Today, I went on a day trip to Los Termas de Papallacta, famous hot springs located about two hours from Quito. I met my friends at the bus station at 9 am. We bought tickets for the two hour trip for two dollars apiece. Then we boarded, which cost an additional twenty cents. Many Ecuadorians bypass the boarding fee by hailing buses in the circle outside the station. The ticket collector stands in the bus´s doorway and screams out the destination. Locals listen for their intended location. When they hear it, they jump on, sometimes while the bus is still in motion.
The ride between Quito and Papallacta was absolutely gorgeous. We drove up and down beautiful, green mountains. As we neared Papallacta, driving became dicey. We were on a dirt road that could barely fit two lanes. The right side of the bus was inches from the edge of a cliff. When we arrived in Papallacta, we had to hire a camioneta (a pickup truck) to drive us from town to the springs. The road was steep and bumpy, and the benches in the truck bed were not bolted to the vehicle, causing us to bounce around.
Papallacta was worth the harrowing trip. We chilled out in the hot springs and admired the scenery (again, we were in the middle of the country, surrounded by green mountains). There were barely any tourists in sight.
Late in the afternoon, we got out of the pools and prepared to return to Quito. Our decision was affirmed by the sound of thunder. After we got dressed, we took another camioneta to the bus station and waited. When the bus arrived, we discovered that there were not enough seats. Several of my friends had to stand in the aisle and hold onto a bar overhead (I offered to switch with them later on, but they refused). As the ride progressed, seats opened up. We ended up having a delightful, laughter-filled ride back to Quito. My friend C (I´m still trying to decide what to call her in my blog) sat next to José, one of the nicest people that I have met so far in Ecuador. He told me (C is just beginning her Spanish studies) that we seemed like an amazing group of people and that I had a beautiful smile and should never change. Then, he got off the bus.
When we got back to Quito, we had a fantastic Indian meal and went home. I am hoarding leftover garlic naan in my room.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
How to Make Friends, Comfort Crying Children, and Find Peanut Butter and the Best Chocolate in the World in a Foreign Culture
MANTEQUILLA DE MANI
As many of you know, my favorite food is peanut butter. I eat it every morning for breakfast. Since Ecuador does not have the comforts of home, I decided to go out and buy peanut butter yesterday. Imagine my shock when I was not able to find it in five different food stores. How can a country of more than 13 million people live without peanut butter?
After searching for two hours, I decided to take my mind off of my gastronomical depression by attending a practice session of a local ultimate Frisbee club. I thought that playing ultimate Frisbee would be a great way to get exercise and make new friends, my number one priority this week. I put on my exercise gear, braided my hair, and hopped on a bus to the club’s field in the north of Quito, where I was let down once again. The field was empty.
I proceeded to walk down the street, feeling dejected and lonely. Suddenly, I came upon a monolithic structure: Megamaxi. Since none of my readers are Ecuadorian, I will have to define Megamaxi. It is one store which contains a RadioShack, a Moviestar franchise (the Ecuadorian equivalent of Verizon), and a large complex which houses all of the contents of Target and Super Stop and Shop (Dominick’s for my Chicagoan readers) combined. Somehow, it was invented outside of the United States. If any store were to have peanut butter, it would be Megamaxi.
I walked inside and was immediately confronted by models in crop tops handing out samples, a lavish ceremony for a new nutrition supplement for infants, and loads of gringos. Desperate to find my favorite food, I ran past all of the distractions and approached an employee.
Antigone: ¿Dónde está la mantiquilla de mani?
Employee: En numero cinco.
I ran to aisle five and grabbed a jar of George Washington Carver’s greatest creation, only to experience sticker shock. One standard jar of Jif cost more than six dollars. I wanted peanut butter so much that I was willing to pay ten dollars for it.
After I paid, I returned to my hostal. Instead of eating a normal dinner, I decided to sit in my room and eat peanut butter.
THE BEST CHOCOLATE IN THE WORLD
There is no story for this caption, only a fact. Ignore everything that you have ever heard about chocolate from Belgium, Switzerland, and other countries in Western Europe. Ecuador’s Café Kallari sells the best tasting chocolate in the world, and they do it in a socially responsible manner.
THE DENTIST
Virtually every small child fears the dentist. Anyone who instinctively welcomes the placement of sharp, metal objects in his mouth would not survive evolution. Today I was charged with taking fifteen children between the ages of 2 and 8 from their market in southern Quito to the dentist.
