Wow. This last week has
flown by. But at the same time it feels as if we have been here for weeks. It’s
fitting that I start this email with a contradiction, as everything
about this country seems to continuously contradict itself. Being the
poorest and richest place on earth I guess this is just how it is. Some things
make you smile, others laugh and some reduce you to tears. From the
offset we bared witness to these harsh contradictions, with our Chandigarh bound bus
driving through the most impoverish villages and slums I have ever seen. Shacks and stalls were shadowed by huge abandoned multi million dollar complexes with dusty '
opening soon' signs fooling nobody. Extravagant coloured sari's and body art on the
women’s rich seamlessly glided past half naked children with dirty faces playing in piles of
rubbish on the street, passed educated looking men who happily piss on the
streets and buildings, contributing to a smell that can't quite be drowned out
by the amazing smells of the street stalls and markets. One contradiction that
I had to laugh at was on Wednesday as we were helping to clear the land for a
migrant community (P.C word for slum) who had been forced to move 500 metres
down the road by the government who wished to build a PowerStation
there. We worked tirelessly, digging up roots using prehistoric
tools in 30degree heat while the migrant community watched on and occasionally
helped but only the younger ones. One of the older men and leaders of
the group was fed up with watching me struggle and started
gesturing to me how to use the spade properly, when his Smartphone started
ringing to the latest bollywood song and he left to talk to his mate! I really
had to stop and think if it was the heat making me laugh or the irony of this situation, as i dont even have a cellphone! But we kept on digging regardless and the villagers whom were grateful, were maybe as perplexed as us.
0
0
1
8058
45935
Otago Uni
382
107
53886
14.0
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
JA
X-NONE
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0cm;
mso-para-margin-right:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0cm;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
Before the smells and the
sights have time to hit, what got me was the state of the driving. For people
that seem to have absolutely no concept of punctuality or give a shit
about time, they drive like men possessed. To take part in the madness it
appears you don't need a license, or have ever seen a rode code because any
sense of road rules were lost long ago, with any sign of English rule. How
do you control the world’s largest democracy? You can’t. Religion sets the
boundaries, and the people make the rules. All you need to drive is a
sizeable pair of nuts and a fucking loud horn, and you can overtake, undertake,
cut off any rickshaw, scooter, bike, motorbike, car, animal, bus or
truck. Biddy and I jumped in our first Rickshaw; one powered by a
motorbike and set about into Chandigarh city. The driver seemed to sense
and even enjoy my sweaty palms, as he swerved and broke every 2 seconds
narrowly avoiding death a handful of times. When there is a gap here, you take
it you do not give way you just beeeeep and hit the gap. Anyway my knee must
have been slightly hanging out of the rickshaw and if I hadn’t stuck it in at
the exact moment of undertaking a car it would have been part of the nut
sellers stall. The cheeky prick then shot me a smile back in the rear view
mirror and wobbled his little Indian head as if to say 'Loosen up pal, this is
India'. I had to smile and it did make me relax, although i don’t think i can
ever get used to the madness of Indian roads.
Looking back it's surprising
we actually made it to Adampur in the first place. if it weren’t for a couple
of special guys we met on the way, one a doctor based in Singapore, the other
an Indian native in the NZ Army returning for his marriage, we would have
struggled.. Our instructions and even contacts were straight useless and these
guys broke the language barrier and gave us advice and knowledge that helped us
immensely. In our wee village of Adampur there are 7 people in our house. Two
Egyptian girls, An American, a Canadian, a Polish girl, me, bids, one
stove, one toilet, one shower ( well bucket) and an adopted puppy called
Shadow. The only other dude in the House is Alvin,
the American who is a native Indian, long expired from his internship but not keen
on returning back to the States so he helps us out and his Punjabi speaking
skills are pretty useful! We spend the mornings teaching English, have a few
hours for lunch and then do afterschool work with two of the local migrant
communities called the Snakecharmers and the Trashpickers. The Snakecharmers
because they own a few snakes that the parents take to the markets and earn
money, so they are in an ok state and most of the kids are at school and speak
basic English. The Trashpickers though are quite sad; they literally send their
kids everyday to town and nearby villages to sift through garbage finding
bottles and other valuables to exchange for money. Cute kids but faaar out
times are tough for these kids. We bring them colour pencils and paper and play
games with them but also try to put an educational spin on it which proves
difficult as most of these kid’s don’t attend school so it can turn into
babysitting quite fast.
I joined in on a game of
cricket at the local school with a group of Punjab’s (ages 18 - 30), and
after a poor batting performance from myself i told a guy he bowled like
Harbajan Singh, their local hero and I was the subject of much interrogation
about my cricket knowledge, with the combined English skills of all 8 guys
just enough to hold a sustainable chat. I was invited back the next day
haha and will play again. Breakfast is chai and toast, lunch is chai and chenna
and dinner is whatever we want, with an expensive day being about $5
NZD on food, some under $1. shit here is just so cheap, we bargain with
rickshaw drivers over paying 100 instead of 150 rupees, to save $1 NZD. haven't
really bought anything yet just buses and food because we haven’t been to any
touristy places or had the opportunity. Apart from the other interns we have
seen 2 white people in the time we have been here which just shows how rural
and off the tourist trail we are. Despite the uncomfortable stares (mainly
aimed in Bids direction), the hindrance of the beggars, and the straight
infuriating hagglers who have 'authentic ray bans for cheap' the locals are so
lovely. Some will try their best to talk to you in English of Punjabi others
will smile and wobble their heads. In Adampur they know that we are volunteer
workers apparently and most really appreciate it. I get random polite handshakes
on the bus's and walking through town and people ask me and bid, married?
