india

Goa revisited - batch 3

2009-06-03T20:29:00.000-07:00

Jesus and Mary watched over us while we slept in the little house we rented from the (presumably Catholic) Goan in Arambol

inside one of the incredible chapels

and keep in mind--it was about 100 degrees without all those layers!

a feast fit for...gluttonous westerners, I guess! Still though, delish. Nine or so platters of this freshly caught, bought, cooked and seasoned to order seafood. (read below)

Goa revisited - batch 2

2009-06-03T20:22:00.000-07:00

inside one of the old cathedrals in Old Goa

on the beach in Anjuna

Goan sunsets were pretty decent.

Easter Sunday in Portuguese!

from the cliffs in Arambol

Goa revisited

2009-06-03T20:13:00.001-07:00

We spent the next day and a half in Panjim, Goa’s old, Portuguese capital city, and the better part of the day was devoted to figuring out how we were going to get to Kerala. After hunting down about a dozen bus companies, a train ticket scalper and spending an hour in an internet café, searching flights and then trying to sort out two dysfunctional credit cards when we were unable to book online OR on the phone, we finally discovered that the Kingfisher Airline office was mere blocks from where we were. And THEN—after another good hour on the phone with Sam’s incompetent credit card company, we actually ended up getting several thousand rupees sliced off the ticket price for buying them in person. After all of that. Have I mentioned how nothing makes logical sense in this country? Anyway. Ça-va.

We spent the next couple days on the beaches of Arambol with Hakon and his two Norwegian friends, Andi and her friend Hanna from the States, and two other Tagore International students named Jaime and Kayla—swimming, lounging, eating seafood—pretty much exactly what we did last time I was in Goa. One night’s dining was particularly spectacular though; Jaime and I found a restaurant where you order your seafood in the afternoon before the chef heads to the market, and you tell them how you want everything grilled and seasoned for your reservation that night. Our restaurant manager was particularily helpful (perks of sweating out the off-season lull, I think!) and helped Jaime and I decide on the preparations for a spread of red snapper, kingfish, shark, king prawns and a couple other fishes I’ve forgotten the names of. We even had a private balcony set up for us, jutting out of the cliff side and overlooking the beach.

Our sleeping arrangement was pretty sweet as well. Hakon and the Norwegians had met quite possibly the most accommodating Goan, who rented out to us a two bedroom house with TV(!) and a kitchen, which he kept fully stocked with water and beer. Cold beer is such a luxury—even if it’s Indian beer. And when we decided to cram nine people into that tiny house, he happily brought us some extra mattresses for the floor.

I made sure that Sam got to experience the Saturday Nite Baazar in Anjuna as well—and after a fenny toast (his first and last fenny experience) we found the bit of arrogance necessary to haggle down the vendors from their ridiculously high (tourist) prices…and I’d say we made a killing. Being successful at not getting ripped off here is the best feeling.

On the way out of Goa, we stopped for a morning tour of Old Goa, the city where the Portuguese first built their cathedrals.

Sam and Jaime making their way to the top of the cliffs for a view of the sunset

Kayla on the beach being buttered up by the sweetest sweet-talker you could ever meet.

a Hindu Hanuman temple in Panjim

and next door, a Portuguese cathedral

and a pleasant lunch in the quaintest balconey seats in Panjim

The Konkan Railway

2009-06-03T19:55:00.000-07:00

Mumbai to Goa via the famous Konkan Railway. 12 hours of sunny, sweltering scenery. (What alliteration--I crack myself up.)
that shirt wasn't white for long

leaving the Victorius Terminus in Mumbai

I can't speak for both of us, but views like this made the daytime train journey worth it!

and this...

why yes, it DID feel like a movie!

Mumbai

2009-06-03T19:46:00.001-07:00

Sam had visions of a Wes Andersen Indian train experience, so I shed my thrifty student skin and agreed to let him buy 1st class AC tickets on the Mumbai Express for our overnight journey to Mumbai. And I have to admit—the 3-4 classes in between 1AC and my beloved Sleeper cabins definitely make a difference. We arrived in Mumbai at the Victoria Terminus Station—a massive structure which I would have mistaken for a palace from the outside. I have a friend, Ashish, who lives in Mumbai who graciously offered to take us out for lunch and help us plan an itinerary for our day in the city, so we hopped a cab to his place where we met him, dropped our things off and were escorted to the Wellington Country Club, of which he is a member, to freshen up. Stepping inside the club was an experience I didn’t expect to have while studying abroad; to say we were taken aback would be an understatement. The Club is one of the only two in India of its caliber, with a membership restricted to bloodlines and elites willing to fork out millions; the establishment stopped admitting new members 80 years ago, has no guest rooms and is strictly off-limits to media, so that the Bollywood stars who frequent the poolside can breathe easy. Its grounds have everything—from salons to squash courts to a golf course to the swimming pool we had our fresh lime sodas next to. And the dining area—good Lord—was exactly what you see in the films: high arches and ceilings of dark oak with clusters of white and paisley-cushioned chairs around small oak tables—all overlooking a sprawling green garden framed with hanging lights draped in the trees. Ashish rang a little bell to signal the waiter, and we ordered a variety of dosas, chaat, tandoori chicken, and a dish named after Ashish’s family for lunch while he told us stories about coming to the club as a boy. He also gave us great advice on how to maneuver our way around the city so we could see as much as possible.

The touristy parts of Mumbai were surprisingly easy to navigate—we found the Gateway to India, the Taj Hotel, a local artist art gallery called Jehangir Art Gallery and wandered down the Kala Ghoda till we found a place for dinner recommended by Ashish for its incredible Thalis. A Thali is a meal served on a large silver platter with 7-8 smaller bowls lining the edges, all filled with different curries, chutneys, sambars and rasams. In the middle of the platter, they heap rice, chapattis, and any appetizers they serve. Sounds manageable, right? The trick is, the watchful waiter takes it upon himself to make sure none of the bowls are ever empty, and you have to insist three times when you want them to stop refilling your plate. By the time you get to the salty digestive drinks and accompanying fried-thing-soaked-in-syrup for dessert, you have no idea you’ve actually eaten enough for the next three days—because your plate is still full. The Thali experience is a beautiful thing.

here's a thali visual so you can see why I get so excited by them...

a tad european, right?

me in front of the Taj Hotel

yeah, I posed this--I admit. But it worked--a Britisher in front of the Gateway to India...ooh the symbolism... :)

boats in the bay facing the Gateway

Mumbai itself is a beautiful city—reminding me a little of a crumbling, moist downtown Paris. Dark-stained stone buildings and streets with actual signage and a method to their madness made Mumbai a little less stressful than trudging through the Muslim masses of Hyderabad. We found a cozy little icebox for a break from the (intense!) humidity and were up early for our 7am train to Goa.

A bit jumbled up...but here we are

2009-06-03T19:31:00.000-07:00

The following post was written on the 26th of April, in regards to my friend Sam's visit and the vacation we took together to Mumbai, Goa and Kerala. Let's see if I can finish the story...

...In the last few days I have here in Hyderabad, I find myself going over lists of things I don’t want to forget to take care of—taking pictures around campus, visiting Indian friends…but it’s getting awfully hard to find the motivation to step outside and into the sun! I remember scoffing a little when Indians would warn me about how hot it would get towards the end of April—thinking “well it’s a good thing I LOVE hot weather, heheh…” But it is impossible to love these scorching temps. You have to keep your eyes to the ground to avoid burning holes in your retinas, and even when you’re zooming down the hill on your one-speed bike, you’re breathing in hot, scratchy air. Luckily though—there’s zero humidity, so you’re still able to actually inhale. And drama finished. With two finals left to go, I’m getting ready to pack up and meet Charlie and Banks in the North for our final two weeks! Before I leave though, I’m happy to say I’ve found the time to blog about the trip I just returned from with my friend Sam. Seeing India through virgin eyes was a nice reminder of how alien this place is. And I have to say—traveling with a “Britisher” (a.k.a. walking GPS with built in safety monitors and hand sanitizer) provided entertaining commentary. J Sam and I spent his first day in the dusty masses of the old City, where we were befriended by a fellow (Indian) tourist who decided to join adopt our itinerary for the day. We climbed Charminar, toured the Chowmahalla Palace and elbowed a stroll through Laad Bazaar before eating at one of Hyderabad’s oldest restaurants, Hotel Shadab (my first time, and Sam’s new favorite restaurant!). Sam was introduced to (and fell in love with) Biriyani, and I was thrilled to finally find someone who understands my slight obsession with the unassuming dish! (I bought a smallish cookbook that is exclusively biriyanis, so hopefully most of you will understand soon enough.)

at Shadab--for the second time

in front of the Chowmahalla Palace with our new friend

me among the chandeliers

from inside the Chowmahalla grounds

Manju, myself and Anu, (two friends at the uni from Kerala) out to eat with Sam at an excellent place they recommended

...whoops!

2009-05-01T01:56:00.000-07:00

With moving out and exams and then sleeping through my alarm the morning I had to pack and leave for the airport, a LOT of things didn't get done. I am currently in Agra with a very sick travel buddy...

On wednesday, i flew into Delhi to meet my two travel partners--one of which had gotten horrendous food poisoning and had to be taken to the hospital. He then decided to change his flights and fly home two weeks early. So now we're down to two, and the other one has also taken a dive. He spent the night in the (bathroom?) of our top floor room of a non AC guesthouse in Old City Paha Gange, Delhi (think dark cramped alleyways full of shoeless locals and cracked out old punjabis). So he's sleeping today, which actually worked out, as the Taj is closed on fridays (missed that minor detail). so i'm off to sweat out a little exploration of my own.

Yesterday got up to 47 degrees. It is HOT and SUNNY here.

Tomorrow night we take a night train to Varanasi and spend 1 1/2 days there. Then we're taking a series of trains to Darjeeling to spend our last days in the foothills of the himalayas. we already have the return journey booked so i'm sure to make the plane in delhi.

People in the north are much different--the rickshaw drivers have completely different tricks so we'eve been swindled several times now! but everytime you start to lose faith in something indian, (the drivers, the restaurants, the railway system) it redeems itself. Today our driver was an angel--helping me to drag Banks around while we searched for a guesthouse.

Yesterday in Delhi was incredible, despite the sickies. We saw a Baha'i Temple in the morning and then the Jama Masjid--a famous mosque, some old bazaars and Delhi's best known mughli restaurant in the evening. At the mosque, I had to wear a giant hot pink sheet that covered all of my skin, so I somewhat stuck out amongst the black-clad muslims and felt absolutely ridiculous! Don't worry--there will be pictures.

All in all, I'm sad to leave the Uni, a little miffed as to how these next two weeks will work out, and so excited to come home.

Some of my Naga friends had a BBQ my last night at Uni, where we roasted a whole chicken (stuffed with masala spices!) on a homemade spit built from bamboo and bamboo rope over a bonfire we made by a lake on campus. (yeah, you can build fires on campus...) It was incredible, but it took a good three hours to cook(!) because we had to keep running into the forest for more brush to burn.

And with that incredibly jumbled and jumpy post, I'll leave you (sitting comfortably in your comfy chairs and AC computer rooms, no doubt) to go find some food, as I haven't had a chance to eat today.

I apologise for the lack of pics from Sam's visit--I had a blog written and pics chosen, all ready to be posted, but then I had to sleep through my alarm...everything'll be up after my 30+ hour-long journey back home!

See you stateside and SOON,
Al

Goa, first time round--last batch

2009-04-20T03:03:00.000-07:00

Taking a break after accepting the fact that we weren't in the market for sarongs

Why yes I did take this, thank you very much. :)

An Indian sunset of a different hue

Colors on the coast captivated me.

Getting ready to scoot back to Baga before the sun set--the headdress was a present from Jens--a classy peice of work depicting an eagle, wrapped in the american flag...yes...

Goa 6

2009-04-20T02:58:00.000-07:00

The way we came up!

One of Hakon's glamour-shots

Andi, Banks and I

A Parasailor over tibetan flags

Goa 5

2009-04-20T02:45:00.000-07:00

The cliffs of Arambol beach--and Hakon in the corner

A view of the beach itself--and the water was like a bath. A really, really salty bath.

The tops of the cliffs were littered with little tibetan, hindu and Christian shrines

Fishing boats on the beach--just having returned from catching our dinner!

Goa 4

2009-04-20T02:36:00.000-07:00

A Portugeuse Church in a little town on the way to Arambol

Standard local houses around rural Goa

Fire dancers at the Saturday Night Baazar

Above the baazar--looking down on the sea of vendors

One of the spice vendors who let us sample every single spice before picking out a couple to mercilessly haggle down...

Goa 3

2009-04-20T02:19:00.000-07:00

Wandered by my morning coffee (with the Dutchman) one morning!

Just outside our guesthouse door in Baga so we could say our prayers before hitting the beach!