My fellow volunteers and I are proud to say that we had an 80% success rate. Three children cried too much to have their teeth cleaned. One seven-year-old boy had come to the market play group for the first time. When he sat down in the dentist’s chair, he started bawling. I held his hand, explained that the dentist was only putting air, water and toothpaste in his mouth, and promised him that no one was going to hurt him. Despite my assurances and stories of surviving 18 years of biannual dentist visits, he was not able to overcome his fear of the dentist’s frightening-looking tools. In the end, the dentist gave him some fluoride. Then I picked him up and carried him down four flights of stairs so that he could rejoin the group. You always know when a little kid really needs a hug because they nuzzle their face in your neck and shoulder.
YES, I AM A GRINGA
Carnaval is coming. In Ecuador, it is customary to celebrate by throwing water balloons at and dumping buckets of water on other people. Being a gringa only increases the likelihood of getting wet. So far I have been hit with three water balloons. Keep in mind that Carnaval is not supposed to start for another week.
I’M MAKING FRIENDS!
My first few days in Ecuador were lonely because I did not know anyone. However, my social life is quickly improving. Tonight, I am going to café with a bunch of girls from work. Then, I am spending Saturday and Sunday visiting the equator and local hot springs with some other volunteers.
In one week, I am going to start a homestay. It will be nice to have someone to eat breakfast and dinner with every day.
As many of you know, my favorite food is peanut butter. I eat it every morning for breakfast. Since Ecuador does not have the comforts of home, I decided to go out and buy peanut butter yesterday. Imagine my shock when I was not able to find it in five different food stores. How can a country of more than 13 million people live without peanut butter?
After searching for two hours, I decided to take my mind off of my gastronomical depression by attending a practice session of a local ultimate Frisbee club. I thought that playing ultimate Frisbee would be a great way to get exercise and make new friends, my number one priority this week. I put on my exercise gear, braided my hair, and hopped on a bus to the club’s field in the north of Quito, where I was let down once again. The field was empty.
I proceeded to walk down the street, feeling dejected and lonely. Suddenly, I came upon a monolithic structure: Megamaxi. Since none of my readers are Ecuadorian, I will have to define Megamaxi. It is one store which contains a RadioShack, a Moviestar franchise (the Ecuadorian equivalent of Verizon), and a large complex which houses all of the contents of Target and Super Stop and Shop (Dominick’s for my Chicagoan readers) combined. Somehow, it was invented outside of the United States. If any store were to have peanut butter, it would be Megamaxi.
I walked inside and was immediately confronted by models in crop tops handing out samples, a lavish ceremony for a new nutrition supplement for infants, and loads of gringos. Desperate to find my favorite food, I ran past all of the distractions and approached an employee.
Antigone: ¿Dónde está la mantiquilla de mani?
Employee: En numero cinco.
I ran to aisle five and grabbed a jar of George Washington Carver’s greatest creation, only to experience sticker shock. One standard jar of Jif cost more than six dollars. I wanted peanut butter so much that I was willing to pay ten dollars for it.
After I paid, I returned to my hostal. Instead of eating a normal dinner, I decided to sit in my room and eat peanut butter.
THE BEST CHOCOLATE IN THE WORLD
There is no story for this caption, only a fact. Ignore everything that you have ever heard about chocolate from Belgium, Switzerland, and other countries in Western Europe. Ecuador’s Café Kallari sells the best tasting chocolate in the world, and they do it in a socially responsible manner.
THE DENTIST
Virtually every small child fears the dentist. Anyone who instinctively welcomes the placement of sharp, metal objects in his mouth would not survive evolution. Today I was charged with taking fifteen children between the ages of 2 and 8 from their market in southern Quito to the dentist.
My fellow volunteers and I are proud to say that we had an 80% success rate. Three children cried too much to have their teeth cleaned. One seven-year-old boy had come to the market play group for the first time. When he sat down in the dentist’s chair, he started bawling. I held his hand, explained that the dentist was only putting air, water and toothpaste in his mouth, and promised him that no one was going to hurt him. Despite my assurances and stories of surviving 18 years of biannual dentist visits, he was not able to overcome his fear of the dentist’s frightening-looking tools. In the end, the dentist gave him some fluoride. Then I picked him up and carried him down four flights of stairs so that he could rejoin the group. You always know when a little kid really needs a hug because they nuzzle their face in your neck and shoulder.
YES, I AM A GRINGA
Carnaval is coming. In Ecuador, it is customary to celebrate by throwing water balloons at and dumping buckets of water on other people. Being a gringa only increases the likelihood of getting wet. So far I have been hit with three water balloons. Keep in mind that Carnaval is not supposed to start for another week.