So now its 1 a.m and we
are back in Chandigarh, bid asleep, my battery is dying and my body also. We
have 2 weeks off, and the plan is to go to Rishikesh tomorrow, then Agra, then
Varanasi, then make Nepal for Xmas New Year and fly back to Chandigarh for work
starting back on the 3rd of Jan. The longer we spend here and more comfortable
I become, the more I enjoy India and can start to look through the utter chaos
and see the peacefulness and beauty of the place. Dunno when we next will get Internet
so peace out.
Love you all, hope your well. Sam x
Stage 2
Christmas holidays.
The short notice 2 week break has
been both a blessing and a burden. We have been given free rein to explore
India with no responsibilities whatsoever, only to be back by the 2nd of
January, so were having the time of our lives. This lack of planning time also
means that it's near impossible to book transport or accommodation so we have
had to wing it which has left us with some undesirable transport and bedding,
but hey it's India and the backpacking experience is wicked. The Indian’s are
more than keen to help out or give advice, some, in fact most are a little too
keen and will pull out the classic palm side up hand and put on their best
sympathy face. It’s a real test of our judgment of character to try and sift
through the emotional blackmail they feed you about good karma to those who
help, and expose their motive. More often than not it’s some rupees, and it’s a
game we’re getting much better at. By the end we’ll be pro’s. And we will also
be fat, my god the food is indescribably amazing. Mum I think I’ll finally put
on some weight! Laters weenie!
We eat like kings and have minor
addictions to the cuz and chapatti. People say you get accustomed to the
hotness but i think my taste buds in charge of detecting heat have well burnt
off, and now the food just tastes chronic. In most places it’s chicken curry,
no worry, winner winner chicken dinner, but the vegetarian meals to my
surprise are the boss and I’m not even slightly craving a juicy Lonestar rib
eye! Ok maybe slightly...Rob, the stomach is just holding up, despite one small
incident where is shriveled tighter than a nun on a cold day, and I thought I
was in for but luckily, it came right about half an hour later when movements
headed south. Makes me laugh about Gramps though, I remember at Rapaki road the
film canisters with pills ‘4 the shits’. The spelling of English words around
the place is shocking and we should start recording some of the classic ones.
We’ve eaten at a Resterant, a Rasterant, a Resturent, one place in Adampur
boasted butta chikin with a small or large fanta or cock to wash it down, and
even mixed food flavoured ice cream. M mmm. Our friend Zandy was shopping in
Agra and she saw a t-shirt saying ‘Come via Agra’!
So I think I left off as we were
about to embark on our journey, northbound for Rishikesh. Beautiful Rishikesh.
A hippies paradise. Rishikesh was a breath of fresh air, literally, as the
alpine township is nestled on the Indian side of the Himalayas, and surrounds
the head of the mighty Ganga river (say Ganges and you get quickly corrected)
giving off a majestic and peaceful aura. The place is a meeting ground for
soul-searching westerners of all ages and stages of their spiritual
pilgrimages. Some of the chats we shared with these hippies over chai I had to
bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing at the cliché of it, but this does
seem like the ultimate place to 'find yourself' and reflect. Each to their own!
Funny thing is some good sort Kiwi has already discovered the place and set up
a bungee jump, a massive rope swing, and white water rafting, adding a
different dimension to the yoga and meditation capital of Northern India. We
skipped the yoga and massages and went white water rafting, and it was epic.
'No no sir, only little rapid you not get wet'. Ha! First rapid and Zandy, our
New Zealand mate was sent into the cold and unsavory waters below us, and the
boat somehow strayed upright. After that it was like meh and i back flipped off
the springy side of the blow up boat to the delight of our little Indian guide
whose smile exposed his 4 front teeth, and his only English was 'power, power'
which he barked at us for the whole 3 hour mish. We had to sit the rest of it
out in dripping wet clothes, and as it’s the midst of winter probably not the smartest
thing we’ve done. And the floaters that joined us in the water are not great
swimming companions. Oh and I took about a thousand photos of monkeys who
pretty much ran the town.
If Rishikesh was a breath of fresh
air, then Agra, our next stop, was like breathing in a ripe steamer. It is seriously
the sphincter of India. Stepping off the 12 hour long bus feeling a little
tired and grubby, stepping the huge pile of mysteriously huge feac, I looked up
to see a rabid dog feasting on a dead cat and threw up in my mouth. We agreed
in the rickshaw to see the Taj, and hotleg it to Varanasi as soon as possible,
so we checked into a boss hotel and treated ourselves to the rarity that is hot
running water and set off with our cameras for the awe-inspiring Taj Mahal.
What an incredible building. The sheer size and blinding reflectiveness of it
are something that a postcard or Google image cant do justice, it’s until you
stand right under it that you realise why it’s the greatest wonder of the
world, and took 22 years to build. Our cameras ran white hot. The Red fort was
interesting but anti-climactic in the wake of the Taj, the only reason you
really need to come to Agra. The shithole of India came well equipped with its
share of seedy greasebags, haggling tourists for all their rupees, and making
us not really trust anyone or want to venture far from the hotel. Pizza hut was
conveniently situated next door, but hopefully it’s the only Western food we
eat on the trip as the local food is too good (and cheap!) to pass up. Feeding our
stomachs with pizza and India with corruption, we unwillingly paid an arm and a
leg and managed to get seats on the next train heading east, leaving the rats
and pigs to set off on what was to be a 21hr train ride,(another story) to
Varanasi, one of the holiest cities in the world.
At the train station we
met 3 Australian fellas on the mission around India with minimal gear, long
hair, and geetars. They were just as happy to find some friendly white faces as
we were, also coming from Agra, so we teamed up to take on Varanasi. Which was
crazy! The city froths with life, 24/7,
and walking home at 11p.m is just as hectic as cruising the streets at 11 a.m.