An old tanker and some (nude?) admirers

I got about 30 pictures of THIS...and had a hard time picking the best one

behind banks (behind Jens, behind Hakon and Andi) on our way to Arambol. (See how empty those roads are, mom?) :)

Goa 2

2009-04-20T02:12:00.000-07:00

Fort Aguada-built by the Portuguese

Another view of the fort (see notes)

Dinner on the beach--fresh seafood and fireworks and enough of a breeze to keep the mosquitoes away!

I thought this sign was funny

Our guesthouse in Vagator--our first morning before heading to the beach

nine days and counting...

2009-04-20T02:02:00.000-07:00

until I take my last exam as an undergraduate!
Sam and I arrived back at Tagore late Saturday night, and something I ate (I blame the inconspicuous jag-fruit from the roadside stand in Kerala) kept me in bed--when I wasn't running to the restroom--all day yesterday. Today though, you'll be glad to know I'm in the clear. Heheh. Anyway.

My friend Sam and I spent the last two weeks traveling around Hyderabad, Bombay, Goa and Kerala, meeting up with Banks, Hakon and his Norweigan friends and Andi and her friend Hanna from back in the States. I think Sam had every Indian experience one could cram into two weeks, and for that, I pat myself on the back. Hopefully his stomach is back to normal by now.

I plan on posting pics from that trip sometime over the next ten days--because on the 28th, I fly up to Dehli with Banks and Charlie for a couple weeks.

But as you may have noticed, I never finished posting from my first trip to Goa...let's see how far I get today.

Goa Pics begin

2009-04-05T03:38:00.000-07:00

The beach at Little Vagator

On the way to the beach...

Andi laughing at the boys being owned by the massive waves

Looking ahead

2009-04-03T04:47:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned before, I’ll be leaving for Goa again in the next couple days! This next trip is second-to-last and will be the longest one yet…my friend Sam from the UK will be arriving tomorrow, and the itinerary I’ve put together includes two days in Hyderabad, a day in Bombay, a trip on the Konkan Express down the coast to Northern Goa, three days in Goa and then on to Kerala, where we’ll meet up with Hakon and his Norweigan friends visiting and Andi and her friend who’s studying abroad in Italy for the semester. After five days in Kerala, we’ll fly back to Hyderabad and he’s out on the 19th.

Then I have ten days of wrapping up my studies and final exams before I take off on my final trek; Banks and Charlie have been scheming up a two-week tour for the three of us, traveling to Agra-Khujaharo-Varanasi-and then into Nepal for a week.

And then it’s home…

This last week has been full of term papers, guest lecturers and a student theater piece...an impressive small-scale production--best described as an Indian “Revolutionary Road”

There was also an interesting protest/strike the last two days (involving some inadequacy of the health centre?) which caused all classes to be cancelled and all gates to be locked—preventing anyone from leaving or entering. Sounds great—kind of like a snow day, right? But not when you’re trying to access e-journals through the library which booted you out and locked its doors.

Anyway, enjoy the coming of Spring! It's excruciatingly hot here. But just when you've accepted you're about to die on your umpteenth trip up the hill, some sprightly young indian pedals past in jeans and a sweatshirt...and you suck it up.

For now, with love, Alison

GOA! (Pics to come)

2009-04-03T04:43:00.000-07:00

I figured it’d smart to write down my memories of our long weekend in Goa before I leave on my second visit there, so the memories don’t bleed together in the haze of Goa’s infamous, all-night beachside raves. J Just kidding. It’s actually off-season for Goa, meaning the most risqué action I’ll be seeing are the old Russian women spread out on the sand with their tops off.

Now that you’ve got that nice visual burned into your brain, let me tell you about Goa.

Flying with Kingfisher to and from Goa was definitely the most lavish part of the trip. Candy and pens and juiceboxes and newspapers and a full meal at 2pm…?? I heard somewhere that their overwhelming hospitality has something to do with an intense competition between them and another Indian airline. Whatever the reason—it was excellent.

We stepped out of the airport and into the HUMID sea air, found a taxi with delightful pink tiger-striped, floor-to-ceiling carpeting, and bumped our way through crowded and colorful villages to a seaside town called Little Vagator. After bargain-shopping for a hostel, (which involved a classic “it’s because I’m white, isn’t it!?” display by Banks) J we dumped our stuff and headed for a rooftop restaurant and our first taste of fenny, a local liquor made form cashews and coconuts. Terrible. Later that night, after dinner and a swim, we met another restaurant owner who had us try some of his homemade fenny. Better.

After the fenny foray and a night with the bed bugs, (not a joke—they keep you up all night, furiously scratching your palms and feet and then disappear as the sun rises) we took off for Baga—another seaside town a bit bigger and more tourist-y. As you can see from the photos, the beaches in Goa really are spectacular. Blazing hot though. The best thing about Baga beach, in my opinion, is the line of restaurant shacks, all with fresh seafood, so you can sit next to the ocean as you have your dinner by candlelight. There were even fireworks one night! We spent all day Friday on the beach, and then tried to tour the (off-season, remember) nightlife. I’m sure we would have had a much crazier night if we spoke Russian; as it was, we had a nice walk around the city.

Saturday we rented scooters and made our way to Aguada Fort, a massive stone structure with a lighthouse, which was built by the Portuguese as a lookout post and a place to store ships. On the way back, we found some local food and Candolin Beach—smaller, more local, and filled with jetskis offering 10 minute rides for hundreds of rupees.

Holi was still being celebrated in Goa, so people would still chuck colors at you as you scooted by.

Later that night, Banks and I found the “Saturday Nite Baazar” which was perhaps the most surreal [“Am I really in India?”] experience I’ve had thus far. It was an enormous bazaar selling every antique, kurta and art piece you can imagine, but the crowds of (estimated 200 000) people were almost entirely European, Russian and British. They had a long line of food stalls of every ethnicity, beer gardens, and evening entertainment featuring a trio of fire dancers. The shopping, my dinner and the atmosphere were so much fun. And Banks even managed to locate our scooter among the thousands when it was time to leave.

Arambol had by far the best beach in Northern Goa; we scooted there after breakfast on Sunday. (Check out the pictures).

We climbed the cliffs to a lookout point (check the pictures!) and later, I even ended up pitching for a cricket game between some local little boys while on a walk on the beach.

Goa was colonized by the Portuguese and the houses are so distinctly by them. I didn’t get many house pictures, but they all have that stucco look with that curvy/funhouse Portuguese architecture. And I’m pretty sure they come in absolutely every color! Beautiful. I’ll try to get more house pictures on my second trip. We stopped briefly at a Portuguese (Catholic) church as well.

I also had some of the most pleasant conversations of my semester with an older Dutch man over some highly sugared coffee in a shop near our guesthouse. This man had been a school principal in Holland for the past 30-odd years, but before that had adopted two Indian children with his wife. After the adoption, he was inspired to start an organization to develop adequate schools in the really rural areas. So he elicited the help of a nuns’ outreach organization, which set him up with a number of communities needing assistance. Since then, he’s made it his second job and devoted all of his spare time to traveling around the Netherlands, giving presentations and raising money to build and support these schools. Every year, he visits them all, and he had albums of photos to share with me, of him and all of his “children”. I forget the amount, but his organization has managed to raise millions of euros, and he was even award the highest Medal of Honor by the Dutch royalty. They also support a battered women’s community, where women can live peacefully and learn practical skills while they rebuild themselves. The man’s energy and drive to work as hard as he could for these children was mind-blowing. I considered our first meeting to be extremely fortunate happenstance; but when I ran into him again, in the early morning hours, again over coffee, before any of my friends were up and I had time to sit and listen—I decided it was a gift. It’s easy to convince oneself that as single person, one is only capable of making small contributions. But when I meet people like the Dutchman, I reaffirm my suspicion that all it takes to do something extraordinary for others is a little bit more energy.

Ugadi and dinner at Alem's

2009-03-30T08:48:00.000-07:00

Ugadi is the Telegu New Year, which fell on Friday this year. A park called Shilparamom held an evening of performances and was packed with artisans and food vendors for the celebrations.

One of the catering restaurants at the event

dancers telling a story--with live musicians and singers (narrating?)

And the other night, I was invited to my friend Alem's apartment for a traditional Naga food dinner party, where I managed to eat the hottest chilli in the world! The food included Pork with bamboo, garlic and red chillis, a green salad, a tomato and chilli chutney, and rice with a potato and onion-type gravy. Delish.

That's Alem on the left, me, Achi, Kimi and Asang. (Moa's taking the picture) Achi and Asang are in my Econ class, and I met Alem when we worked on a song for church together.

Achi in Alem's kitchen

Taj Deccan!

2009-03-30T08:29:00.000-07:00

The friends I've made here are golden, or just really love fine dining. The group took me out and we gorged ourselves silly at Taj Deccan yesterday, one of the classiest places in Hyderabad. We were celebrating my recent acceptance into LSE (write if you're interested, and I'll tell you the details) with a Sunday brunch including everything you can possibly imagine...literally, everything. We were served platters of lobster, prawns, shrimp, a variety of saltwater fish, middle eastern meats, grilled meats, parathas, made to order sushi--with all the platters in the middle of the table, there was barely enough room for the food from the massive buffet and all of our drinks from the open bar. The buffet...eurostyle breads, cheeses and salads, spreads, caviers, fruits, yogurts, a wide array of curries and meats...and then the individual stations...a kebab bar, a samosa bar, a waffle bar, a dosa bar, a pasta bar, the grilled meats and seafood bar, and then of course, the dessert bar. Shall I continue? I could easily describe each dish in detail... :) The picture above is Banks with one of our sushi platters.

9 of the 40-something gourmet desserts in the dessert corner. Andi and I tried every one, I think. If you know me, I hope you're not surprised.

Banks and one of his octopi (is that the plural for octopus?) They were actually quite delicious

Jens and Hakon starting on their first plates...

And Hyderabad had its first rain last week--Hakon and I were on our way to Yoga and were reeeeally excited, if you couldn't tell. I never knew clouds could make me so happy!

randoms from uni

2009-03-30T08:09:00.000-07:00

Banks and I ventured into the city one night last week to attend a lecture one night followed by a panel discussion the next. The lecture was given by one of the best-known journalists in India, Kalpana Sharma (look her up, she's incredible) on the shortcomings in Indian media regarding coverage of minorities. She's worked all over Indian print news and currently has a column in the Hindu. The following night's panel included her and five other renowned women in Indian media--from actresses to anchors--discussing the evolving role of women in Indian media. In true upper-class Indian fashion, the event was lavishly catered and held in a beautiful art gallery. The picture above was taken behind a news camera, and the woman in the background is Kalpana.

Here's the full panel!

And now on to something entirely different...my room! Or my half, at least.

This is Sally--if you've read previous posts, you'll recognise her as Hakon's baby which Andi and I were delegated to decorate. Painted to match the rest of the indian autos... :)

Andi actually did learn to drive it--which is really quite impressive, considering it's manual with a slippery first gear and lacks an odometer, a speedometer and a gas guage.... :) The dew rag Hakon's wearing was a present from Jens in Goa and has since become his scootering uniform. We're the classy students of Tagore.

Holi!

2009-03-23T03:00:00.000-07:00

I won't bother to explain Holi, but you can read about it here if you're interested. We celebrated on campus--mass chaos of colors and dancing. It was pretty neat. :) As you bike around campus throughout the day, students had stationed themselves alongside the road and would make you pull over so they could cover you some more. Holi was almost two weeks ago, and I still have a little red left in my hair... :)

This pic is of the guys at the end of the melee--see if you can decipher which of the following pictures are from the beginning of the celebration, and which are near the end...

The guys are all shirtless, after having their shirts ripped off of them in a crazy, powdered and paint dance party. (That's when Andi and I stepped aside and started taking pictures...)

Holi at GOPS

2009-03-23T02:51:00.000-07:00

Beautiful, beautiful boy
And a beautiful, beautiful Andi!
and then a Hakon.
Holi party at GOPS--a square where we go for lunch and supper when we want real South Indian food.
All the white kids--although you'd never know!

Holi pics!

2009-03-23T02:46:00.000-07:00

Charlie from DC
Hakon--the most photogenic person I've ever met. :)
At the beginning--a nice, light coloring. Soon to change.
The group of students who taught us how to Holi
Beautifying Justina

Campus Pics

2009-03-23T02:31:00.000-07:00

I had a free hour the other morning, so I grabbed my camera and was going to try to cycle around and take pics of the campus. I started at the admin building and had taken about 20 pics before the camera died...so, more are to come, but hopefully this will give you an idea of how gorgeous some parts of campus are!
I can't figure out how to rotate these...sorry...
these women saw me taking pictures and wanted me to take some of them as well
They wanted me to make sure I got a shot of the flowers in their hair...lovely!
Constant watering is required--although we had our first rain yesterday! It was marvelous!