I’M MAKING FRIENDS!
My first few days in Ecuador were lonely because I did not know anyone. However, my social life is quickly improving. Tonight, I am going to café with a bunch of girls from work. Then, I am spending Saturday and Sunday visiting the equator and local hot springs with some other volunteers.
In one week, I am going to start a homestay. It will be nice to have someone to eat breakfast and dinner with every day.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The First 48 Hours
ANOTHER CRAZY LADY
Last night, I ate dinner with a woman who was absolutely nuts. She has been traveling for the past five years. She is currently on her third bout around the world and her ninetieth country. I do not think that she was crazy because of her globetrotting ways. I thought that she was crazy because of her ridiculous proclamations:
-The Indians should face most of the blame for South African apartheid. She proceeded to blatantly ignore me when I pointed out that Indians suffered during apartheid. Ghandi, for example, was kicked off of a train because of the color of his skin.
-People are poor and impoverished because their brains are less advanced than everyone else’s, not because of limited access to resources.
The list could go on, and on.
ECUADORIAN FIRSTS
During the past 48 hours I:
-Purchased my first Ecuadorian cell phone,
-Worked at CENIT for the first time, and
-Successfully used local public transportation for the first time (believe me, this is a big deal).
I am sure that many more firsts will come in the future.
I AM OKAY
I know that many of you are worried about me. I want you to know that so far, Ecuador has been much safer than I expected. People treat women more respectfully here than they do in most of the other foreign countries that I have visited recently.
You should also know that I will not be able to use the Internet or a telephone every single day. Please do not worry.
Last night, I ate dinner with a woman who was absolutely nuts. She has been traveling for the past five years. She is currently on her third bout around the world and her ninetieth country. I do not think that she was crazy because of her globetrotting ways. I thought that she was crazy because of her ridiculous proclamations:
-The Indians should face most of the blame for South African apartheid. She proceeded to blatantly ignore me when I pointed out that Indians suffered during apartheid. Ghandi, for example, was kicked off of a train because of the color of his skin.
-People are poor and impoverished because their brains are less advanced than everyone else’s, not because of limited access to resources.
The list could go on, and on.
ECUADORIAN FIRSTS
During the past 48 hours I:
-Purchased my first Ecuadorian cell phone,
-Worked at CENIT for the first time, and
-Successfully used local public transportation for the first time (believe me, this is a big deal).
I am sure that many more firsts will come in the future.
I AM OKAY
I know that many of you are worried about me. I want you to know that so far, Ecuador has been much safer than I expected. People treat women more respectfully here than they do in most of the other foreign countries that I have visited recently.
You should also know that I will not be able to use the Internet or a telephone every single day. Please do not worry.
Monday, January 21, 2008
The Joys of Airplane Travel
THE LAST SALAD
Right now I am sitting in the airport in Atlanta, waiting for my flight to Quito. I just ate a salad, my last for the next five months (I am not supposed to eat raw veggies in Quito because they will retain microbes from the local water after they are washed). The salad was really delicious. It had red peppers, and green peppers, and olives, and feta cheese, and onions, and tomatoes, and yummy dressing. I think that I will have to make myself salads and wash the ingredients with bottled or boiled water while I am in Quito (granted the former sounds disgustingly bourgeois).
GRUMPY OLD WOMEN
I am sitting at the gate, next to several grumpy old people.* Representing the Americans: ¨Lorna,¨ a confused woman who belongs in a tour group. She keeps on asking stupid questions in her ¨outside¨ voice, and just tried to board the plane two hours early. Representing the Ecuadorians, ¨Magda,¨ whose favorite hobbies include identifying gringos and gringas whose very existence annoy here, and complaining about them to her husband. Even though Lorna has a stronger voice, I am convinced that Magda would win in a fight.
I´LL GIVE YOU MY KIDNEY IF YOU GIVE ME A NEW SEATMATE
The women next to me was nuts. She asked me to help her fill out her customs and immigration forms because she was illiterate.** I read the questions from the form to her, verbatim. Instead of giving me her address or telling me whether or not she had visited a farm in the U.S., she kept on mumbling a list of the members of her family. Halfway through, she announced that she could not handle answering the questions anymore and pretended that she only spoke Quechua.
