann't come by and swipe them, as I have heard often happens at stop lights (though, thank god, I have no yet experience this.) We had driven MAYBE one kilometer when the sky broke loose. Rain in India is more like the unleashing of a dam, the streets flood in less that 10 minutes and before you know it, motorcycles are being walked because they transmission had been ruined, and children are wading up to their waists in street water, and bathing in the floating feces of hundreds of animals and people. The open sides of our rickshaw offered no protection, and by the time we arrived at our swanky restaurant (the first time I have seen airconditioning since I left Seattle) we were soaked a freezing. AFter dinner, we were worried about taking a rickshaw back because it was dark, and we decided again not to split up- just to be safe, and cheap... So, this time we piled into an even smaller rickshaw, and I was squatting on the bench that sits between the driver and the passenger. There was no way to secure myself, so everyone held an arm or a leg and hoped we wouldn't be taking corners too quickly, lest I fly out. As we began to drive, we saw the streets more flooded than I had ever seen. Some streets had become impassible, and were now fast-moving rivers with logs, trash, clothes, huts, and millions of other strange things floating down them. Our driver decided to take the freeway, which meant riding in our uncomfortable state, on the busiest road in Jaipur, when two lanes were completely submerged in three feet of water. Playing with tourists, particularly to make them scream, is a favorite past-time of Indian rickshaw drivers, and our driver was loving it. He decided to drive IN the water, which covered our wheels, so that it would come splashing into the cab and soak us all. Our screams were not of joy, but of sheer terror and disgust as the rickshaw hydroplained, sputtered, and swerved back onto the dry pavement until the transmission could handle another swim. And so it went for 30 minutes. We screamed, got soaked, and probably contracting a hundred skin infections apiece as the filthy water crept into our pores. At one point, a youn man on a motorbike heard us, and saw the white skin on my hand gripping for dear life to the one side pole of the rickshaw. He inched forward and peered in. Realizing that we were all white, and girls no less, he rocketed his bike forward and sent a stream of filth into our cab, laughing and calling to his motorbike friends around us. It was all in good fun, and as much as I was scared for my life and disgusted, I was laughing hysterically. It really makes you think about how many strange people you trust you life with when you are travelling, and that I suppose, at a certain point you have no control, all you can do is hang on as tight as you can. All in all, we survived, had a great meal, and made it home before the witching hour, 8:30 PM, when all of the prostitues come out. My host mom loves to feed us, and she tried to feed us again, but we refused and I locked myself in the room and went to bed. An hour in a car in India is the same as a 10-mile run and bad break-up for your body and emotions. I feel like I have been hit by a train every night by 9 PM. I had better go though. SO many more things to say, every day is an adventure, but I will have to be selective and write just a little. I have limited funds now, you know. HOpe all is well and I miss everyone a lot. India is not the same as Australia, I think I might actually want to come home when December rolls around..