Campus Pictures

2009-03-23T02:25:00.000-07:00

gardens near the Admin building
The Admin building
more gardens!
another shot of Admin
buses that tear around campus--literally two-wheeling it around the corners and scaring the heck out of you when you're cycling past...

last batch

2009-03-10T02:43:00.000-07:00

the sunset I see every evening on my bikeride back up to dinner; it's actually much brighter than that!
A pic from move-in day that I stole from Justina's camera--the sign outside of our brand-new hostel
A view from a 2nd story window of the front of the hostel
And here start the pictures of my last couple of weeks with the Nagas! Here's a close-up of some of the praise and worship team last Sunday

Naga pics 2

2009-03-09T23:17:00.000-07:00

the whole team, including Nagas from different universities in Hyderabad
Ina, Alem and Bernice outside the church
Jens and Jimo at the party
me with Asang and Achi--two girls from my econ class

Naga pics

2009-03-09T23:11:00.000-07:00

The girls on the P&W team
The graduating Nagas at the farewell party
Ina and Bernice in saris at the farewell party
from the back...
and from the front...the whole team

The Nagas

2009-03-09T23:10:00.001-07:00

A while back, I had asked a couple girls (from Kerala) in my econ class if there were any singing groups on campus. (I was starting to feel twinges of withdrawl). They turned around in their seats and pointed to Achi and Asang, two girls from Nagaland, an Indian state about as far North-East as you can go—bordering Burma. Nagaland was Christianized by missionaries and Achi and Asang are part of a group in Hyderabad called NCF, or Naga Christian Fellowship. Long story short—the girls put me in contact with Inakali, the leader of NCF’s Praise and Worship Team, and Ina invited me to join (and was very patient in correspondence as I still had not gotten a phone!). So for the last two weeks, I’ve been practicing (Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays) with the P&W team, which leads worship at the NCF services in Hyderabad. It takes an hour to get to the church, which is in a central area of Hyderabad, so with transit, practicing, and of course, lunch breaks (incredible hyderabadi-biriyani!!), practice with the team made worship-team practices back home seem pretty weak. These Nagas have stamina. And an insane amount of talent—they all play self-taught guitar and drums and have perfect-pitched, pure voices like James Taylor.

I also wound up agreeing to provide special music as part of an all-music Sunday we put on last Sunday, so for the past couple weeks, I met with Alem and his mad guitar skills for several evening practice sessions at GOPS on campus (an outside eating commons) to learn this gorgeous folk-y worship song. (I had someone video it for you, mom.)  My roommate Justina and Anu, a girl from Kerala, an econ MA student (who’s been accepted to LSE for this coming fall) were nice enough to come with Achi to the service.

I’ll try not to repeat myself too many times, but the Nagas are such an incredible people. Regardless of whatever faith you subscribe to, you can’t help but be humbled by the genuine and obedient devotion of the Nagas. And even if you don’t claim a particular faith—their friendliness, openness and constant effort to make me feel comfortable and welcomed is so rejuvenating. It’s only Monday evening and I already miss them. (!)

There are around 160 Nagas on the UoH campus, and they come speaking different dialects from their perspective tribes, so Hyderabad is foreign to them as well. Some of the Nagas were telling me about how they had to have bicycle riding lessons when they arrived on campus, and how locals still view them as foreigners because they look more Asian than Indian. They have a tribal kitchen on campus where they can cook their native foods (after illicit hunting and fishing escapades on campus). They’ve had to learn Hindi and English to be able to get around in the South, and only get to make the 3-day train-ride journey home in-between semesters. I got a lump in my throat as one of them was telling me what it’s like to be greeted by all of their families as they get off the train at the end of the journey. In the past several years, however, the UoH Nagas, along with other Naga students in the city have managed to find a sanctuary to use in Hyderabad and have just recently found a pastor to move from Nagaland to Hyderabad with his family and lead the growing congregation. The congregation is mostly students, working on their MAs, MPHILs and doctorates. I have never been in a more friendly and welcoming congregation.

And on Saturday night, I was invited to the Naga Farewell Party—a night to honor the graduating MA students, which includes most of the girls I’ve become friends with. The first two hours were your standard farewell speeches with a couple of group songs (I swear—every Naga could be a recording artist) and then we got to eat a traditional Nagaland meal, prepared by the first-year MA students. Definitely a first time for everything—I got to eat pork (yes—pork! My first pork all semester!) with bamboo shoots, LOTS of steamed rice with a (fish?) daal and a very interesting steamed fish chutney. After the meal, it was “Capers”, Naga-style. They had a good hour of skits (from interpretive dancing in sari drag to a secularized “Bible in 6 Scenes”) and musical performances. Again, MAN can Nagas sing and play guitar.

From what I’ve learned, Nagaland is a richly forested region at the foot of the Himalayas, and much of their lifestyle is still traditional and sustainable. But as strange as it sounds, spending time with the Nagas was like a little taste of home. Their people are primarily hunters and fishermen, and we swapped stories about hunting parties in Nagaland and Pheasant Opener in South Dakota. Their local governments and society are rooted in something very similar to Midwestern Christianity, so the services and bible studies I’ve been attending are mirror images of the church camps I grew up in. I wish I could take them all back with me, so they could fish on Lake Madison and eat some of dad’s steaks off the grill. I really just wish I had more time here to spend with them!

Filling in the gaps

2009-03-09T23:06:00.000-07:00

In other news: random facts from the last couple weeks…

On Tuesday of last week, Andi and I visited an orphanage for young boys to meet with one of the women who runs it and to get to know some of the boys. These boys are either taken from off the streets or from parents who force them to beg and are (obviously) abusive. The organization, Forum for Street Kids, provides them with school clothes and supplies, a bed and three meals a day. They’re well-disciplined and cared for, but some still have a difficult time seeing the sense in sitting through school days when they could be out free on the streets. Andi’s been faithfully trying to set this up for the past month, and after many attempts at actually finding the place in a very residential section of Secunderabad, she finally got lucky. The woman was so welcoming and fed us some excellent curried beef and roti in her office before taking us to color with the boys and help them with their school work. The younger ones don’t speak much English yet, so it was a lot of smiling, nodding, basic colors and ABCs. We’ll be returning (with a translator, hopefully) to help them learn to use some computers that were recently donated, and we’ve also set up a drive here at the university for the other international students to donate supplies. I’m really thankful to Andi for giving me something productive to do with our spare time…there definitely aren’t enough hours in the day here.

Hakon bought a “scooter” for 3000 rupees with the help of Jimo, a Naga friend. Its name is Sally, it’s a lovely blend of rust and ash-grey, and it’s quite illegal. No license, no speedometer and no gas-gage—oh, and it’s manual and likes to slip in and out of gears to keep you on your toes. Why did Hakon invest in this death-wish, you ask? After we finish painting flames and Norwegian flags all over it, I’ll put pictures up and I think you’ll understand. It’s a rush—especially when you take it outside campus. A slightly retarded and death-defying rush…

On Saturday, Banks (who’s still warming up to shifting) agreed to take me into Lingampalli, an area of Hyderabad close to campus where we frequently go for the train station. I wanted to get a bouquet of flowers for the Naga party, so I (we) figured we could just zip into Lingampalli and find a flower stand. Hah. As soon as we crossed under the bridge into the dusty, honking, chaotic dirt streets, cars and buses and trucks and cattle and bikes and scooters and beggars were coming at us from all directions (and at all different speeds!) and we were stopping every couple of meters. However, every time we stopped, the scooter would die, and I’d have to hop off while Banks pushed it to an open spot in the road. Then he’d start it again, I’d jump on, and the scooter would leap into first gear, nearly plowing over an old woman hobbling along in her sari. Every single time. After we finally found a flower stall and I picked out a variety, I got to stand there peeling beggars off of my arms while the vendor painstakingly arranged the bouquet and insisted on covering it with tinsel and ribbon bows. It was very sweet; sadly much of the tinsel didn’t survive the journey home. This time we couldn’t seem to get Sally started, and every time she’d fire up, someone would decide to walk or cycle in front of us and our 3-second window would be gone. At this point, I wasn’t so much scared for my life as I was worried we’d never actually find a clear spot in traffic to hop on the scooter and move more than two feet. I will clearly never be taking Sally anywhere by myself—have no fear.

Tomorrow and Wednesday are holidays for the Holi festival—one of the best-known in India. It’s the one where everyone throws brightly-colored powdered dye and water on everything…and that’s the extent of my knowledge. Hakon and Jens took Sally to Lingampalli today to load up on ammo…

An internals schedule here is literally an oxymoron. My econ exam, which was meant to be held last Wednesday, was pushed to this past Saturday, and then (Friday afternoon) was moved again to this Wednesday. I got to choose the deadline for my third IR term paper, which is now due in two weeks. The paper I turned in today (due during last Wednesday’s lecture, which was cancelled) will apparently sit uncorrected until the rest of the class decides to turn theirs in. And my Culture of India course now has a take-home exam due next Monday instead of the two previous exam dates which have already passed. I was worried before coming here about not having my standard day-to-day planner, but the idea of planning anything in advance here is laughable. It’s great, though, because the attitudes and grading policies of the professors here seem to match the relaxed timetables…

I’ve abandoned my beloved running habits. There are much more interesting things to do here…at least that’s my excuse. Today I checked out a tiger wildlife photography exhibit and got to talk with the artist who spent 10 years living with the tigers.

And by the time I’ve spent the day sweating it out on my bike (it’s a pretty consistent 105 degrees now), I’m thinking about chai, chikkas and my bed. School work has been intense lately though—I don’t know how I managed to sign up for 19 credits—so I’ve been spending every free minute until I fall asleep studying. Hopefully if I can hit it hard during the Holi holiday, I can be set to relax this weekend…

The group (five of us anyway—Andi, Jens, Hakon, Banks and I) is headed to Goa for a long weekend this Thursday! So I’ll have some of the most beautiful pictures yet, I’m predicting, to post here.

Still no internet at our hostel…and when the power is on (the other day it was out all over campus for the entire day), sometimes it takes an hour to find a computer on campus that’s free and has all of its working parts. And sometimes, like on Friday afternoon, you spend the afternoon trying to run a list of errands of which none are successful…professors are out, secretaries can’t understand why (or how) you’d want to leave something for the professor, and the cell phone technician has decided to take the week off. But as soon as you get to that point where you’d normally give up and cycle home stewing, you inevitably run into someone who has something invigorating to talk about over a glass of sugarcane juice or some pista ice cream. And then you spot a peacock or an adorable little Indian boy in a bright blue school uniform smiles at you with his huge brown eyes and all is forgotten. I really do love India.

My favorite pic from the festival (other festival pictures can be found farther down, after the Aurangabad ones)

2009-02-26T23:29:00.000-08:00

last batch!

2009-02-26T23:24:00.000-08:00

a shot I liked from the outside of the mini-Taj (see text for actual name...)
me in the Himroo shop (more pics of Himroo looms are below)
School children loved to have their pictures taken, after they politely introduce themselves and welcome you to India. It never gets old. :)

leaving Aurangabad

2009-02-26T23:13:00.000-08:00

Michele and her new friend from the train, practicing his english with (very british) comic books
Hakon and I decided to spice up the train ride by purchasing every piece of food that wandered onto the train attached to a wallah. This delicious dish was channa masala. Something didn't sit quite right, though (imagine that!), and we were both booking it to the toilet throughout the night. :)
a view from the train of a village
Michele's henna from the beauty parlour in Aurangabad!
Hakon looking grumpily at the empty tracks as we waited a good hour and a half for our train...

Ellora/Ajanta

2009-02-26T23:03:00.000-08:00

A view from the upper level of Kailasha, a cave in Ellora
Inside one of the Ajanta (Buddhist) caves
Another Ajanta cave
The reclining Buddha (see text)
And me, (for you, mom) next to one of the numerous Buddhas.