As the flight progressed, Nutso continued to get on my nerves. She decided that her elbows were entitled to the entire row, causing great discomfort on my part. At the end of the flight, passengers streamed into the aisles and waited, like sardines, for the door of the plane to be opened. Nutso could not wait. She forced her way into the packed aisle by ramming into my body, and proceeded to remove her suitcase from the overhead compartment. Nutso´s suitcase landed in the middle of a clump of people, separated from her by my body. Even though no one was moving (the plane was still closed), Nutso decided that she had to get to the front. She started pulling on her suitcase (neglecting to ask me to move my shins). When her suitcase would not move, she pulled harder. I ultimately had to mount the back of a row of seats and lie on top of them. I felt a little bit like Roberto Benigni at the Academy Awards, minus the jovial dance.
*To be clear, I do not think that all older people are grumpy. I know many cheerful senior citizens.
**To be clear, I did not think that she was nuts because she was illiterate.
Right now I am sitting in the airport in Atlanta, waiting for my flight to Quito. I just ate a salad, my last for the next five months (I am not supposed to eat raw veggies in Quito because they will retain microbes from the local water after they are washed). The salad was really delicious. It had red peppers, and green peppers, and olives, and feta cheese, and onions, and tomatoes, and yummy dressing. I think that I will have to make myself salads and wash the ingredients with bottled or boiled water while I am in Quito (granted the former sounds disgustingly bourgeois).
GRUMPY OLD WOMEN
I am sitting at the gate, next to several grumpy old people.* Representing the Americans: ¨Lorna,¨ a confused woman who belongs in a tour group. She keeps on asking stupid questions in her ¨outside¨ voice, and just tried to board the plane two hours early. Representing the Ecuadorians, ¨Magda,¨ whose favorite hobbies include identifying gringos and gringas whose very existence annoy here, and complaining about them to her husband. Even though Lorna has a stronger voice, I am convinced that Magda would win in a fight.
I´LL GIVE YOU MY KIDNEY IF YOU GIVE ME A NEW SEATMATE
The women next to me was nuts. She asked me to help her fill out her customs and immigration forms because she was illiterate.** I read the questions from the form to her, verbatim. Instead of giving me her address or telling me whether or not she had visited a farm in the U.S., she kept on mumbling a list of the members of her family. Halfway through, she announced that she could not handle answering the questions anymore and pretended that she only spoke Quechua.
As the flight progressed, Nutso continued to get on my nerves. She decided that her elbows were entitled to the entire row, causing great discomfort on my part. At the end of the flight, passengers streamed into the aisles and waited, like sardines, for the door of the plane to be opened. Nutso could not wait. She forced her way into the packed aisle by ramming into my body, and proceeded to remove her suitcase from the overhead compartment. Nutso´s suitcase landed in the middle of a clump of people, separated from her by my body. Even though no one was moving (the plane was still closed), Nutso decided that she had to get to the front. She started pulling on her suitcase (neglecting to ask me to move my shins). When her suitcase would not move, she pulled harder. I ultimately had to mount the back of a row of seats and lie on top of them. I felt a little bit like Roberto Benigni at the Academy Awards, minus the jovial dance.
*To be clear, I do not think that all older people are grumpy. I know many cheerful senior citizens.
**To be clear, I did not think that she was nuts because she was illiterate.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Postcards From Mumbai
The Crazy Guide
When my mother and I arrived at the airport, we were greeted by Dobby, an extremely small man with a long, grey beard and greasy, long hair. Dobby was well intentioned. He cared for a hobby farm at a local school. However, he was nuts.
On our first day of sightseeing, Dobby took me to an Indian music appreciation group while my mother went to a meeting. As I listened to Dobby bond with the group’s leader, I half-expected to see Cheech and Chong fall out of a hidden, smoky closet.
Dobby: Hey man. This music is so good.
Leader: I know man. I, like, saw this group the other night. Her voice is, like, so good.
Dobby: (turning to me) Leader travels to all parts of the city to go see the best classical Indian bands.
Keep in mind that Dobby and Leader were both at least fifty years old.
The next day, Dobby took my mother and I to Elephanta Island to see man-made caves filled with carvings of Shiva, one of the three main Hindu gods. Dobby was determined to teach us everything that he had ever learned about anything. As we walked from statue-to-statue, he recounted almost every single parable from Hindu scripture. Whenever, we took out our cameras, he stopped talking. My mother told him that we could multi-task, but he did not believe her.
Within Elephanta’s caves, there are a few chambers that serve as temples to Shiva. Dobby decided that he wanted to prove to us that one of the temples had amazing acoustics. He took off his shoes, walked inside, and started chanting. At first, my mother and I were charmed by the robust tones flowing from our small guide. However, Dobby, the Energizer Bunny of chanting, would not stop. Tourists kept on walking up to the temple, standing awkwardly, and then leaving.