We missed a whole day in Varanasi due to fog (train was delayed 13 hours) so
made amends in our one and only day by heading straight down to the infamous
ghats where hindus come to pray and bathe (who knows what else) in the Ganges.
There are ghats throughout India but what makes Varanasi distinctive is the
burning ghats. Bodies of dead Hindus are brought here and burnt under the
watchful eye of Sheba one of their main gods, in fires that have been burning
for hundreds of years to spread their ashes to guarantee a promising
after-life. We went out in a boat and watched the burning ceremony that only
men are allowed to attend because women are too emotional and in the past have
jumped into the fires of their loved ones. We watched as their ashes were
sifted through baskets to pick up valuables (gold teeth, jewellery) which would
pay to keep the fires alight, into the holy water. Children under 13 are ‘too
innocent’ to be burnt and their bodies rowed out to the middle and dropped by
their fathers and brothers to the bottom of the river. We saw two of these
children’s bodies be thrown in and the men show no emotion. We wondered how
they felt about the hoard of tourists watching this happen. Pretty deep
experience when you let it sink in, but at the time a cool experience. We woke
up early and to say the least a fair bit dusty on Christmas Eve (after a few rums
and card games with our new Aussie mates) and set for the Nepalese border where
we stayed the night at ‘hotel paradise’ which ironically didn’t have a toilet, after
a surprisingly easy entry into Nepal. Christmas day was spent in a claustrophobic
mobile crèche with 60 people and 30 seats, winding through the Himalayas but we
made it to Pokhara paradise before sunset, and are about to head out for a nice
dinner (steak) to celebrate the final hours of Christmas. Sorry we couldn’t be
in touch today, Indian sims stop working not far from the border, would have
been nice to know beforehand.
P.S a big Happy
Birthday to Gramps hope you all have a good day.
Hope you all had an amazing Christmas, much love. Sam
xxx
Namaste!
Happy new year! Mum tells me she
forwards these on so whoever is reading I hope the year had started
smoothly and you’re relaxing somewhere in the sun! Mum hope Aus was ok..
Just emailed Bob, internets a serious hass now that Educare hasn’t paid
December’s bill, we’ll believe it’s coming tomorrow when we see it. This emails
gotten out of control so there’s a bit here to digest. Sorry if it bores! India
just keeps on surprising us, exciting us, staring at us, inspiring us,
frustrating us, at times scaring the shit out of us, and overall captivating us
so that there is too much to keep inside.
I’ll start with Christmas day where
my last email left you, which certainly was a unique one for us. Instead of
sharing presents with family and friends we shared ass space on bus seats with
Nepali locals. Unable to move as 60 people stockpiled the 30 seater, or sleep
due to the treacherous condition of the road, i-pod having a tanty, the only
thing to do was listen to the lady in front of us hoooooiikkk out the window
every 3 seconds. And smile at the ridiculously out of place 6 foot 5 Swedish
guy in the back row as he towered over the other Nepalese men with whom he
shared the back seat with, and think it could be worse! Our Christmas present
was the left rear wheel falling off just short of arrival, and getting a free
cab the rest of the way into Pokhara, the most beautiful place I have ever
been. We didn’t actually feel the wheel come off! Just got told later. The cab
took us around Lake Phewa Tal, via the alcohol store to pick up some Australian
red wine and Heineken, and finally to our comfy home for a week, ‘the Pokhara
Paradise hotel’. A combination of these fuels, complemented by juicy steak and
sweet apricot pork made up for the lost day and more than satisfied our
deprived bodies and carnivorous cravings. I could have eaten 2 or 3 servings it
was so hectic! After 2000 km of traveling in a week, mainly during sleepless
nights cramped on a local bus, or on board the ‘not so royal wheels of India’,
we were more than ready for Pohkara. Traveling at night may be the most
efficient and economical way to travel but we are anything but seasoned travelers,
and merely living in India is a mental and physical overload so it was bound to
take its toll.
The week seemed to float by us like
the warm haveli (wind) we
enjoyed every day, despite all we’d heard and expected given the overwhelming
presence of the majestically white Annapurna mountain range. (10th
highest peak in the world, and historically the most dangerous climbing range
in the world I found out.) Lackadaisical days were spent skipping from one café
to the next, reading books by the lake, poking our noses into the plethora of
Nepalese craft shops, renting bikes (short-lived), and trekking up to the World
Peace Pagoda minus the help of Tenzing Norgay. During the festive week it was,
we witnessed sleepy Pokhara come to life as the streets were reduced to foot
traffic only, and shops/restaurants dribbled onto the streets. Three
predominant groups of people existed here. The smiley Nepali local, the nonchalant
explorer, and the intrepid north-face clad mountaineer (I for some reason feel
they’re all German). These groups all equally enjoyed the Local cuisine and
music webbed with a western and European infusion, forming a rich tapestry of
colour, culture, and excitement. We fitted somewhere in the second group,
although we don’t have dreadlocks or Rastafarian headbands and hopefully didn’t
smell quite as funky.
From Pokhara we caught a bus to
Kathmandu, a chaotic metropolis somewhat like Delhi but with an oriental flavour.
Kathmandu we spent the night in a pleasant guest-house and I woke up with an
unpleasant cold, which would unfortunately form base camp in my sinus right up
until today. (3 long weeks later) It was about here too where I got the first
signs of the old Delhi Belly which also seemed quite content in my body for a
while, although I’ll spare you the details even though you’d be so keen to
hear. We flew from Kathmandu to Delhi (ironic timing) on the 31st,
arriving at the airport on Biddy time, or 5 hours before our departure. We hit
Delhi at 8pm on New Year’s Eve, faced with the exciting prospect of trying to
find accommodation for the busiest night in the whole calendar. While fumbling
through the archaic lonely planet we’d acquired, between fits of nose blowing
in the backseat of the cab, I asked the driver somewhat optimistically if
Connought Place was near anything of interest to us on New Year’s night. ‘Ohh
my fren, you are going to the very heart of India my fren, Connought place is
crazy tonight, the club stay open extra late tonight til 1 oclock my fren.’