Ajanta caves

2009-02-26T22:55:00.000-08:00

a shot of the path connecting all of the Ajanta caves
and from the other direction
the Buddha, in every Ajanta cave, in slightly different poses.
I liked the colors in this cave--kind of reminds me of that Nickelodeon show, "Legends of the Hidden Temple"
School children waiting at the foot of the Ajanta trail, under this massive and beautiful tree

Aurangabad 4

2009-02-26T22:47:00.000-08:00

a typical village street on the way to Ajanta
the sign for the restaurant where we took breakfast. I had the last item--Jain Thali. Jain food is apparently mild, and Thali is a platter with different masalas, daals, chutneys, rice and chapathi. my fave.
statues guarding a shrine in an Ellora cave (Jain, I think?)
Another Jain prayer hall
Murals on the ceilings inside select shrines; this one is apparently recognized for the eyes of the goddess in the upper right corner--they follow you wherever you stand

Aurangabad 3

2009-02-26T22:35:00.000-08:00

inside one of the Jain prayer halls...
A beautiful story of the evolution of man. The lowest carving represents war and destruction--the first stage of humanity. The second from the bottom depicts education. The third is a God, representing inclinations to worship, and the top carving is love and union between man and woman--the highest evolved state of humanity.
This shows you how deep the cave was--and I think I'm only taking this picture from the second level

Spectacular how the carvings seem to slowly melt into the cave floor

Aurangabad 2

2009-02-26T22:25:00.000-08:00

in front of a temple carving in Ellora
beautiful monkeys everywhere!
Hakon making friends with our breakfast chef
Banks and Michele enjoying the standard early-morning Chai
a view from our breakfast table when we stopped on the way to Ellora on Saturday--a hill fort in the background and stands (soon after raided by monkeys) getting ready to sell vegetables just across the road

Aurangabad 2

2009-02-26T22:14:00.000-08:00

me in front of the Himroo looms
Banks and Hakon checking them out
cool shot in the hostel room...
the mini-Taj (refer to text)
Hakon thoroughly enjoying the courtyard at the hostel. :) Or maybe just stretching from the 20-HOUR train ride, I suppose...

Aurangabad pics!

2009-02-26T22:07:00.000-08:00

Banks on the train
some Indians happy to pose for a picture at a stop
Justina reflected from her bunk
triple bunk beds--quite spacious (Justina, Michele, Banks)
I was amused by the train confirmation postings...apparently everyone in india is on a first name basis. can you spot ours?

festival pics 5--more beautiful worshipers

2009-02-26T21:57:00.000-08:00

all the little boys were dressed to the nines...

little girls would follow you around, asking you to take their pictures

...a busy event

the redness on their cheeks was from a fine powder sprinkled on everyone after the bathing of the deity.

Pics from the festival, batch 4

2009-02-26T21:50:00.000-08:00

Sitting behind the prashad tables; that’s my yoga instructor (and temple dancer) on the far left, and Kumar, our friend and guide for the weekend, to her right.

Sunday evening we were front and center for the cultural performances, which were incredible! The discipline of the dancing impressed me the most; not a single movement was off of the beat, and they all wore bells on their ankles to prove it.

We were encouraged to wander around and take pictures of all the beautiful saris. A bit awkward at first…

Serving prashad to the worshipers! Although I was quickly asked to hand over my spoon, which I had been holding in my left hand…

festival pics 3

2009-02-26T21:24:00.000-08:00

The next day, (Sunday) they performed the yearly ritual of bathing Lord Rama. That’s him in the carrier decked out in flowers.

They bless the offerings before bringing Lord Rama

And bathe him by placing him on their heads and fully submersing him. After that, the water from the well is sprinkled on everyone as a blessing.

Worshipers in their fanciest saris leaning over the railing to watch the ritual

second round...festival pics

2009-02-26T05:24:00.000-08:00

A band kept a constant (and very loud) rhythm going throughout the transportation process.

It was hard to get good pictures with the hoards of worshipers gathered to watch.

Lord Rama was transported from his shrine in the temple to watch the fireworks in this portable temple on wheels. At this point, the vishnivites are preparing his shrine before bringing him into it.

Pictures start here...61 more to come!

2009-02-26T05:12:00.000-08:00

As I sat down with my cold instant Bru© (a mixture of coffee grounds and chickory—not the tastiest!) and started looking through pictures from the Aurangabad trip, I realized that I neglected to show y’all (thank you, Andi) pictures from the temple festival eons ago!

So. Many apologies and here you go:

The festival left little to be desired…it even had its own man-powered carnival rides!

Building the effigy they would later burn at the end of the fireworks display—donning a lovely green and orange salwar kameez. (Later on, they spent about an hour pinning the neon green scarf on just right.)

Little boys love having their picture taken…this is my favorite from the photo shoot.

Aurangabad/Ellora/Ajanta

2009-02-26T05:05:00.000-08:00

This time last week, travel withdrawl was beginning to set in. It had been too long since I’d lost my balance on the Indian toilets of a moving train and I was forgetting the fiery goodness of channa masala in a newspaper spoon. Our trip to Aurangabad took care of that.

After our 15-hour train ride was delayed three hours from stopping every 20 minutes or so along the way, we realized the difference between passenger trains and express trains. Apparently an express train would have landed us in Aurangabad in a mere 8 hours. Live and learn, eh?

So we had to alter our plans a bit, as we arrived just before five and the cave sites closed at six. Michele had taken care of accommodations beforehand and booked us a five-bed room in the Natraj Hotel for less than $3 each per night, which even included a complimentary ride from the train station (which ended up being maybe a 3 minute walk…but that’s not important)! The staff was extremely helpful, friendly and accommodating and the room was by far the cleanest and most comfortable we’ve had yet. (10 points, Michele)

So the first night, we rushed to see a temple in Aurangabad before night fell, called the Bibi-Ka-Maqbara, nicknamed the mini-Taj. The BKM was built in 1679 by a Mughal emperor in memory of his wife. If you check out the pictures of the temple, you can see why they call it the mini-Taj. After the sun went down and the mosquitos came out, we (well, our driver) found some biryani and Manchurian at a classy little joint called Smily’s (restaurant names here are hit-or-miss, and usually a miss.) It was a valuable experience, as I discovered Rasgulla is nothing like Gulab Jaman—my favorite dessert. Instead, it’s freakishly similar to Styrofoam, soaked overnight in simple syrup. It’s funny though—how stingy one becomes here! For a moment, I found myself genuinely distraught at wasting 12 rupees (24 cents) on a failed dessert. Pathetic. Again, I blame dad.  Anyway, moving on…

After dinner (and some ice cream, of course), the driver we hired for the night decided to take us to a local weaver’s shop (drivers here do this all the time—either as a favor to a friend or because many of them get commission for bringing business). This one was a winner though—the art of Himroo weaving is rooted in the region of Aurangabad, dating back to 2^nd century BC. The art died out but was revived some 100 years ago by a local family—the one whose shop we visited. One of the owners showed us around and explained the weaving processes and the different styles they specialize in; the pashminas, saris and wall hangings were absolutely gorgeous, especially in light of the time and effort put into them on the handlooms.

Because of the train delay, we were left with one day to see both Ellora and Ajanta (the cave sites). Ellora was some 30 km from Aurangabad and Ajanta was a good 160 km, so we hired a driver (as we had been recommended to do anyway) and took off at 7am on Saturday.

The cave temples of Ellora are particularly interesting because they were constructed to serve three religious systems—Buddhism, Brahmanism and Jainism. The Buddhist caves are the oldest, dating back to 500 A.D.

Most of my pictures from the Ellora caves were taken in either the Kailasha or the Indra Sabha. The Brahmanical Kailasha, or Shiva’s “mountain abode” was carved out of the mountain in the 8^th and 9^th centuries, quarrying some 3-million cubic feet of rock. When you look at the pictures, keep in mind that the entire temple, with its massive depth and dozens of prayer halls, shrines and carvings, is one singular sculptural piece.

The Indra Sabha, or the Assembly Hall of Lord Indra, king of the gods, is a Jain excavation, and I paid a guide a dollar to show me around for an hour. It was definitely worth it, as I got to learn about how the Jains conducted their daily worship. I was shown where the priest stood and led the worship, and got to practice his chants from a location where the entire temple could hear. The Jains would gather in large prayer halls and chant together, breathing in one another’s energies. They would then stand face to face and press their palms together, chanting and channeling energy through their palms. Finally, they would hug tightly and chant again, sharing energy through the vibrations in their chests.

There are 24 saints in Jainism, and this temple mainly had carvings of the 23^rd and 24^th, Parasnath and Mahavira—the founder of the faith. I really enjoyed being led from room to room, listening to the stories behind each sculpture and painting.

We spent the majority of the day at Ajanta, a collection of 30 caves carved along the side of a mountain. The interiors of the caves varied; some with murals and painting, others with carvings, but all of them devoted to the life and teachings of Buddha. One of the most acclaimed caves contains a reclined Buddha, depicting him just before he enters a state of Parinivana (see photos). The vastness of the string of caves and the intricacy of the paintings was definitely breathtaking, but after a couple of hours and 100 photos, the Buddha statues do start to all look the same. 

Sadly, the day was somewhat marred by the entrance to Ajanta, teeming with obnoxious vendors in a collection of 78 stalls. The harassment ruined a bit of everyone’s mood, with a persistence ten times worse than anything we’ve seen in the city. The moment we stepped out of our car, vendors were at our side, shoving souvenirs in our hands and begging us to promise to remember their faces and visit their stalls after our visit. And when it came time to make our way back, they certainly recognized us. This was the only time I’ve been genuinely disturbed at the behavior of vendors. It was sickening—how they swiftly separated us and led us into different shops, where they sat us down, brought us chai and bombarded us with dozens of over-priced little carved things, all the while throwing in quick guilt-trips about the poverty of their families or the slowness of their business. The little boy I refused to buy stacks of postcards from looked like I’d killed his puppy, and I think we all left Ajanta feeling terrible—like the wealthy privileged white people they assumed us to be. (When in reality, we all have more debt in school loans than they can probably comprehend.)

After an excellent meal by the hotel’s cooks, however, we felt much better. Indian food is veeery therapeutic. Then Michele and I decided we hadn’t filled our daily quota of sugar, so Hakon and Banks accompanied us through the nightlife of Aurangabad (a very rural South Indian city) to a sweets shop, where we sampled everything we could find and chased it with some sugared chai (Or rather, liquid sugar with tea and milk flavoring). If you couldn’t tell, I’m floored by the sugar consumption here; everything that isn’t super-spicy has at least a cup of sugar in it. Consequently, I am now addicted. Around 9am (just after a breakfast of banana flatbreads covered in chocolate sauce and honey) I find myself wondering what dessert they’ll serve us for lunch. Sigh.

Anyway—back to Aurangabad—Banks ended up making a poor breakfast decision on Sunday morning and spent the rest of the day doubled over, so Hakon, him and I found a nice diner and chilled till it was time to board the train (which of course, left nearly two hours behind schedule). The girls—Michele and Justina—found a local beauty parlor where Michele covered herself in henna and Justina got an interesting trim (the stylist meant well…). The train ride home was surprisingly quick and full of new friends—from the family who shared their dinner with us to the group of young men who insisted on taking numerous photos, buying us chai, giving me a bracelet, and of course, leaving a list of phone numbers. For a good time in Aurangabad, look no further. I can hook you up.

It’s now two in the afternoon and I’m almost finished digesting the sugar from lunch, so I think I’ll stop here. I have my agricultural economics course from 3-5, then I was invited to sit in on a play rehearsal in the theater department at 6, so that should be interesting. I also met some girls who are forming a Praise and Worship team at their church just outside of campus, and they asked me to come and join—so I’ll hopefully be meeting up with some of them before Sunday to talk about that. It’ll be nice—something familiar! Most of my free time this week and next will be devoted to studying, though. I have three internal exams, a term paper and a backlog of French homework that I’m chewing through, now that I’ve finally received the textbooks. Wish me luck(!!), thanks for reading, and keep the updates coming…I miss you all and greatly, greatly enjoy hearing how you’re spending your days. Love, Alison

Is Yoga Religion?

2009-02-18T23:02:00.001-08:00

This was a paper assigned to me by my Yoga instructor in a theory course I'm auditing, and I thought it might be of interest to some of you.

It's the flavor-0f-the-week in a sense, meaning I know it would look a bit different in a month if I rewrote it. But I ended up in an incredible discussion with a classmate after writing it, so I've included notes to think about after the paper. It's still a work in progress, so don't judge the disjointed, unstructured composition of it too harshly! I'm sure some bits are repetitive and others not well-enough explored. Anyway, enjoy if you want a taste of the type of conversation you find in our hostel, on this campus and regarding Indian thought!