Dobby’s quest to educate my mother and I did not end at the mouth of the caves. He spent the idyllic, hour-long ferry ride back to Mumbai subjecting my mother to a dissertation on his yoga master. It should come as no surprise that we told Dobby that we needed to go back to the hotel for a nap once our boat reached the shore.
The Astrophylosopher
On my first afternoon in Mumbai, I decided to take a walk along the coastline in front of my hotel. When I stopped to look at the ocean, I met Phaedrus Descartes Hawking, an astrophysicist who was interested in studying creative writing. PDH believed that he had successfully used physics and philosophy to discover the correct Ultimate Theory of the Universe. We ended up spending more than two hours analyzing physics, comparing our respective cultures, and debating questions central to the essence of humanity. I have no idea whether or not PDH was full of it. However, it was one of the most interesting conversations of my life.
When my mother and I arrived at the airport, we were greeted by Dobby, an extremely small man with a long, grey beard and greasy, long hair. Dobby was well intentioned. He cared for a hobby farm at a local school. However, he was nuts.
On our first day of sightseeing, Dobby took me to an Indian music appreciation group while my mother went to a meeting. As I listened to Dobby bond with the group’s leader, I half-expected to see Cheech and Chong fall out of a hidden, smoky closet.
Dobby: Hey man. This music is so good.
Leader: I know man. I, like, saw this group the other night. Her voice is, like, so good.
Dobby: (turning to me) Leader travels to all parts of the city to go see the best classical Indian bands.
Keep in mind that Dobby and Leader were both at least fifty years old.
The next day, Dobby took my mother and I to Elephanta Island to see man-made caves filled with carvings of Shiva, one of the three main Hindu gods. Dobby was determined to teach us everything that he had ever learned about anything. As we walked from statue-to-statue, he recounted almost every single parable from Hindu scripture. Whenever, we took out our cameras, he stopped talking. My mother told him that we could multi-task, but he did not believe her.
Within Elephanta’s caves, there are a few chambers that serve as temples to Shiva. Dobby decided that he wanted to prove to us that one of the temples had amazing acoustics. He took off his shoes, walked inside, and started chanting. At first, my mother and I were charmed by the robust tones flowing from our small guide. However, Dobby, the Energizer Bunny of chanting, would not stop. Tourists kept on walking up to the temple, standing awkwardly, and then leaving.
Dobby’s quest to educate my mother and I did not end at the mouth of the caves. He spent the idyllic, hour-long ferry ride back to Mumbai subjecting my mother to a dissertation on his yoga master. It should come as no surprise that we told Dobby that we needed to go back to the hotel for a nap once our boat reached the shore.
The Astrophylosopher
On my first afternoon in Mumbai, I decided to take a walk along the coastline in front of my hotel. When I stopped to look at the ocean, I met Phaedrus Descartes Hawking, an astrophysicist who was interested in studying creative writing. PDH believed that he had successfully used physics and philosophy to discover the correct Ultimate Theory of the Universe. We ended up spending more than two hours analyzing physics, comparing our respective cultures, and debating questions central to the essence of humanity. I have no idea whether or not PDH was full of it. However, it was one of the most interesting conversations of my life.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Chaos Ain't Limited to Greek Mythology
It has been a while since my last post. My apologies. Life has been a whirlwind.
Last Wednesday, I went to the airport in Delhi to catch a flight to Mumbai (for the record: Indian airlines serve significantly better food on their flights than their American competitors). Having spent the last three days removing my shoes at every religious edifice imaginable, I was shocked to discover that the security guards did not ask me to take off my footwear. They did, however, frisk everyone with their special security wand.
When I landed in Mumbai, I discovered a city with a completely different culture and climate from Delhi. Whereas Delhi, a hotspot for Mughal architecture, is an ideal place to learn about India’s past, Mumbai is where you should go to learn about its present and future. The city is a corporate, cosmopolitan explosion. The skyline is filled with large buildings and neon signs, and the streets are congested with traffic. The influx of corporations means that there is barely enough land to go around. There is less than one acre of open space for every 1000 people, and the real estate costs more than comparable properties in Manhattan. In spite of its rapid growth, Mumbai, like the rest of India, continues to struggle with poverty. At least fifty five percent of its residents live in slums.
Walking around Mumbai is a little frightening. Drivers spend so much time sitting in traffic that they refuse to stop for pedestrians. One morning, I was walking away from Mani Bhavan (Ghandi’s residence) when a woman unsuccessfully tried to pickpocket me. I was so distracted by my brush with theft that I fell flat on my face while crossing a busy street and almost got run over by an SUV. Pickpocket and near death experience aside, Mumbai was amazing. I feel lucky to have gone and would love to return.