Wow! Loose. Haha. We got a place right in the heart of Connought place
and celebrated like we were at home, with a small group of internationals (2
kiwis) we met in a bar. The first day of 2012 was spent hung over hopefully
like yourselves, meandering through the vast streets of Delhi (only covering a
small square in the scheme of things,) paying visit to the India Gate, eating
Macca’s, sitting on the loo, getting stalked by this creep show, and enjoying
the last day of our spontaneous 2 week break.
Back to work on the Monday and
changes were to be made. Finally. As the centre manager had left Adampur
conveniently 2 months before the next one was scheduled to arrive, the
hierarchical system had resolved to who had been here the longest as no one
wanted to take responsibility, so the sightless were leading the blind. In our
group meeting we asked for and were given specific roles, so our group of 5 new
interns no longer resembled headless chooks and could actually get something
done. Bid and I are now in charge of the afterschool program for the 2 groups
of migrant kids, which suits us perfectly. We set up activities during the day
and take them down in the afternoon, and after, play games with them. When you
bring them coloured pencils their eyes light up and you can see their creative
little brains spinning. They’d think it was Christmas, if they knew what that
was. It was quite special taking down paint and introducing a whole group of children
to painting for the first time! The Egyptian girls teach English in the
mornings, and they work really hard, although at times it feels like they
should sit on the other side of the desk but anyway. Their technical English is
better than ours as they’ve learnt it recently, but when speaking they get more
than a little confused.
Friday afternoon we left the office
to get ready for a weekend in Amritsar, when all hell broke loose and the
Punjab heavens opened. For the next 20 odd hours we sat through the most
intense thunderstorm of all time, with most of it in the dark as the storm
robbed the village of power. I woke up in the dead of the night, to a strange
stillness and silence. (From 12pm-5am there is an awful Punjabi singing a
prayer from the temple through speakers that I swear are directed at our house,
and 50 street dogs chiming in with full voice, hitting tone deaf and not even
scoring a point on easy mode in singstar. This was not the case tonight).
Suddenly the silence was shattered by what I thought was the Pakistanis
dropping a bomb on the Airforce base just 3km from our house! Then 10seconds
later the room lit up and almost instantly there was another BABOOOM shaking
the house. Our trip was postponed.
We arrived at the Golden Temple in
Amristar just after noon, on a Sunday. This is prime time for the Sikhs to pay
homage to the beating heart of their religion, so we were certainly not alone.
This place is like Mecca for the Muslims, Jerusalem for the Jews, or K.F.C for
the Samoans. The temple itself was pretty incredible, a lot smaller in real
life but every bit as shiny and beautiful. We encircled the Temple taking
photos, and curiously observed the Sikh men droping their daks and plunge into
the lake surrounding the temple. For a place so peaceful it’s hard to imagine
the turbulent times that this place has been through during Operation Bluestar,
the aggressive militant action ordered by president Indira Ghandi to remove
certain Sikhs residing in the temple. 4 months later she was shot dead in her
home by her 2 Sikh bodyguards, an act of vengeance that made life hell for the
Sikh people over the next years, leading to a lot of bloodshed and civilian
death. A mere scratch on the surface compared to the volatile history attached
to the place we went next. The India-Pakistan border. We came here to see the
nightly ceremony that attracts local and international tourists from afar. The
ceremony was nothing short of bizarre. The only battle that took place here was
a battle of lung capacity between ridiculously dressed militants from either
country into microphones, encouraged by patriotic cheers from the flag waving
crowd, seated in no man’s land between the two borders but separated by a
serious looking gate. This was followed by some more madness and cheering and
flag bearing. In my book I’m reading it’s just talked about the Kargil conflict,
which happened when I was 9. Sounds more like it was 2 months of nuclear war
beckoning bloodshed at altitudes higher than most can exist in than a just a
conflict. The countries have a history that is more unstable than the line
outside Pop at 3 a.m on a Saturday night.
Nice to know while living so close
to the border, especially as we can hear low flying air fighter jets over-head
every 30 mins or so, coming from the 2nd
biggest air force base in India, situated practically in our backyard.. Then it
was back to the Golden Temple for more photos and dinner, a priceless
experience. Literally. Much more memorable for the experience than the cuisine,
bids had one bite of the cardboard chapatti and vomit stew and passed on to me
who was ravenous, just holding my breath! I thought Unicol pushed through the
people but this was something else.
Anyway everybody is packed an
waiting for me, we’re off to Daramshala, the home of the Dalai Lama for the
weekend in the Northern Indian mountains. Should be interesting, will keep
the cam on hand. Peace and Love to whoever reads this. x
And… I’m back. The Internet refused
to send this on Friday, and there there’s too much on my mind to sleep, so I’ll
keep adding to this with another chapter of our adventures, this one was an
epic that my amateur literary skills are not capable of doing justice. While
sitting in our warmest set of clothes yet still shivering at the café table,
eating vegetable Thukpa, a warm Tibetan dish and drinking Ginger Tea, it dawned
on me that I know absolutely nothing about this beautiful township called
Mcleod. Jennifer, a new Canadian intern asked the 2 new Chinese interns if they
felt uncomfortable eating here. My confusion turned into curiosity as I read
the poster on the wall directly beside us reading ‘BOYCOTT CHINA, Free Tibet’ I
felt well out of my historical depth, and needed to know more. As it turns out
Jennifer is a Masters Student in Human Geography, a thesis writer in Tibetan
culture looking specifically into ‘what they call home’. Wow. This pool of info
will put the Lonely Planet to shame! Unfortunately though, the walking
Wikipedia spent the majority of her weekend with her head on the pillow as India
got to her stomach and spoilt her perfect trip, so she plans on coming back
with intentions of meeting the Dalai Lama face to face and I have intentions of
picking her brain to shreds for the next week as she is sure to know a thing or
two about this part of the world. Resorting to the Lonely planet I learned that
the Dalai Lama pied pipered 250,000 Tibetans on foot through the Himalayas half
a century ago during a devastating Chinese Communist rule in Tibet which killed
over 1 million people the Tibetans say. They formed camp here in these serene
hills, a perfect place for their peaceful Buddhist government, to form what
some now call new Tibet. Ok, so know I understand. ‘No’, the Chinese pair
Kimmy and Mao answered, ‘here is fine.’