(I prefaced the paper with the text from "Shout to the Lord", which is what I'm referring to in italics)
The religion I was conditioned in—the religion with which I most closely identify—the religion that has the ability to comfort and quiet and feed my soul—is encapsulated in this song. I’ve spent the better part of a year questioning the validity of its doctrine; but regardless of whatever conclusion I choose to profess, I cannot deny that it is a part of me, and that it is the scope through which I perceive the essence of religion.
Worship is a defining characteristic of the religion etched on my heart. Religion introduces you to worship, and I was taught that humans were created to worship—that one never grows weary of worshiping. [All of my days, I want to praise the wonders of your mighty love…let every breath, all that I am, never cease to worship you.]
Obviously, this worship needs direction. I was shown a very pointed one—narrow in scope with an unbending identity. [My Jesus, my Savior, Lord there is none like you…My comfort, my shelter, tower of refuge and strength…praise to the King.] Religion lends a purpose to this worship of a savior by defining Him as the almighty—able to fix anything and control everything. “Mountains bow down and the seas will roar at the sound of your name.” And even more purposeful—we attribute religion with being able to exercise our innate benevolence as humans. “I sing for joy at the work of your hand.”
Religion is powerful in what it demands: “Forever I’ll love you, forever I’ll stand.” A heavy promise, riddled with sacrifice, suddenly made easy and feasible only through religion. There is no freedom because there is no need for it. Religion makes sacrifice and devotion easy, because it presents an explanation for our human tendencies toward gratitude and love (we were created to give thanks and share love), a tangible return on exercising them (Heaven and its eternal worship) and an explanation for its attractiveness—it claims to be the only path to unity with transcendence. [Unity with transcendence = my current definition of spirituality.]
By utilizing religion as a vessel for spirituality, we find explicit direction and tangible results. We can actualize our love for others and give thanks to its source. I believe that I have experienced this; I have fallen in love with my savior, feeling sheer joy and euphoria in praising Him, and then recognized Him in everything, as the common thread running through all of nature and all of humanity. My thread just had a name, a face and a doctrine. This is how I experienced spirituality through religion.
With a limited understanding of Yoga, I would venture to say that it introduces a different kind of spirituality. [This assertion is based entirely on my spiritual experience in yoga thus far, and is almost guaranteed to wear a different color by the end of the semester.] As I relax into a pranayama, I begin to feel a difference kind of consciousness. I become aware of my bodily mortality through the cleansing and life-giving power of my breath. I’m reminded of my lack of identity through the commonality of my thoughts, which I can control and eliminate. After my breath has been established and my mind put to rest, I see a self that has no identity—that simply exists and is peaceful in its existence. Tapping into this quietude and feeling purely human and nothing more is what Yoga has allowed me to experience thus far. To me, Yoga is a spirituality that leads one to look so deeply into oneself that he sees everything and nothing at the same time; dead to identity yet alive with every feeling, experience and capability.
For the moment, I’ve decided that although religion and Yoga present two different types of spirituality, a human needs both. This prevents the deadly and degenerative worship of the self. To achieve unity with transcendence, one needs to recognize and come to know the self through a spirituality that explores the mind and body humans have been given. But this is not enough. It then becomes necessary to establish where it came from through a spirituality that defines a source—a direction for the potential of knowing thyself Spirituality answers the two most important questions of a life—who am I and what am I supposed to do with it? The spirituality of yoga without the spirituality of religion results in coming to know thyself, being able to define the feeling of unity, but not coming to know the transcendence or the source of the transcendence itself. Religion’s spirituality without Yoga’s spirituality equates to knowing the face of transcendence but not being able to unify with it because of an undefined identity. If you worship something, you’re giving of yourself. If you do not know what you’re giving, then you’re not giving anything. If you’re not giving, then you’re keeping—and that’s a form of self worship.

Notes:

Goal of both: UNITY WITH TRANSCENDENCE
One without the other:
yoga's spirituality without religion's—coming to know thyself, being able to define the feeling of unity, but not coming to know the transcendence or the source of transcendence itself.
Religion without yoga—knowing the face of transcendence but not being able to fully unify with it because of a lack of correct identity.
Yoga without religion DOES lead to self-worship
Religion without yoga DOES lead to…
If you worship something, you’re giving of yourself. If you do not know what you’re giving then you’re not really giving it and therefore keeping it to yourself—a form of self worship.

at this point, my classmate brought out some writings of Tagore relating to this concept:
A person who worships God as exterior to himself does not know him—he is like an animal belonging to the Gods. –Brhadaranyaka Upanishad

Where is the division though between the personified God which is so easy to accept as being a part of every human—to fill the void (OR SOUL) that exists in every being—a void until its identity is recognized. Where is the division between that definition of the supreme being and that of eastern religion—a nameless transcendence that is accepted as such and not worshipped externally but is more-so allowed to exist undefined and praised for that very definition? Why is it such a hard gap to bridge? It’s because I can’t find a way to define the eastern view any differently. There’s obviously another layer—another step to fully realize—but my inability to internalize the one I’m at keeps me from associating any sort of acceptance with it.

My classmate's response:
--because the product of this recognition of a supreme being within yourself is your connection to everything else and the obligation it puts on you to sacrifice the self—for everything and everyone, not just your creator.

I continue:
If the creator is a separate being, you are sacrificing in gratitude and it’s warranted because He has done no harm unto you. But When we’re asked to sacrifice for everything—liars, murderers, the sins within our own desires—the products of humanizing this supreme being—it makes less sense.

Him:
Not entirely undefined—rather just not personified. Defined by its effects. Like the ability to see beauty. Morality. All concepts that are Godly, that are innate, but need to be recognized and uncovered.

My thoughts:
The personified God is indeed made a separate being through this personification—the appeal of being cared after by something all-knowing and someone who will never be matched or defeated. That’s why Yoga scared me so much—it presented the theory that the direction for my spirituality could be found within something I had possessed since birth—not something I discovered and sought after. “Ask and the door shall be opened unto you.”—Asking personifies the act of spiritual connaissance. “Seek and you shall find” is much more uncontested. Except the seeking is seen as movement away from the past self in westernized religion. And in eastern thought, seeking is done by remaining still and pulling from within.

“Be still and know that I am God”. Psalms--is that connected somehow?
To be still in all instances—not just struggle, but in seeking? In effort? In all things?

My classmate:
Here's my problem with western religion though: either God created us with free will and expects us to choose to serve Him and punishes us if we don’t, or gave us no free will and we have no choice but to serve Him—that we’re constructs with no purpose but service.

Me:
But through service, the self and purpose and ultimate happiness and love—all are actualized.

His example for me:
You feel that you owe your parents a lot.
I feels that my parents made the choice to give and I didn’t ask for it. Theirs for the asking, but not for the taking. Not theirs. I see this as allegory for God. If he created us and gave us free will. By rights we should recognize what he’s given us, but make the choice to serve if we want. (Not making the choice means that the act means nothing.)

They have the obligation to provide for you until you can provide for yourself. If you choose not to give back, thank them, then you can’t expect continued support. In that same light, if you choose not to worship your creator, He is not obligated to continue support.

Me
–but it is by grace you are saved, not by deeds or good works. Support = saved?

Classmate:
To what degree does parental obligation exist? If he gave us free will, we didn’t ask for that. Therefore owe no extra gratitude or none at all? Where does gratitude come from then? If it is his expectation, why is there gratitude?
There’s a difference in giving—when one side has a choice and when both sides have a choice. The act of choosing to be a parent: only one side has a choice.

Me:
No, the other side has a choice to validate that gift and continue to live.
The validation (the expectation of validation that the giver always has—regardless of response in receiver) of giving life is to see that life continuing to live.

Classmate:
Then ff you believe life is sacred and beautiful, then the propagation of life is validation within itself. A creator would be satisfied.

...I thought the conversation was too interesting to keep to myself. Please share your thoughts if it wasn't too scrambled to hack your way through!

A quick update

2009-02-18T22:45:00.000-08:00

I'm posting until lunch and nothing more--so I can have plenty of time to stock up for the long weekend! Tonight the group and I are journeying to Aurangabad (a 15 hr train ride west of here) with (drumroll please....) functioning confirmed tickets! Yay! We should be back early Monday morning.

There are two collections of "caves" near to Aurangabad, called Ellora and Ajanta. The caves are more like shrines, man-made and carved into mountains by Buddhists, Hindus and Jains in the 14/1500's(??maybe??) they're meant to be the best caves in India, and being as they're the first (and perhaps only) that I'll see, I'm sure I'll have no problem furthering the claim.
I plan on being much more responsible with my camera as well, so I can give a better picture of train journeys. They're something else. The Darjeeling Limited gave a nice, rosy, clean picture of how the upper classes travel...with their private coaches and catered meals. WE "sleep" on cots next to snoring, shoeless Indian men and buy our “food” through the bars when the train stops to pick up more passengers and wallas swarm the windows with their trays of rice, dried fruit and fried bits. Gosh this place is mad. :D

I'm itching to taste it again though. The last week has been pretty uneventful--professors have finally started to realize that Feburary is coming to a close and an exam or term paper might be wise, so I think we all feel a bit flooded with assignments. Although you never REALLY seem to know when anything's due...I've been spending a lot of my time searching for books, reading, typing papers and working on projects.

We've been out to eat at a couple neat places, and I'm finally regaining my sense of taste and with it my motivation for getting up in the morning. A sinus infection in India is a cruel joke.

a little rain...india's too sunny anyhow.

2009-02-13T04:43:00.001-08:00

Aside from Wednesday afternoon, the rest of the week has been pretty relaxing. (Andi and I took a personal day yesterday, and stayed in bed watching Gilmore Girls and Planet Earth all afternoon; it was glorious.) Wednesday, though, was a different story. I was on my way to class when I managed to get my scarf caught in my bike wheel. It became so tangled that I was soon surrounded by 20 men—two taking apart my bike and 18 watching and giving advice. Standing there helpless, clutching greasy shreds of my new scarf as a team of Indians operated on my bike in Telugu, it was not my proudest moment. And it got even better—after they couldn’t remember exactly how the parts fit back together. I spent half an hour dragging my defective bike across campus to the bike shop, sweating under the afternoon sun and limping in my broken shoe. I’m sure the look on my face was priceless. When it rains, it pours, I guess…but luckily, this is India—and (literally and figuratively) it hardly ever rains.

finally, something familiar!

2009-02-13T04:41:00.000-08:00

I stumbled across another incredible opportunity that weekend at the temple, after spotting a TV crew filming a procession at the temple. For those who might not know much about me, I’ll be finishing my Broadcast Journalism BA with French and Global Studies minors in May, and I’ll be starting a two-year Masters degree in Global Media and Communications in the fall. I also worked for a TV station in Sioux Falls for a little over two years, completing my reporting internship there as well, and had the (unrelated) opportunity this past summer/fall to follow a group from SDSU to Poland and shoot and edit my own documentary. So I’m very interested in learning about the development of Indian media, with its youth and newfound freedoms. So I walked up to the crew and introduced myself, and became particularly interested upon learning they were a 24-hour news network broadcast in Hindi, Urdu and English, and had a special programming department as well. They invited me to come to the station (HY TV) on Tuesday, which turned out to be in Banjara Hills—the ritzy part of Hyderabad and a short 30-min cab ride away. So I rented a cab on Tuesday (a safer option, as opposed to trying to rickshaw it back, by myself, in the dark) and spent the evening there. I was extremely impressed, first with their facilities: several floors of newsrooms equipped with Macs and Final Cut Pro editing suites, a couple different studios, a closet full of new camera equipment, and their graphics departments and directors’ booths looked brand-new. I also got to sit in on a recording of a new special program they’re piloting, where an astrologer gives predictions for the week and answers letters from viewers. Through a book I’m reading and from talking to people, I’m learning a little about the importance of astrology here; when an Indian is born, an astrologer comes to create the child’s astrology chart and help the parents choose a name based on the chart. Many Hindus look to these predictions for guidance and the station has been getting great feedback on the test broadcasts.

I also got to sit in on a live sports broadcast, meet a couple reporters and sit down with a couple of the news directors over tea. The unique atmosphere of an Indian news room makes it impossible to predict where they’ll be in 10-20 years. To begin with, the sacrificial devotion that broadcast news requires anywhere is magnified in India; news-people work seven days a week without batting an eye, staying 8 hours a day minimum. In discussing media ethics with one director, we got on the subject of dharma, and I learned that there is no set of regulations or restrictions for their news stations; each producer makes his decisions on the principle of dharma—this underlying, unwritten code of ethics in the heart of Indian people. I had previously been unable to put a finger on this bizarre feeling you get everywhere you go—how everything seems strangely connected and homogenous in nature, even though India and its people couldn’t be more diverse. This dharma, I learned, is also what guides media at the moment—a fascinating concept. If it’s existed for thousands of years, how will it be affected by an increasingly globalized media? And will this globalization affect the dharma itself? Is anything powerful enough to do so?

Once again, the kindness of the two men who led me around and introduced me to everyone and the willingness of the director to sit and talk with me for a good 30-40 minutes was overwhelming.

My first temple festival

2009-02-13T04:39:00.000-08:00

Soon after arriving, I learned that Namaste means “I bow and recognize the place within you where the entire universe dwells. When you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, we are one.” This weekend, I felt it.

The practice of Gudi-Sevas is an ancient tradition in the Hindu religion where select young girls are dedicated to a temple—a sacred privilege—and act as intermediaries, acting out the Sanskrit recitations of the priests and pleasing the gods with their dances. Every move was written in the scriptures. As the British gained power and support diminished in the temples, the dancers began to be horribly exploited, prostituted and treated as slaves. Consequentially, temple dances and the entire concept of Kalaavanthulu (or women in the arts) was banned all over India, until 1995.