Now that I am back in the States, I am getting ready to move to Ecuador. Unfortunately, my housing situation is still fuzzy. My homestay organization has told me next to nothing about my host family. I, as a general rule, do not move into strangers’ homes at ten o’clock at night. As such, I have decided to stay in a hotel for at least the first week so that I will be able to meet my prospective host family and make sure that I am comfortable with them before I move in. Finding a suitable hotel that could pick me up from the airport in the middle of the night was difficult, but I have succeeded.
As Sunday has grown more imminent, I have gotten nervous about going to a developing country by myself for five months (surprise, surprise). Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers. Pro-Antigone cheerleading routines are also accepted.
Last Wednesday, I went to the airport in Delhi to catch a flight to Mumbai (for the record: Indian airlines serve significantly better food on their flights than their American competitors). Having spent the last three days removing my shoes at every religious edifice imaginable, I was shocked to discover that the security guards did not ask me to take off my footwear. They did, however, frisk everyone with their special security wand.
When I landed in Mumbai, I discovered a city with a completely different culture and climate from Delhi. Whereas Delhi, a hotspot for Mughal architecture, is an ideal place to learn about India’s past, Mumbai is where you should go to learn about its present and future. The city is a corporate, cosmopolitan explosion. The skyline is filled with large buildings and neon signs, and the streets are congested with traffic. The influx of corporations means that there is barely enough land to go around. There is less than one acre of open space for every 1000 people, and the real estate costs more than comparable properties in Manhattan. In spite of its rapid growth, Mumbai, like the rest of India, continues to struggle with poverty. At least fifty five percent of its residents live in slums.
Walking around Mumbai is a little frightening. Drivers spend so much time sitting in traffic that they refuse to stop for pedestrians. One morning, I was walking away from Mani Bhavan (Ghandi’s residence) when a woman unsuccessfully tried to pickpocket me. I was so distracted by my brush with theft that I fell flat on my face while crossing a busy street and almost got run over by an SUV. Pickpocket and near death experience aside, Mumbai was amazing. I feel lucky to have gone and would love to return.
Now that I am back in the States, I am getting ready to move to Ecuador. Unfortunately, my housing situation is still fuzzy. My homestay organization has told me next to nothing about my host family. I, as a general rule, do not move into strangers’ homes at ten o’clock at night. As such, I have decided to stay in a hotel for at least the first week so that I will be able to meet my prospective host family and make sure that I am comfortable with them before I move in. Finding a suitable hotel that could pick me up from the airport in the middle of the night was difficult, but I have succeeded.
As Sunday has grown more imminent, I have gotten nervous about going to a developing country by myself for five months (surprise, surprise). Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers. Pro-Antigone cheerleading routines are also accepted.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Antigone in India: Day Three
Greetings all! I am still in India and am still jetlagged. Even so, I am having a wonderful time learning about another culture. I only wish that I had learnt more about Asian history before coming here.
Yesterday, I spent the morning riding around New Delhi with a driver named Baloo. When I first met Baloo and was told the plan for the morning, I felt uncomfortable. Calling a grown man “Baloo” while he chauffeured me about town and called me “ma’am” sounded like a scene from a racist Nineteenth Century novel, like Around the World In Eighty Days. Despite my reservations, I ended up having a wonderful morning. Baloo and I discussed the weakening dollar, the impact of multi-national corporations on Indian working conditions, and Baloo’s experience as an extra in the epic film Ghandi. After lunch, my mother and a guide joined us, and we visited Humayun’s Tomb, a gigantic mausoleum built in the Persian style.
Today, my mother and I focused our energies on site seeing. The highlight of my day was a rickshaw ride around Old Delhi. My mother and I jammed our derrieres into a small seat attached to the back of a bicycle and took a harrowing trip around streets that were approximately two yards wide. Our ride reminded me that I was no longer in Kansas. We zipped past shops selling saris and exotic birds, people yelled who-knows-what at each other in language that I presumed to be Hindi, and the traffic system lacked both rhyme and reason; people went where they wanted when they wanted and frequently collided. As I took in the energy and chaos, I felt very conspicuous. My mother and I were often the only White people on the street and attracted many stares. Later on in the day, someone asked to take a picture with us because they were so intrigued by the color of our skin.