Saturday Morning we woke up early
(middle of the night in my books) and set off for our supposed 24km round trek
up to the glacier led by our exuberant Kiwi friend Paula and followed closely
by Bids and myself, and not so closely by the Chinese pair and a sick Jennifer.
We didn’t know how bad she was at this stage! After our porridge took 1 hour
and 45 minutes no jokes, and word that we would need poles and maybe crampons
we devised a more achievable and much more realistic stroll around the hill to
another village. We walked up through peaceful pine forest in (at stages)
nearly knee-deep snow, in the company of monkey and wild goat and were watched
from the sky by soaring eagles. It was out of this world cool. It was at the
peak of this walk where I made the dumbest mistake of my whole trip. For some
reason I decided to feed these cute mountain goat kid and picked up a handful
of leaves that should never have been touched. I thought Shit, and set about
pulling the stinging nettle pricks from my hands and for the rest of the trip
had a handful of snow in my left hand. It was during this Thukpa lunch, when
the curiosity was replaced with nausea and dizziness and I told the girls I was
off for a lie down and let them do their girly thing in the markets. Over the
next hour my head was put in a vice and the grip squeezed tighter and tighter
and I started to freak out and thought I was going to die sometime in the next
few hours. It was then the girls came home and they kindly rushed straight out
and got me some pills… for motion sickness.
The thing was, the more my headache
set in the more my hand burned, and this was like 6 hours from when I touched
the nettle, so I told the girls I think there must be a connection and I’m
quite alright with the motions of this room, It’s just my body is numb and my
brains about to explode. Scorpion plant is the name of the plant, not sure if
that’s what the locals call it or what but I’d been well and truly bitten by
this scorpion and had a positive allergic reaction which pleased the doctor as
he recalled his childhood with the scorpion plant, and puzzled and infuriated
me. As I squinted at him saying ‘Pain killers Please!’ he grinned and answered
‘No pills, you just take a shower man. Don’t worry, be happy’ I thought Fuck
mate, the words of Bob Marley don’t often make me angry but you just don’t get
it do you! Embarrassingly, with my fears of a painful an inevitable death somewhat
reduced, a few paracetemol pills and mushroom soup down the trap, the vice was
opened and my headache alleviated significantly. It was bad though I swear!
This morning we woke to a blizzard
and packed our bags smartly before having BACON and eggs for breakfast and
checking out the shops again quickly! Some sweet Tibetan gifts, reminded me
very much of Nepal. The bus’s home then ran like clockwork, yet another
surprise as nothing ever seems to fall into place here, until I missed the
blatant signs of Adampur and realised about 3km down the road. I actually saw
the sign but was too busy daydreaming. Woops, sorry team. As if we needed the
fresh air, we set off, our hungry and tired multicultural bunch, into the
darkness and the wet for the last hike of the weekend, a 3km walk home down the
main road to our house, hoping that we have power, hoping more so that they
replaced the gas bottle and dreaming of internet. For the record, no, no, and
no.
Staying in this dark direction of war and history
I seem to have taken, I want to make note of our family we have here in
Adampur. Almost underlining this theme, I have noticed over the past
week, we have had the raw ingredients under this roof of a war historian’s wet
dream, a combination of races and religions that carry enough historical fuel
to set the house on fire. There has been at once a German guy, a Polish girl, 3
Muslims an American, and now 2 Chinamen, a Canadian and us Kiwis. Fact is
though we get on like the house is on fire, and we love the diverse interesting
friends we have made in this mellow environment. So its 1 a.m., Im going
to let Fat Freddies takeover my brain, soak into my new Kashmir wool Poncho
(stoked with), pull the blanket up and close my eyes, pretending the warmth is
coming from the rays of the Central Otago Sun which is drying my bare back
after an epic water ski, far far from volatile borders, religious turbulence
and dark political regimes. I love this place but thank god that he made me a
Kiwi. We have one more week of work, a wedding and then southbound for some sun
action! From India and from the heart. Peace xxx
Hi all, hope everybodys
well and enjoying summer depite the adverse temps I’ve heard are trying to
spoil your tans. Just heard that a friend has been wearing a puffer jacket and
jeans to work in Chch! Can’t really relate to that at the moment as the sweat
literally is dripping off my face and my clammy hands slip around on this
keyboard adding to my already shocking spelling. 2 weeks ago we had knee-deep
snow, and had to wear shoes to avoid frostbite. Today we have to put on shoes
to avoid burning the soles off our feet as the sand marinates all day in the
35degree Goan sun. Extending our entourage from 2 to 7 as we were joined by
some mad university mates from Taupo, Hawkes Bay and Tauranga was revitalising
and added an energetic spark that apart from recent news about the passing of a
fantastic man I call grampa, has created a permanent smile on my face and we
haven’t really stopped joking, laughing and experiencing the craziness of India
together since they arrived. The hectic 2 weeks has seen a trip through the
desert, via camel, elephant, and safari truck, about 10 different hotels and
guest houses, a ferocious fever, a dog chase, a stint in Indian prison,
sunburn, tu meke hangovers, and we have finally arrived in absolute, and I mean
this, paradise. Hot wind sifts through a profusion of palm trees, creating a
playground for soaring eagles, and swaying the bamboo frame of our hut on the
beach, hardly upsetting the sun drenched babes sipping cocktails in complete
relaxation at beachfront cafes. This place is indescribable, but still
definitely so Indian as cows lie on the beach, and stray dogs bark at beggars
that stroll the beach in the hope of a drunk overfriendly, and sunburnt Pom.