The Sri Ranganatha Swamy temple in Hyderabad has been under the care of S. Pitti’s family for over 150 years, and in 1995, Pitti decided that the ancient rituals of the Kalaavanthulu needed to be revived and carried on. So he managed to change legislation in Andhra Pradesh and reinstate the ancient tradition in Sri Ranganatha Swamy temple. Currently, the temple is the only one in the world to still have its original temple dances performed—the oldest record of dance, and Andhra Pradesh is the only state in India where the rituals are legal.

Annually, the temple holds an 8-day festival called Brahmotsavam where Vishnavas (priests who worship Vishnu) from all over come to recite the entire text of Sanskrit scripture and perform all different types of rituals. On the seventh day of the festivities (which was Saturday), Rathotsavam is held, where the deity is carted in an enormous wooden chariot (I’ll get pictures up soon!) to a fireworks display. After the fireworks, an effigy is burned to symbolize the victory of virtue over vice. Hindus come dressed in their most beautiful saris and suits; women have gold and silver dangling from their noses and ears and foreheads, draped in the most vibrant colors with jewels and metallic stitching that glitters in the sun. There was a mini-bazaar selling food, toys, bangles, etc., and all day Saturday everyone was flying kites.

We were spotted by a friend of Pitti’s at the fireworks show, and he immediately took us under his wing. We were invited to come back to their tent behind the temple and eat dinner with them so we could meet all of their other friends. Throughout the weekend, we got to take more meals with them and were escorted to the front for every ritual and cultural performance. We were even given the privilege of serving prashad (a blessing of lemon-coconut rice, dried chickpeas and a sweet, sticky white rice) to the worshipers. Although after they noticed I was a lefty, I was politely asked to hand my serving spoon on to someone else…in fact I get lots of funny looks when I write and forget to eat with my right hand. (In general, Indians don’t use toilet paper—they use their left hand. So traditionally, the left hand is considered unclean.)

Anyway, Pitti and his friend Kumi, whom we spent most of our time with, were the most gracious hosts I have ever met. We got to take tea in the gardens of the temple and hear about the history of its revival and examine all of the different carvings while Kumi told us their stories. The temple is painted in carved stories of Krishna and other deities, with strings of flowers and gold and silver adornment everywhere—especially on the deities, Shri Ranganatha Swamy and his wife, Lakshmi.

Kumi himself was fascinating—a captain of a merchant ship in the Indian navy, he travels all around the world and insisted his devotion to our experience was simply him “paying it forward” because of the kindness he had encountered on his trips to the US. Pitti’s other friends were wonderful to talk with as well—several of them were freelance motivational speakers in a sense, each specializing in a different sort of theory or doctrine (i.e. Art of Living or Symmetry of Thought and Action) One friend was also a freelance photographer and videographer who had just won some sort of national competition.

We were completely overwhelmed by their generosity and weren’t informed until the last afternoon as to why all of our thank-you’s were so unnecessary. In the Hindu culture, the guest is to be treated as a God. They explained that if a Hindu fails to treat a guest with the highest honor and respect, he may never be able to forgive himself. This is related to the underlying belief that the same consciousness that is in you is that which is in me. Christians refer to it as having Christ in your heart; Hindus refer to it as sharing the same consciousness that is God—that is everywhere and a part of everything. So in that sense, to disrespect a guest is to disrespect God and oneself. On Sunday, we ended up staying 8 hours later than we had firmly intended.

This relates to something I spent a lot of time thinking about yesterday. I’ve always had a hard time accepting compliments, gifts or allowing people to do things for me. But while I was discussing this with my friend Michele over breakfast yesterday, she had a very beautiful and “hindu” approach. When we allow people to do things for us or give us gifts of time, money, whatever, we’re giving them a gift as well; we’re recognizing the fact that we do indeed share the same consciousness and that we need each other as humans. Giving ourselves to other people is what makes humans feel most alive. We’re allowing each other to act according to a beautiful nature of selflessness that we have the potential to develop—and should be encouraging in each other constantly. That’s one thing in particular I really appreciate about the group of friends I’ve made here—we tend to bring out very beautiful parts of each other. More on that later.

Pondicherry pics, Round 5

2009-02-09T01:41:00.000-08:00

our fire in the forest of palm trees

an interesting (French?) building in the French sector

Round 4

2009-02-09T01:17:00.000-08:00

Banks and Justina on the boardwalk in Pondi--on our way back from the pier

taken from the pier with the Pondi shoreline in the background. The spraying surf gave us the pleasant illusion of feeling clean... :)

Vibrant colors everywhere--even at the edge of the shore.

Round 3

2009-02-09T00:47:00.000-08:00

The beautiful Bharati Park in the center of Pondi; when the heat zapped the last of our energy, we'd have a lie down here, under some trees with books and papaya.

In the French quarter of Pondi--that's (from left to right) Michele, Justina, Andi, Jens and Banks.

Round 2 (small rounds for a slow server...)

2009-02-08T22:54:00.000-08:00

a fisherman off in the distance

Andi and I after drying off in the sun!

Pondi pics! Round 1

2009-02-08T22:38:00.000-08:00

While Indian men are free to frolick in the waves...

Women find a dip in the ocean a slightly more complicated process.

Pondicherry...

2009-02-08T22:14:00.000-08:00

Was not as French as we were picturing! The guidebooks describe it as being cut in half, with a French quarter (Ville Blanche) and a Tamil quarter (Ville Noire). The French quarter boarders the Bay of Bengal, with a boardwalk lined with old French-esque hotels and restaurants looking out onto the black rocky shoreline. The French sector was noticeably French: cobblestone residential streets lined with brilliantly colored flowering trees which seemed to inspire the pastel stucco of the airy archways. But the quarter was also undeniably Indian: peeling political posters and re-used shards of broken glass to line the rooftops and ward off the birds. The Tamil quarter was as expected: very rural with congested streets, unforgiving and dusty; old men hauling carts of coconuts with towels wrapped round their heads and bare feet, pant-less little boys playing in the dirt and their mothers fetching water from communal pumps in glistening silver pots balanced on their heads.

After a harrowing, over-night journey on the train to Chennai, where two of our members spent the night taking turns bent over the decrepit train toilet, a bumpy four hour ride on a local bus dropped us off square in the Tamil sector of Pondicherry (or Pondi, or Pondicherie, or Pudecherry—take your pick).

I learned a little something about booking hostels online in Pondi: the ones who actually allow online booking are usually the most expensive, and by no means the most accommodating. Our first night was clean and comfortable, but incredibly over-priced (by which I mean $14 a head for three enormous rooms with private showers) and kilometers away from the ocean. So we found a much more agreeable arrangement for the second and third nights—a 7-sleeper room for just under $3 a person per night. As long as you could wake up and shower before the resident hacker started his morning throat-clearing ritual, there were no complaints. Man was it stuffy and sweaty though.
The best part about the guesthouse, though, was that it sat right next to an historic French bakery that had us downright giddy upon discovery; it had croissants, baguettes, pastries, fresh loaves of brown bread to take to the beach, and best of all—real, strong, black coffee. We took most of our breakfasts and lunches there.

We did find a couple neat places to eat for dinners, though. The info center on the boardwalk had helpful guidebooks which led us to a French restaurant the first night and a seafood restaurant the second. I think the chili garlic calamari at the seafood restaurant wins the award for best fare in Pondi; although the fig and honey sundae I found in a seaside café one afternoon was a close second.

We picked the perfect weekend to spend in Pondi, as Monday was Memorial Day. We got to watch an offshore exhibition of the Indian Navy, complete with Rocket Propelled Grenades and re-enacted rescue missions. There were also fireworks and a massive artisan market, where I (and I’m quite proud of this one) successfully bargained for my leather sandals in French. You can’t stay in the tents for too long though—every single stall vendor calls to you over and over again, and if you pause for a second to look, he’s there with twenty samples, all “special deals”! It’s tiring!

Pondi is known for its ashrams (houses of meditation and worship), most famous of which is the Sri Aurobindo ashram in the center of town. There’s also a beautifully shaded park spotted with statues and fountains that was really useful for taking breaks from the hot sun. We also found an excellent second-hand book sale where I picked up a couple Indian novels and a copy of “Little Women” stamped by a library in Bangalore.

We spent out first full day on Auro beach and made lots of new friends, even if they were only interested in taking pictures of our pale skin or selling us necklaces made of sandalwood. As you can see from the photos, women have to swim draped in their saris, while the men don’t seem to be concerned what bits are left hanging out. So Andi, Michelle, Justina and I begrudgingly rolled up our pants to the knees and joined the guys in the reasonably clean Bay of Bengal (I say reasonably with respect to the rat sunbathing next to us all afternoon). The sands were beautiful and white, littered with shells, and a day lying around on the beach was exactly what we needed!

We found another beach the next night—this one wasn’t listed in any tourist guides but was recommended by another traveler. It was a good 15 km away from Pondi, on the other side of a little Tamil village (which Hakon claims sounded something like Shirivitiputnam), and we reached the edge of the palm trees just after sunset. So we felt our way along the backwaters (looking back—I’m glad it was dark) until we came to an enormous grove of palm trees in which we found an old fire pit. So we started gathering dead palm branches and the boys used their superior scouting skills to get a huge fire going. Note: palm branches burn really quickly! When the guys got tired of feeding the fire, we ventured past the edge of the trees and found a vast, white shore with its waves crashing and catching the moon. Absolutely incredible; being tossed by the waves in the Bay of Bengal, our skin matching the miles of white sand and the foaming surf glowing under the Indian moon—I think that’s what I’ll remember most fondly when I think of Pondi.

a couple randoms

2009-01-30T11:37:00.000-08:00

Thank you dad—I’ve picked up every one of your penny-pinching tendencies and resumed the role of secretary in our traveling group. This is me fanatically figuring out the scribble-y supper bill as everyone else breathes peacefully…Jens looks ready to double check it though...

Good morning cows! That's the School of Social Sciences in the background. It's nice to have some comforts of home...heheh.

Our meals at the guesthouse are excellent, even if they do leave out half of the standard South Indian chili peppers. This was a meal (Jens's meal) we were served on a holiday—a banana leaf with different curries, chutneys, rice and roti for eating with. Silverware—ha. Completely unnecessary.
The guesthouse is nicer than I’d like to admit, even if the electricity is cut for hours every day and the showers are usually cold. We have western toilets, (WITH toilet paper!!) mattresses on our beds, locks on our doors and lounge chairs in the common rooms. I wasn’t expecting to be pampered like this…however, the house is still in full swing construction (and will be most of the semester, I think) which means the hammering happens all day and the best naps are under trees around campus. No complaints here though—I try to spend as little time as possible enclosed in cement. Although I’m sure come March, it’ll be a different story!

everyday delights

2009-01-29T22:57:00.000-08:00

This may come as a surprise, but I’m actually in India on a university exchange, and have indeed been attending actual lectures! I realized I’ve been neglecting that realm a bit, even though the lectures I’ve had thus far have been every bit as interesting as our weekend escapades. So, if you’re interested in hearing a bit about Indian academia, read on…

As the 16 year-old-Alison stands aghast, I’m discovering my rural roots are stronger than I thought. My favorite course by far is called Agricultural Economics, and we’re currently discussing the causes and effects of colonialism in regards to underdevelopment of India’s agriculture and the conflict of two different schools of thought: rural and urban bias. The class is an elective course for Econ MAs, so all of the other Indian students were really excited to take it and tell me the professor is the best in the department (hailing from MIT, as they put it). He anticipates taking us to some rural villages as well; I think I lucked out here...

I’ve also been attending guest lectures whenever possible, put on by various departments. (There are seminars every week here, which is something I read about before coming here and was anticipating taking advantage of). I attended a couple of tasty ones this week, as part of a seminar put of by the Philosophy department. I call them tasty, because it’s the best way to describe my disposition towards listening to guest speakers and interesting lectures outside my field of study; it’s like eating a special dessert—both are some of my favorite activities. J

Anyway, the lectures were on the validity of testimony as a source of knowledge, and the keynote address was given by a professor from Hawaii who earned his PhD from and taught at Oxford in England. I was actually able to chat with him for a bit after a paper presentation and we started to discuss the evasiveness of the Indian agrarian suicides in the media. This was extremely ironic, as I did a little research into the topic this fall when I was writing another paper on Polish agriculture. Furthermore, it seems to be the perfect subject matter for a research project in my Agricultural Economics course. So if anyone reading this has any information on the suicides or their coverage in the media please send it my way! (AliJ_23@hotmail.com)

My other courses—International Relations, Thought and Culture of India and Theory of Yoga—are extremely interesting as well. Workloads are notably lighter than back home—the courses have 3 exams max, with one thrown out(!!). Predictably, though, the lectures here take much more energy; you can’t let your mind wander for a second, because their accents are so thick that you only catch 50% of the words anyway. In one of my courses, the notes written on the board are completely illegible (a hybrid of Telugu/English I think??) as well. It’s a workout though—a good exercise in mind control! Luckily the Econ and Yoga courses are the only ones where all of the material is new though.