The last stop of the day was a Sikh temple. Traveling to India has made me develop tremendous respect for the Sikhs. They believe, among other things, that everyone is equal (as a symbol of this, everyone has to remove their shoes and socks before entering the temple; fortunately, they kept the ground very clean), that violence should only be used as a last resort, that it is important to work hard, and that it is important to serve others. The Sikhs take this last belief very seriously. Every day, Sikh temples serve free meals to anyone who enters their doors. The temple that we visited served 10,000 people lunch per day. In addition to sharing food, temples create their own social programs. In Delhi, one Sikh temple was running a program that gave away free potable water. Sikhs have an easy time running their service efforts because they require their followers to contribute their time to the temples.
Tomorrow I am going to leave from Mumbai. I look forward to reporting on how it differs from Delhi.
Yesterday, I spent the morning riding around New Delhi with a driver named Baloo. When I first met Baloo and was told the plan for the morning, I felt uncomfortable. Calling a grown man “Baloo” while he chauffeured me about town and called me “ma’am” sounded like a scene from a racist Nineteenth Century novel, like Around the World In Eighty Days. Despite my reservations, I ended up having a wonderful morning. Baloo and I discussed the weakening dollar, the impact of multi-national corporations on Indian working conditions, and Baloo’s experience as an extra in the epic film Ghandi. After lunch, my mother and a guide joined us, and we visited Humayun’s Tomb, a gigantic mausoleum built in the Persian style.
Today, my mother and I focused our energies on site seeing. The highlight of my day was a rickshaw ride around Old Delhi. My mother and I jammed our derrieres into a small seat attached to the back of a bicycle and took a harrowing trip around streets that were approximately two yards wide. Our ride reminded me that I was no longer in Kansas. We zipped past shops selling saris and exotic birds, people yelled who-knows-what at each other in language that I presumed to be Hindi, and the traffic system lacked both rhyme and reason; people went where they wanted when they wanted and frequently collided. As I took in the energy and chaos, I felt very conspicuous. My mother and I were often the only White people on the street and attracted many stares. Later on in the day, someone asked to take a picture with us because they were so intrigued by the color of our skin.
The last stop of the day was a Sikh temple. Traveling to India has made me develop tremendous respect for the Sikhs. They believe, among other things, that everyone is equal (as a symbol of this, everyone has to remove their shoes and socks before entering the temple; fortunately, they kept the ground very clean), that violence should only be used as a last resort, that it is important to work hard, and that it is important to serve others. The Sikhs take this last belief very seriously. Every day, Sikh temples serve free meals to anyone who enters their doors. The temple that we visited served 10,000 people lunch per day. In addition to sharing food, temples create their own social programs. In Delhi, one Sikh temple was running a program that gave away free potable water. Sikhs have an easy time running their service efforts because they require their followers to contribute their time to the temples.
Tomorrow I am going to leave from Mumbai. I look forward to reporting on how it differs from Delhi.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Antigone In India: Day One
Last night, I landed in India at 9:20 pm. Along the way, twelve hours that were supposed to have taken place on January 5 disappeared into thin air, and I jumped ahead ten-and-a-half hours in time. It suffices to say that I am severely jet lagged.
When I woke up this morning, I was revving to get out the door and see India. My long journey and subsequent night of rest had left me with more than 24 hours to anticipate my adventure. The wait was worth it. India is completely different from any country that I have ever visited. The semi-trucks are covered in campy, brightly-colored paintings (even the gas tanks feature pictures), cattle and buffalo wander freely in the streets, and people travel on the highways with every mode of transportation imaginable, including, camels, donkeys, bicycles, and cabs that look like green and yellow golf carts.
This morning, my mother and I started our trip off with a four-hour car ride to Agra. Along the way, I managed to make a little boy’s day by taking his picture with my digital camera. When we arrived, we went to lunch at a restaurant recommended by our guide. The food was delicious, traditional Indian fare. Unfortunately, I have not been able to eat a bite of anything here without thinking of traveler’s diarrhea. After lunch, we went to the Taj Mahal.
Taj Mahal
The Taj Mahal was built by the fourth Mughal Emperor, Shah Jahan, in loving memory of his second wife, Mumtaz Mahal. According to legend, Mumtaz Mahal grew sick after giving birth to the Emperor’s fourteenth and final child. Her husband visited her on her deathbed and asked her if she had any wishes. At first, Mumtaz only asked that her husband not marry again (this did not preclude him from having 1500 concubines) and that he treat their children with kindness. The Emperor then told her to wish for something else; he wanted to show the world his deep love and affection for his wife. Mumtaz requested that he build her a beautiful mausoleum. Shah Jahan began to build the Taj Mahal six months after his wife’s death. It was completed twenty-two years later, in 1653.