More about Goa later but I’l just quickly sum up the last week of our
internship and the Educare Experience.
Our last week at Educare
was more productive (for me personally) than the 3 weeks that preceeded it
combined. Under Bid’s and my instruction we, and I say this optimistically,
paved a bit of a path in a new, happier direction for the depressed
organisation, and the unearthed corruption that was harder to ignore than a
blonde girl in the Punjab. We were all of a sudden the older and more
experienced members of our melting pot intern house, and made an unconscious
decision to not be anything like the ‘mature experienced’ personalities that
introduced us/ or lack of, to the ways of the NGO. It was interesting to see newbies operate in their first week in India, even though we'd only been there for 3 weeks! We felt like locals and smiled at the hoplessness of the newbies knowing full well we were the exact same 3 weeks ago.
Arriving in Delhi with
our packs mysteriously weighing about 10kgs heavier than when we arrived, and
trying to locate the lads who had made it to india the night before, proved
harder and more frustrating than BSNS 107 (Accounting). But finding them, sitting
in an overheated smokefilled, tourism scambox office was one of the happiest
moments in my life! To see a kiwi, and a familiar face that we didn’t have to
talk to like a downer to gain an understanding was just the best feeling, and I
didn’t even register that they were getting their whole india trip planned
infront of us for atleast the next 20 mins as stories about the last 2 months
rained from both parties. We ended up deciding the trip they’d lined up was
amazing and after bumping the guy down about 20,000 rupees and taking off
accommodation (ridiculously cheap and easy to do yourself) the boys and us now
had a stacked itinerary for the next 2 weeks, a personal driver who we didn’t
comprehend then would live in his people mover and literally take us anywhere
for the next week!. This may have been an expense but for the convenience it
offered us, it was worth every cent. It takes the 7 of us 4-5 hours after
waking up and deciding what to do to actually start that activity, so I can
only imagine the time we would have wasted dealing with public transport and
getting around India, with limited time and unlimited plans. We set off 2 hours
later on a bus to Jaipur, as we would meet the driver there.
Our day in Jaipur was
spent cruising the the infamous Pink city, the infamous hoards of jewellery and
textile shops and taking photos with kids. One of the most priceless moments
I’ll cherish for a long time was Eddie and I buying kites for us to fly on the
hotel roof over a beer at sunrise, and walking out of the shop to greet a
thousand wide eyed indian kids who without thought, eddie just gave the kites
to. The look on the boys faces that received kites and then ran off screaming
like a little girl who just got a new Barbie doll was epic and well worth the 2
rupee kites. The next day we arose, in a hungover daze at 6 a.m to set off for
our Elephant ride up to Tiger fort. We replenished our dehydrated bodies with a
whisky and coke and set off with our new driver Mr Singh, possibly one of the
funniest men alive. When we arrived at the base of the fort, we payed 900
rupees and hopped onboard our colourfully decorated elephants, for a motion
sickness extravaganza up the incredible mountain. The sun rose over what looked
like the great wall of india, sillowetting its big barbed walls and temples
which glowed on the opposite hill that our mammoths strode up, not stopping til
we reached Tiger fort, and we took pictures. I had my finger on the shutter
button for the whole time, occasionally slipping off with the unpredictable
motions of our transportation. After the elephant ride we went and visited the
monkey temple, or I should say monkeyless temple. Haha we bought big bags of
peanuts which ended up littering the path to the temple and our tummys, not
feeding one monkey. Was definitely worth a look though, this ruined ancient
temple basking in the hot desert sun.
Mr Sing then took us to
Agra so the boys could see the Taj, which was not on the plan and the only time
I’ve really raised my voice on the trip! If you’ve read my previous emails
you’l understand why I did not want to waste an Indian day, (running low ;() in
the backside of the world, but also knew that the 5 boys couldn’t leave India
without seeing the Mighty Taj so I had to suck it up, and apologise to Bids and
the driver and as it usually happens, had a blast. The boys did the Taj tour thing
and Bid and I went for a coffee. This coffee happened to be from a place that
unbeknownst to us had a roof, which sprung up overlooking the Taj, and the
owner kindly gifted us a doobie, which we engaged in along with the scenery, right
on sunset. Epic! On the small walk back to Mr Sing and our family wagon, Biddy
didn’t even get her bum groped. Some cheeky young perv got a snap of her boobs
though who I chased and asked him to look at his camera which freaked the young
guy out hahaha. There’s really not a lot you can do about it, except for deepen
my repulsion for this filthy city that deserves the Taj less than any other
city in India. But we had a pretty epic story, and it’s the next best thing you
could do in Agra! We left that night and arrived about 1 a.m in Rathambore,
back in Rajasthan to a nice (far too nice) hotel in the Tiger Safari park and
were told to get ready for our Tiger Safari in the morning. After some conversation
with the hotel worker we understood the the scam artist at the tourist office
in Delhi hadn’t booked us in and after some pressurized enforcement by all of
us, we booked the afternoon safari the next day.
Tiger safari? Call it a
deer safari. That’s all I have to say about it, but the experience was mean, we
got all camo’d up and got some nice pictures of the deer ha! Never seen one of
them before! We entertained ourselves by being immature and putting chips on
the head of the fat grumpy Indian man in front of us and watching the ravenous
crows swoop down and land on him, puzzling him and further fuelling his rage.