The other students are extremely nice—I hope I can manage to actually befriend some. It’s difficult, as the ladies hostels and the international house are on opposite ends of the campus. I’m thinking about joining a sports team though, if I can find the time!

Hampi pics 5

2009-01-27T12:14:00.000-08:00

a home in Hampi--seemed very Indian to me. Coconuts everywhere, clothes always on the line, and bright colors whenever possible.

Workers in the rice patty fields outside our guesthouse

Not exactly sure why this one keeps wanting to turn sideways. Crane your neck though--it's worth it to see the monks washing their clothes in the river!

Hampi pics 4

2009-01-27T12:07:00.000-08:00

Hakon and I waiting for a savior (michelle) by the side of the road...

a mother and daughter we gave school supplies to while passing through their village

street performers on Monday (a holiday) in Hampi

Jens, Banks, Justina and Andi relaxing in a watch tower

Hampi pics 3

2009-01-27T12:02:00.000-08:00

inside some ruins--with a foot of water everywhere, you had to hop from ledge to ledge in this underground temple

andi and jens in the foreground and justina and hakon in the background on our scooters!

me in front of some temples on our scooter run

an attempted capture of the sunset overlooking hampi--you can KIND of make out the rivers and city below...

a shot from 30 mins earlier--much better.

Hampi pics 2

2009-01-27T11:48:00.000-08:00

A view before sunset overlooking Hampi. That waterbottle the monkey is holding belongs to Banks, I believe...

Me in front of some city center ruins outside of Hampi. There are no roped off areas anywhere--anyone is free to wander through everything--it's incredible.

This boy made money by posing with his "pet" (note the rope) monkey. I'd say he's got the pose down.

Me in front of the south bank of the river

And a view from the north bank.

Hampi pics 1

2009-01-27T11:36:00.000-08:00

One of our guesthouses--clean and spacious with a king-sized bed/shower/bathroom for $6 person/night.

A view from the luggage rack--not so spacious. (this was at the start of the journey--before the rest of the train got on...)

Resting at the top of a temple in the hot sun--that's me on the end

locals playing and bathing in the river...

me at 1am? 2am? 5am?

Hampi

2009-01-27T10:50:00.000-08:00

The best way to summarize our weekend in Hampi (in the northern part of the state of Karnataka) in ten words or less would be to say it’s the greatest range of experiences I’ve ever had in one weekend.

As a result of some last minute planning (we only booked our tickets two weeks in advance), we weren’t armed with actual train tickets to Hampi—we were waitlisted but determined to get as far as we could. We had been informed of the variety of consequences we could encounter: anywhere from a fine to a night in an Indian prison. Our house manager had said that if worse came to worse though, we’d be bumped to general class, where other international students had been rumored to have had to literally fight for their sleeping space. Good news and bad news: The bad—we were bumped to general and ended up spending 12 hours on a metal luggage rack with most of the rungs missing (probably why there wasn’t any luggage up there). The good news—we were thanking our lucky stars we had been transferred early enough to claim those luggage racks, and avoid the mess of forty Indian men piled up beneath us. We were also extremely thankful no one had gotten sick from the sketchy biryani we shoveled down in third class before the move. But eventually the five minutes of sleep, backs full of bruises and the "free" train ride (as our waitlisted tickets were automatically refunded) landed us in Hampi at 6am on Friday. And as we sat in a local café watching the sun rise over the Virupaksha temple, I, for one, instantly forgot about the hell it took to get there.

After breakfast and successfully locating our guesthouse, everyone collapsed for a couple hours. Unable to sleep (and eager to make alternative travel arrangements for our trip home), Hakon and I set out to start exploring.

Hampi is a walk-able city surrounded by snaking lakes/rivers, shiny weathered boulders, crumbling and faded temples, palm trees and glimmering rice patty fields. It is without a doubt the most beautiful place I have ever been. It’s built within the remains of the ancient city of Vijayanagara and is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I kept expecting to see a triceratops step out from behind a boulder; picture Land Before Time or that old TV show, Land of the Lost, then litter it with hippies and local Indian artisans and you’ll get the start of an idea.

Hampi is halved by the Tungabhadra River, with a sole “ferry boat” driver making a fortune by charging 10 rupees per cross (roughly 20 cents). Locals are out bathing and washing their colorful clothing every day, draping it to dry on the steps to the river. And just like at the university, farmers herd their cows and goats through the streets and monkeys follow you around trying to snitch your water bottles so they can pour them out onto the dirt.

Everywhere you look, from the jewelry vendors shouting out deals to the children selling postcards to begging women holding their babies and blessing your knees as you pause to get out your water bottle, there is life and it wants your attention. The guides, the beggars, the smells, the colors and the sounds—everything is constant and constantly changing. I saw my first snake charmer with his dancing cobras as well.

Our guesthouse, Shanthi, (for $6 per person per night) was on the north side of the river, and consisted of a community of thatched roof cottages overlooking a field of rice patties and palm trees. They had an incredible menu of fresh fruits and tropical dishes alongside the standard Indian fare, so we took all our breakfasts and suppers (the last ferry boat ran at 18:30) on cushions under a canopy.

The “hippie” influence in Hampi is unmistakable; it’s as if each one had come to visit and decided to stay. As a result, most of the clothing stalls house a hybrid of styles—think traditional Indian after a bowl of marijuana.

The temples and history in Hampi are untouched though. After Hakon and I met back up with the group, the seven of us spent the entire first day wandering around the outskirts of Hampi, through clusters of massive city centers and ornate worshipping temples. It’s difficult to find a map in Hampi—the only good maps belong to the sea of guides calling out things like “monkey temple, very cheap” and “lotus pond, nice swim in lake”. The free maps that info centers give out are so confusing they make you wonder if the guides drew them out free hand specifically to lead you back to their rickshaws.

But you can’t take a wrong turn in Hampi. After hours of climbing around boulders, up and down mountains and through different sites, we wandered upon a river where a boy convinced us to take a tour in his hand-woven boat, back to the main temple. Magically back where we had started, we then took off for this particular temple on the top of a mountain—the highest point over-looking all of Hampi and surrounding villages. We literally ran up the mountain, collapsing at the top just in time to see the sunset the temple was famous for. I can't really describe it. Moments like that—with your endorphins pumping as you watch a blood-orange sun sink beneath the black and smooth mountain tops while a group of monkeys sits at the edge of the cliff in front of you—moments like that make you feel as if you’ve cheated the world to get to witness something so beautiful.

...I think the majority of the communication that took place among us that weekend consisted of catching eyes and shaking heads in disbelief.

And the next day was better. We rented scooters and covered the local roads, making our way to several different sites of ruins. Once you leave the city, you’re on stretching tar roads lined with palm trees and can open it up full throttle, keeping an eye out for cattle drawn carts and rickshaws, of course. As soon as you stop in a village to ask for directions, you’re swarmed by children asking for chocolate and school pens. In fact, we were pretty much swarmed everywhere we went, once again. Hampi must be a popular destination for school field trips, because long lines of children were everywhere, and as soon as they saw our (burned) white skin emerge from the darkened rooms in the temples, they would begin a chorus of “Hello! What is your name? Hi! What is your country?” while their teachers tried to organize them for pictures with us.

Because we had to reorder tickets (a bus, this time) for our return trip, three of us had to stay behind (quite begrudgingly, as you can imagine) for an extra day. Hakon, Michelle and I were the lucky three and rented scooters for a second day because Michelle had opted for yoga and an Ayurvedic massage the day before. We had apparently gotten a bit too bold from our scooter-ing adventures, though, and managed to run one of the scooters out of gas in the middle of nowhere while searching for more temples. But in India, I’ve learned that everything always works out; Michelle managed to make it to a village and convey our dilemma so she could buy some gas.

My immune system must have decided it was my turn to go, however, because as soon as we got off the scooters, something hit me and I was down for the rest of the day. I had a fever and some pretty nasty nausea the entire bus-ride back (which ended up being only slightly more luxurious than the luggage rack) and was extremely excited to crawl into my board/bed.

I’m writing this after a second trip (which I’ll blog about tomorrow) and therefore can say with even stronger resolution: India takes so much energy. Nothing is predictable or comfortable or clean or quiet. You are always hot and sweaty and navigating your way through masses of bodies. I am so thrilled to have made friends with a group of like-minded adventurers—people who can spend 12 hours in the smelly chaos of the general section of a train and still smile at each other in the morning and laugh hysterically about it the next day while counting bug bites—I definitely got lucky.

More tomorrow on Pondicherry and the courses I’m finally starting!

and I'm back...

2009-01-27T10:49:00.000-08:00

First and foremost, I am indeed alive! I was very touched though, by the anxious emails waiting for me when I logged on after neglecting this thing for the past week and a half. I’m very sorry! It was a combination of our trip to Hampi last weekend, returning quite ill, having just enough time to sleep, throw my filthy clothes in the washer and attend a couple lectures, and then taking off again on Thursday for Pondicherry. So I have a lot to write, and if you’re interested, you have a lot to read. …

Elbows, Buddah and Sheesha

2009-01-13T22:06:00.000-08:00

Our trip to the train station yesterday was a colorful and validating morning indeed! We had purchased weekend tickets to Hampi several days prior, (an annoying day-long process and our first foray into the Indian Rail realm) but amidst a string of miscommunication and misunderstandings, we had managed to buy the wrong type of tickets. So yesterday, Andi, Banks and I headed into Lingampally’s station to return them. First milestone: our rickshaw-rate haggling is becoming successful (and fun)! Banks started haggling while I pretended to become disinterested and eventually suggest taking a stroll around the area. That’s where they break and cut their price down to something decent. And when you finally agree, and they give you a grin and shake their head as you triumphantly climb in—that’s what gives you the confidence for the next one.
At the station, Andi and I got out the word puzzles while Banks readied his elbows for three lengthy trips through the ticket lines. There isn’t much of a “first-come-first-served rule to queues here”, or any notion of “ladies-first”. Andi and I also became friends with an Indian student eager to practice her English and make plans to get together next Sunday. Successful haggling, a new Indian friend and collectively about 12,000 rupees richer—and we even made it back in time for lunch!

We currently have tickets (new, working tickets) for Hampi this weekend; it’s apparently a city of ancient Hindu temple ruins you can bike/scooter/rickshaw around for the day. There’s also an area of bazaars and parks and things like that. However, the only tickets available (you have to book things about a month in advance) were waitlisted, so cross your fingers, please!

Later today we’re also booking a trip for the next four day weekend to Pondicherry. Trips are extremely reasonable. Our round trip to Hampi came to something around $14.

Today is the beginning of a type of Harvest festival (another holiday!) known for kite flying. So we’re headed to Shilparamam after lunch, which is an enormous venue for festival celebrations with vendors, artisans, gardens, a river and an amphitheater. It’ll be my second time there, but the first visit was on my second day in Hyderabad and consequentially a bit bewildering; so I’ll be sure to get some quality camera time in today.

In the meantime, enjoy some from some trips into the Old City and a birthday party at a Hookah (or Sheesha) bar for Hakon, who just turned 24. Note: a goat milk and cappuccino sheesha is sublime.

2009-01-13T22:02:00.000-08:00

all of the buildings on campus have courtyards in their centers--this is a (sunny) shot of the courtyard in the SIP (Study in India Program) office complex. I'll be sure to get more campus pics up soon!

2009-01-13T21:53:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday Hakon! And thanks for an excuse to live it up a little, with sheeshas, desserts and irish coffees. :)

These little guys are literally everywhere...I don't know what people are talking about when they mention the scruffy street dogs...

The statue of Buddah in the middle of the Hussain Sagar lake at night, while walking around the city after supper

Justina, my roommate, and Hakon on the ferry to the middle of the lake

A restaurant we stumbled upon while wandering haggardly through some streets in part of the old city, after our first trip to buy tickets to Hampi

The words finally came!

2009-01-11T22:15:00.000-08:00

As I write this, I’m still out of breath; and quite desirably so. Every time I push those last couple of pedals to the top of the hill overlooking the northern part of campus, I suck the sweet Indian air deeply into my stomach, and with it a feverish desire to run and write down every sensation the bicycle took me through on a single journey to and from class.

This morning: waking up to the call of worship and stepping out onto the balcony before breakfast to stretch and enjoy the music from a construction worker’s radio; it’s probably outdated and overplayed, but it’s new and interesting to my ear, so it doesn’t matter. After breakfast, I pick out mine from a line of bikes resting in the red sand and my tires clumsily slip through it as I leave the hostel.

The journey through campus is like driving through an entire community. Taking a left after leaving the hostel leads to an entire village of makeshift tarp-covered tents in the shade of trees and lines of laundry hung out to dry. But it doesn’t look like clothing—the pieces are in every color, as if the aesthetic value of one’s clothesline indicates the wealth or happiness of a family.