The Taj Mahal is lesson in symmetry. When Shah Jahan had to build a mosque on one side of the building, he elected to build an identical structure on the opposite side, even though he had no use for it. The back of the Taj Mahal faces the open banks of the Yamuna River. It was comforting to see that at least one culture does not try to fill all spaces surrounding famous tourist sites with gift shops and restaurants.
Agra Fort
Our second historical spot was the Agra Fort. The Fort has existed since at least 1080 AD. However, it was significantly renovated by the third Mughal Emperor, Akbar. In 1658, Shan Jahan (the Mughal Emperor who built to the Taj Mahal) was overthrown by his son and imprisoned in the Agra Fort. Unable to visit his wife’s mausoleum, he watched it from a tower atop the Agra Fort.
The Fort was absolutely beautiful. I liked it more than the Taj Mahal. My favorite room was a large receiving area that overlooked a courtyard. It was filled with magnificent pillars.
Orphanage
In between historical trips, my mother and I visited an orphanage run by the Sisters of Charity (the order of nuns to which Mother Theresa belonged). The children were incredibly sweet. Many of them came up to us in search of a hug.
The orphanage was just one of many reminders of India’s extensive poverty. Here, the average annual salary is 710 USD and thirty five to forty percent of the 1.027 billion-person population lives on less than one dollar a day.
On that sad note, I need to go to bed. It is 11:30 pm over here and jet lag made me wake up at five this morning.
Namaste!
When I woke up this morning, I was revving to get out the door and see India. My long journey and subsequent night of rest had left me with more than 24 hours to anticipate my adventure. The wait was worth it. India is completely different from any country that I have ever visited. The semi-trucks are covered in campy, brightly-colored paintings (even the gas tanks feature pictures), cattle and buffalo wander freely in the streets, and people travel on the highways with every mode of transportation imaginable, including, camels, donkeys, bicycles, and cabs that look like green and yellow golf carts.
This morning, my mother and I started our trip off with a four-hour car ride to Agra. Along the way, I managed to make a little boy’s day by taking his picture with my digital camera. When we arrived, we went to lunch at a restaurant recommended by our guide. The food was delicious, traditional Indian fare. Unfortunately, I have not been able to eat a bite of anything here without thinking of traveler’s diarrhea. After lunch, we went to the Taj Mahal.
Taj Mahal
The Taj Mahal was built by the fourth Mughal Emperor, Shah Jahan, in loving memory of his second wife, Mumtaz Mahal. According to legend, Mumtaz Mahal grew sick after giving birth to the Emperor’s fourteenth and final child. Her husband visited her on her deathbed and asked her if she had any wishes. At first, Mumtaz only asked that her husband not marry again (this did not preclude him from having 1500 concubines) and that he treat their children with kindness. The Emperor then told her to wish for something else; he wanted to show the world his deep love and affection for his wife. Mumtaz requested that he build her a beautiful mausoleum. Shah Jahan began to build the Taj Mahal six months after his wife’s death. It was completed twenty-two years later, in 1653.
The Taj Mahal is lesson in symmetry. When Shah Jahan had to build a mosque on one side of the building, he elected to build an identical structure on the opposite side, even though he had no use for it. The back of the Taj Mahal faces the open banks of the Yamuna River. It was comforting to see that at least one culture does not try to fill all spaces surrounding famous tourist sites with gift shops and restaurants.
Agra Fort
Our second historical spot was the Agra Fort. The Fort has existed since at least 1080 AD. However, it was significantly renovated by the third Mughal Emperor, Akbar. In 1658, Shan Jahan (the Mughal Emperor who built to the Taj Mahal) was overthrown by his son and imprisoned in the Agra Fort. Unable to visit his wife’s mausoleum, he watched it from a tower atop the Agra Fort.
The Fort was absolutely beautiful. I liked it more than the Taj Mahal. My favorite room was a large receiving area that overlooked a courtyard. It was filled with magnificent pillars.
Orphanage
In between historical trips, my mother and I visited an orphanage run by the Sisters of Charity (the order of nuns to which Mother Theresa belonged). The children were incredibly sweet. Many of them came up to us in search of a hug.
The orphanage was just one of many reminders of India’s extensive poverty. Here, the average annual salary is 710 USD and thirty five to forty percent of the 1.027 billion-person population lives on less than one dollar a day.
On that sad note, I need to go to bed. It is 11:30 pm over here and jet lag made me wake up at five this morning.
Namaste!