Mr Sing told us it was impossible to drive to Pushkar that night because of the
Mafia, and we would have to stay another night at the Tiger park, in the middle
of nowhere. We invited him out of his car and into our hotel, and shared a few
too many rum and cokes with our new friend who was a self-proclaimed palm
reader and he read out our futures using primal knowledge, and some fucken strange
tactics including punching me in the chest and listening to my heart rate
plummet! We established the guy was a low key nutter and it made the rest of
our week with him so entertaining as we fed him obscure questions included him
in all our discussions. As well as thinking we are alcoholics, he must know
more about us than most of our parents. The boys really put a new entertaining hash
and kingfisher infused spin on the trip, and definitely brought scarfie life to
India. We awoke bleary eyed the next morning at the Tiger safari hotel to 20 odd staff members
extending their phones and cameras hoping to catch us re-enacting our palm tree
sliding off the balcony. I couldn't leave them hanging so i hit the tree again this time taking half the tree down with me and skinning my arms raw.
We arrived in Pushkar
later that day after a 7 hour journey, and Alex needed the arrival faster than a , holding in both ends for most of it. Getting him into
the hotel however was a different story as he grew even paler than normal and
started skipping in and out of consciousness and said he couldn’t see anything.
The fever had taken his body from him and we all felt helpless fanning him and
feeding him water, until the doc came and established a tainted piece of food
was the problem, bizarre given Alex is by far the most cautious of us all, safe
orders and applying hand sanitizer every few minutes. Poor Ally spent the next
two days in that room as we explored the Holy city of Rajasthan, a lake
surrounded by white temples, a small town, smack in the middle of the desert.
The Markets here were amazing and the place was very easy on the eyes, I told
the boys in all our travels around India this was by far the most textbook
India. It was colourful, festive, holy, crafty and muggy. We spent up large on
gifts and everyone’s tactics on haggling price, and the stuff they bought
provided an afternoon of laughs. Eddie and I booked a camel safari for the
second night that led us through the desert right on Sunrise, complemented by a
delivered Kingfisher halfway through the journey. The camels walked back
through the night and through Pushkar to our guest house and we prepared for an
early drive to Udaipur the next morning, 7 odd hours south.
We didn’t spend enough
time in Udaipur for it to have any impression on us at all, as we drove
straight to our hotel, celebrated Eddies 21st in a big way, and caught a 7 30
flight the next morning to Goa, and the boys time (one more day there) is not really
an accurate judge of a place as their experience in India was soon to turn on
its head. By now you will, or may have heard about the wee predicament a
finally healthy Alex Harper found him-self in at the Airport. When Biddy and I rang
them from our payphone in Goa to ask them where they were as they should have
arrived, the reply was disaster and bids jaw hit the golden sand below us.
‘They’re in prison’ she said to me, and my jaw joined hers on the sand. My
initial thought was some Shapelle Corby shit was going on but I later found out
that alex had mistakenly brought a few 22. Bullets in his toilet bag and only
now they were detected. The next day we anxiously tried to enjoy ourselves in
Goa, and roughed out a few hours of sleep to wake up to a loud bang on the door
of our beachside bamboo hut. They were here! Relief. Almost. Alex was on bail
and allowed a few days with his friends before he would return to Udaipur for
court on the 8th. The same day I was hit with my own dose of tough news at the
commencement of my Grandpas life. Mama Bids now had 2 boys to care for and as
she does naturally was incredible. We were in absolute paradise, (a beach found
using Google images at the Mumbai airport in 5mins) that couldn’t have been any
more beautiful and if there was such a place, we couldn’t care less because we
were all so sick of moving around and to us this was magic in destination form.
So we picked ourselves up and decided to make the most of this place and hit
the beach, towels round our necks, perspiration dripping off our foreheads. We
spent the day soaking in Indian Rays, swimming, filling each other in on
stories and the next day got up early for a fishing trip with promises of
snapper and Kingfish.
The 2 by 4 plank of wood
for a boat and the half pieces of coconut with 5 metres of string and a hook
expelled any doubt our optimistic captain ignited for snapper, shark and cod. These
promises evaporated faster than the water in our drink bottles and the prawns
we used as bait were worth about 10 times more than the matchbox sized rockfish
we hauled in, but getting out in the Indian ocean and rinsing away our
hangovers made up for our lack of prime seafood. In India you just have to
laugh at this sort of thing otherwise you’d go crazy! When they say this they
mean that, and no example is more apparent than their fluid sense of time
making it near impossible to get anything done on time or stick to a plan. “5
minutes sir. An hour later… haha. Ok so, the next few days we spent soaking up more
rays, swimming constantly, going on a scooter ride (funnest thing I’ve ever
done in my life) around Goa’s stunning beaches, Kayaking around the islands, indulging
in seafood and beef, drinking Kingfisher after Kingfisher, and being absolute
buffoons. Also personally getting chased by about 15 crazy dogs down the beach
one night and into a random hut, inhabited by the loveliest couple in the world
who gave me a few stiff vodka limes to settle the shakes! They tell you not to
run and that’s fine in theory, but when you can feel their breath on your bare
legs and see their white fangs gleaming in the moonlight, and you’re the only
human in sight, weaponless, theory goes out the bloody window. I made a
decision to pin it to the nearest hut and hope it was open. Sure enough it was,
and in it was a French peacekeeper who had lived in Serbia, Israel,
Afghanistan, Kuwait, Kashmir, so its fair to say had been in a few hairier
situations than mine! And his nice lady friend who became my mum for the night!