But today I take a right. I pass children playing with water hoses by the side of the road and am almost run over by a family on a tractor carrying a full load of green grasses for their cattle, which rest wherever they please. I pass by groups of dark women with long braided hair and brilliantly colored saris, carrying shiny metal pots on their heads in shallow wooden carriers. They smell of spicy Indian soaps, fresh and sweet and reminiscent of everything else here. They stare at me but give genuine grins if I’m brave enough to flash my own. Zooming by me are fathers on scooters who’ve managed to take multiple daughters and sons in little school uniforms to class in one trip. (There is an elementary school on campus as well.) Further down the road I glance to my left and see a monkey running along side me; to my right, an old bent man with a long white beard, dressed in indistinguishable pieces slowly makes his barefooted way to…? I pass by groups of young men meeting at the canteen for breakfast, sporting their tight jeans, leaning on each other’s shoulders and drinking tiny cups of insanely sugared coffee.

Professors and students and employees and their families and monkeys and peacocks and stray dogs all have a bed here. The culture is community; suggesting the cyclical nature of Indian culture pervades scholarship and keeps the two connected; strange. What a foreign idea, and what a strange world!

goodbye, stringent american cleanliness!

2009-01-09T04:25:00.000-08:00

I think I'm slowly sweating off that hypochondria we americans call hygiene. We eat most of our meals out, and everything—from rice to runny yogurt to curries—is eaten with your hands. Then you rinse them off in a dirt-covered bathroom, wipe them on your tunic and squat to pee into a hole in the ground. Usually someone brings along hand-sanitizer. Then after walking through refuse-filled streets in flip-flops, you pile seven people into a three-seater rickshaw that is absolutely never cleaned and breeze through the smoggy night air. The showers are frigid at night and in the morning though, so sometimes tiredness wins over that sticky film that you're covered with at the end of a day out. Everything is absolutely filthy here—but I can honestly say it’s liberating. I never shave, (because we're covered from head to toe--no one would know if I did! I have blisters and bites all over my feet, and every time you go anywhere—even just around campus, you’re drenched in sweat by the time you arrive. These Indian bicycles don’t have much air in their tires—to compensate for the bumpy terrain, I think--so making your way up and down huge hills around campus is slightly grueling.
But I love it. It’s like a constant stream of endorphins all day, including when you take your meals, because EVERYTHING is spicy and causes you to sweat even more. I usually order northern Indian food when we eat out, (i.e. less spicy) and even then there’s the occasional unfortunate that makes its way to the back of your throat and causes tears to start streaming. ..haha. Everything here is intense. That's the best word I've come up with so far, and I think I stole it from my roommate.

Finally, some photos...

2009-01-09T04:05:00.000-08:00

A local favorite among students--check out andi and her mad finger-food skills

A group of admirers...we looked up and suddenly were completely surrounded by a group of school children...what can you do, other than sit and smile for the cameras??

me amongst the ruins!

I just like this shot...

The henna I got (running around to the back of my hand as well) at Shilparamam the second night we were here. Sweet, eh?

2009-01-07T21:19:00.000-08:00

My favorite picture thus far--Hoken, Jens, Andi and Banks at Golconda

While walking around a temple inside Golconda...

wall art next to a shrine

I love this picture because it gives a glimpse of how colorful all of the people here are

From the top of Golconda fort...overlooking the rest of the fort and Hyderabad in the distance

Pictures!

2009-01-07T21:09:00.001-08:00

Celebrities at Golconda Fort...so I starting taking pictures of them taking pictures of us!

Michele from Montana and Banks from Richmond in the background, relaxing after lunch at Golconda

An Indian couple playing on the lawn...

View from the top of the Charminar in the middle of the Old City--believe it or not, it was a Sunday and one of the less-busy times in traffic

lessons learned.

2009-01-05T22:44:00.000-08:00

I learned a valuable lesson yesterday (Monday): rickshaw drivers are not omniscient. Last night was a wild ride. The seven independents decided we were ready for our first venture into the city without a guide. We had three phones, a map and probably a smidge too much confidence. First lesson learned: never put all the phones in one rickshaw and all the women in the other. All the guys climbed into one rickshaw and took off, while we hopped in one with two drivers who didn’t speak a word of English. (Mistake number 2) We managed to stay with the other rickshaw for about an hour, but with the Indian pop blasting (a special treat for a group of girls, I think) and the drivers preoccupied with finding a good song, we soon lost the men and started to stop in random places on the busy Indian streets to ask for directions. (They asked; we just sat there, exchanging nervous glances.) After about two hours (hard to estimate time because none of us had watches either) we finally decided to just have them take us to a shopping center where we could find some English speakers with directions to food. After assuring these two (friendly) amateurs that we did not need them to wait for us while we shopped, we found some very nice FabIndia employees who directed us to a gorgeous restaurant. It was called “Our Place” and felt like a five star restaurant, dining in an open air garden glittering with lights in all the trees. The waiters not only brought the food, but continued to stand around and plate it for you whenever it looked like you were nearing a clean plate. I had two courses for six dollars (300 rupees) and it was incredible!

Getting home was much less of an adventure. We were discerning this time, and chose rickshaw drivers who spoke more than a smattering of English and who knew what we were talking about when we said “central university near Gachi Bowli”. We made it back in half the time, and after one more round of rate haggling, we staggered onto our bikes inside the gate and made our way back.

The best part of the story, however, was that it wasn’t even ten minutes after we’d arrived that the guys showed up, with an identical story; their rickshaw driver had gotten lost as well, they’d spent a good amount of time driving around looking for us, (we actually passed by each other at one point and both started yelling at the drivers to turn around) and then found a nice restaurant and headed back. So we opened a bottle of wine on the roof and toasted our first venture, deciding to try it again today.

celebrities.

2009-01-05T22:43:00.000-08:00

True to my nature, I managed to get lost for a good hour yesterday, cycling aimlessly around campus and missing (what I thought was) my first day of my international relations course. The university is like a maze; our student facilitator Ilika described it as roads that all go everywhere. Yesterday I had my first Thought and Culture of India class at nine, and then after an afternoon of wandering through buildings learned that because we’re in a sort of “festival season” right now, a lot of students won’t be back for another week. So I have one class until next week! Indian professors are so friendly and helpful; yesterday I knocked on four different doors, and they all invited me to come in and sit down and one even ordered me a coffee.

One thing I love about the campus is how there is no shortage of places to be peaceful. There are several beautiful lawns that truly resemble some sort of fondant cake top and then balconies and rooftops and two different lounges in the SIP Guesthouse if you get tired of being stared at.

There’s something else I’ll never get used to. Blond hair and blue eyes really does equal celebrity in the eyes of Indian children.

Sunday was probably the most enjoyable day yet, and I can’t deny that the autographs I was asked for and the pictures taken with me didn’t make the day just a little bit more exciting. Ilika took us seven independent students out for a day of sightseeing and the best food I’ve had yet (all paid for by SIP as well!). We headed into the “old city” where we first climbed the Charminar, which was built in 1591 and is considered the landmark of Hyderabad. A sign at the entrance read “Indian nationals: 5 rupees / foreign visitors: 100 rupees.” Beautiful view of the busy streets below—I’ll get pictures up soon! Then we spent a couple hours in a museum called Salarjung Museum which is a massive collection of all the possessions of Salar Jung III, a former prime minister. He collected everything from children’s toys to the famous statue of the veiled Rebecca. After the museum Ilika took us to a restaurant where each plate had nine or ten different sauces and curries—some from the North so we could alternate with the burning Southern spices—arranged around a bed of rice and chapata bread on banana leaves, followed by dessert and coffee. If you know me, you know how excited I get about new foods; it was heaven, even if sweat was running down my face the entire time!

I thought nothing was going to be better than that restaurant, but then Ilika took us to Golconda Fort. Originally it was a mud fort built by the Kakatiya kings in 1143. However, it was then taken over by the Qutub Shah dynasty and rebuilt. Absolutely massive, it now has 87 semi-circular bastions, eight gateways and four draw bridges. The public is free to walk around the ruins and up to the highest towers overlooking all of Hyderabad. Or you can hang out on the lawns at the foot of the fort, where you’re also most likely to get “mobbed” by sixty school children or groups of giggling adolescent boys, all wanting to have their picture taken with you individually and shake your hand. The toddlers are the sweetest though. Parents prod them to inch closer to us and wish us a happy new year with their gorgeous brown eyes and their mini tunics.
It never failed. If you stand or sit somewhere for more than a minute in the city, you’ll soon be completely surrounded by smiling, waving schoolchildren.

Anyway, after a light show about the history of the fort, we headed for one last destination: a restaurant popular with the students just outside of campus called Kaipula. It resembled a small town biker bar—maybe because a lot of students have mopeds and motorcycles. The meal was delicious but hilarious, because in true Indian fashion, there was no silverware. So you poured some curry onto your rice, mashed it around with your fingers and then proceeded to eat everything—curries, rice, yogurt, fried fish—with your fingers. There must be a technique we haven’t learned yet, because I’m pretty sure every table around us was watching and laughing. Oh well. It was delicious. And you’ll be glad to know, my stomach handled it like a pro.

The Group

2009-01-05T22:42:00.000-08:00

Seven of us have kind of fallen into step with each other. There is Justina, my roommate, from North Carolina, Andi—also from NC, Michele from Montana, Jens from Denmark, Banks from Virginia and Hoken from Norway. We all came independently; all the other international students came in groups with scheduled tours and things like that.

Something Substantial

2009-01-02T21:01:00.000-08:00

Good morning!
We have a free couple of hours this morning, so a friend and I trekked to the library (about a 20 minute walk). The campus is enormous, and as of yet--quite confusing. I think the map they've given us is slightly outdated--the library isn't even listed. :) But long walks are far from disagreeable! Yesterday we discovered the monkeys--akin to the squirrel population in SD. They're adorable and everywhere!
The campus is also incredibly beautiful--parts of it at least. The disparity is equally as incredible. Right behind our enormous guesthouse is a community of tents where the employees live. Every morning we awake to singing (a call to worship) around 6am.
We take all of our meals in the guesthouse (meaning me and the other exchange students--about 60 in all, although I've only seen about 20 others) and I'm pretty sure it's all prepared with purified water, because I haven't heard any "noises" coming from the bathrooms yet. I still get excited everytime I remind myself that I get to eat nothing but Indian food for the next four months--it's absolutely delicious. After a misjudged bite of something ungodly hot yesterday though, I thought I would have to make a trip to the university clinic, and (in the words of my roommate Justina) have my tongue removed.
Yesterday we spent the late afternoon at an enormous market celebrating a festival, which was crawling with people and craft vendors. I've never seen so many beautiful textiles and carvings and foods. It was held in a park with greens and rock gardens and a river; there was also an amphitheater with entertainment when we got tired of pushing through crowds.
Everyone is so incredibly beautiful--the only rule for dress seems to be "the brighter the better". I had heard that dressing "Indian" would be the best way to go--definitely definitely correct. (And some of you scoffed...) I'm stared at enough for my blond hair--every single person I pass stares for at least 5 seconds.
Dressing Indian is definitely not enough of a disguise though--during my first rickshaw ride to and from the market, (more fun than a rollercoaster!!) we stopped and were immediately invaded by a swarm of beggers with their babies, blessing our feet and grabbing our arms. It probably looked pretty comical--three pasty American girls shouting NO at the beggars and GO at the rickshaw driver, none of which probably understood either. I doubt if Hindi would have worked much better though...
It's hard to write much more, as I haven't quite figured out where I am. My room feels like the hostel in Berlin. Sometimes I feel like a tourist; other times I'm a 5-year old; other times I'm like an animal in a zoo. To everyone here, I'm simply "white". I keep reminding myself of that. And living in the international guesthouse and being herded around on tours and orientation sessions feels a bit like summer camp.
I'm really excited for classes to start, so I can feel like a student.
This afternoon we're headed to the "old city"--the center of Hyderabad, I think. Hopefully I'll be able to start using the real names of everything soon, so this will be a bit more interesting!
I'll get pictures up as soon as we get internet in our rooms.
In the meantime, thanks for reading, many many thanks for your messages and emails, and keep 'em coming. I miss you.

Love always, Alison

Arrived!

2009-01-01T08:53:00.000-08:00

Here's a quick note that will hopefully soon be followed by a proper account of London, new years on the plane and my first few days in Hyderabad. But know that I'm here, I'm safe, and I'm already donning a salwar kameez. So everything is fantastic, and I can't wait to tell you more soon!

-al-

First leg complete...

2008-12-27T12:33:00.000-08:00

Safe, sound and full of curry in chilly London.

Greetings!

2008-12-25T10:04:00.000-08:00

In less than 48 hours, I'll be opening this laptop to type a new chapter in a new (and much hotter) place.

Stay tuned, loved ones!