On our last night
together we spent the night on the beach and went around the circle saying what
we loved about everyone, and I realised how close we had all become and how
much I loved everybody for such different reasons! At the start, I was thinking
gaaaay, but after 5 minutes everyone was pouring their hearts out, and we
didn’t even need pingers. Now the boys have departed for Mumbai, and then
Bangkok in a couple of days. Bids and I still have a week in Paradise which I
couldn’t be more happy about. I spent today lying on the beach with one of the
most gorgeous (and French) girls I’ve met called Margot who has hung out
with us for the past few days and somehow enjoys it despite being baffled by
our humour, and our rock paper scissors to do stupid stuff like paddle back
from the island backwards. Hopefully we will meet her in Kerala next week for a
day or two as that’s where she trained to tonight!!! Im absolutely gutted the
boys have gone but at the same time am exhausted and am looking forward to
completely chilling this week. It’s also given me an opportunity to finish this
god forsaken email which has taken so long!!!!
So love to back home, I hope the weather is better than my
sources tell me, just thank god were not in Europe! Will probably send another
one after the week with some thoughts as I have time to think properly now! For
now, Adios, and have a little prayer for Alex and his court case! Peace yal xx
Wow India. How do you sum it up? Is it the
most diverse bizarre and interesting country on earth? Probably. From the untouched
snowy peaks of the Himalayas in the Himanchal Pradesh, to the feverishly toured
golden shores of Kerala and Goa, you encounter just about every warp of life,
every class, race, colour, climate, smell and taste. The barren fields of rice
and mustard in Rural India, to the bustling impassable streets of Delhi. The
Sikh men in the North, gorilla like warriors with beards that hide their nipples
and hair wrapped up in colourful turbans, to the Buddhist men, completely
hairless and draped in monotonous maroon.. Business men in flash suits step out
of their Mercedes in Colaba to take a piss on the side of the road alongside
young boys squatting in rags who cannot even fathom the idea of toilet paper
which is a need, not a want for us. The Hindu’s drink of choice is cholera from
the holy Ganga river while the Sikhs prefer the taste of dysentery from the
lake that surrounds their beloved golden temple.
But throughout India there are signs that
tell you ‘You are in India and nowhere else’. These signs come in many shapes
and forms, but none more invasive and frustrating than hawkers selling Ali Baba
pants and ray bans. The Cow’s I knew were holy but did not expect to have to
avoid herds of them when walking down the road to get millk. The street dogs,
some could be mistaken for the casual house lab, while others fester with
rabies and fleas and bleed satanic red eyes. The endless games of cricket that
you observe from bus windows, which magnetize kids faster than a Mr. Whippy
truck. The intensity of the inescapable smells and their range from drooling
deliciousness, to gag reflex overdrive. I read that the first condition of
right thought is right sensation – the first condition of understanding a
foreign country is to smell it. T.S Elliot. Well there’s no way you can really
avoid smelling India unless you have a nose clamp and I believe the only
conclusion to be made by the initial nasal recognition is that there are way
too many fucken people in this country. Yes they’ve nailed spices and can
produce some redic curries and dishes, and sometimes your mouth can fill so
fast with saliva, but this smell is like I’ve said before just blanketed by the
smell of one of those avoid at all cost long-drops on school camp. The smell of the toilets at the cook on a Saturday night make some parts
of India smell like lavendar.
Thinking back my most
memorable experience in terms of the work side of the trip (have to remind
myself it was the reason for going), one memory sticks out. It was a casual
Thursday afternoon in Adampur, and Bid and the girls in the house were doing
Girls club. Alvin, Peter, Kimmy and myself were sitting round looking at our
failed compost heap and talking rubbish when we decided to go and play soccer
with some of the trashpicker kids. Ha no pun intended. The game started
normally and we were having a blast, when a few casual observers started asking
if they could join in. These guys stowed away their I-pods in their sachels, took
off their black school shoes and joined in, contributing a bit of flare
(lacking at this point) to the Indian side. They can play cricket but give them
any other ball and it’s a disaster! Anyway after a couple of hours the sun was
on its way to bed and we decided to make tracks home and get some firewood. As
we were leaving I looked back to see the game of 20 or so Indians was still
going hard and saw one of the high class school kids picking up a trashpicker
boy of 5 and celebrating a goal like he was his brother. India has the most
rigid Caste system iv’e been exposed to and our remote village was no
exception. This sort of interaction was unheard of in my 6 weeks, and found out
later ever, so it was pretty dam cool to see that just for a moment we had
merged a slum community who were detested by the wider community, into the
village, through the love of sport. Fucken ay sport.
India is a place that in a bad mood is just
unbearably frustrating. You just can’t even perform simple tasks like taking a
shit without having to go through 3 or 4 non English speakers. The tasks will
also include crossing a road, (avoiding rickshaws, vans, trucks, motorbikes,
cars, cattle, camels and bus’s), being offered hash, a guest house, a taxi, a
white lady or some fucking Ali Baba pants. And then you’l find that the nice
guy at the shop just tried to charge you 3 X the price for toilet paper because
he can, and you will have to come to an agreement with him while clenching your
bum cheeks and sweating and wanting to smack him right on his bindi. In saying
this, in the right mood, India is a place that is never ever disappointing for
a laugh or a thrill, or something ridiculous to look at. It’s just constantly
mind bogglingly interesting, and things that you start taking for granted just
absurd when you stop and think about it. More can happen in a couple of hours
than a whole semester in Dunners but in saying that, holy shit it’s good to be
back. India I love you and I’ll be back, but next time I’ll remember to lock my
door and you wont take my laptop and all my photos. Next time I’ll know not to
buy a phone and a new camera charger or go to Agra. Next time I will take some
extra rupees to give those that deserve it, like the Internet lady who deserved
of one hell of a paycheck. Next time I’ll go South and see Kerala.
