Here I am!

Alive and well back in Calcutta!

Only a bit better, because I have sat on the banks of the Ganges and I have rested my eyes on the Taj Mahal. Like poetry.

My last night in Varanasi I was having a coughing fit, so I went outside to sit on the patio by the river. And it was very late and the stars were very bright. And right above my head, the brightest and the most beautiful was Orion himself. Right there. And years and years ago, my mother told me, that whenever I am far away from home, I can look up and find Orion and know that she can look up and see him too.

And Agra was wonderful. Denise and I drank Banana Lassis (the world's greatest drink) at a rooftop restaurant and watched the elephants, camels, painted horses, drummers, trombones, floats, and dancers prance down the street. We were told it was a celebration of Rama's wedding. And it was golden and glittered and the Taj Mahal framed it all, tall and dark in the background.

(My arm is red from pinching.)

The Taj Mahal.

It was amazing. And everything it is said to be. Peacful and beautiful and so tragic.

The train ride back was long. 29 hours (five hours late) and I lay in my bed and read books on unrequited love, which seemed appropriate, and helped the romantically-tragic feeling to linger and follow me down the train tracks, past the green rice fields, and deep into the night.

(Yes, I'm feeling very poetic.) And I'm reading Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and I must share the first line with you, except I don't share it with Jacob because he already quotes it by heart - but I have to share it with the rest of you because it is really beautiful:

"It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love"

I keep rereading the same lines over and over so they will stick.

The people here have been overwhelmingly kind. I have been told so many worries - to be on my guard for theives and manhandlers - so I always find, with a bit of surprise, that my guardedness is met with complete kindness. A man on the train invited me and Denise over to sit by him, saying, "we have done many train things so far - read and slept - but now we must enjoy the pleasure of talking to each other!" So we did, and he did, and he told us proudly about his wife and children and about his home, and we about ours, and he gave us his card and said if we have time we should call him and he will show us around the city and the fesitval. I am amazed over and over by the kindness of strangers here.

But coming home was the best.

I was walking down Sudder Street, at night, as the train had arrived late. And a man came up to my side and said, "Do you need a room, Madame?" Annoyed, and without even looking I answered, "No," as it was the fifth man to have asked in two minutes. But then I did look, and it was Stan and he was laughing, so I hit him with my bag. Which worked out, because then he carried it for me, and we walked back to the apartment. And in the courtyard a party was happening. An anti-licing party, as five of the people had all gotten lice that day. And they were combing hair and listening to music, smoking their cigarettes and drinking beer. And when I arrived they said, "Kate!" and I felt like Norm on Cheers. And someone poured me a beer and handed my a plate of pasta with cheese. And one of the girls started painting a henna bird on my hand. And I was comfortable, warm and happy. And before going to bed they said, "it is so nice to have you back."

And the air smelled good, perhaps less pollution than before. But perhaps that is me just feeling partial.

Agra

We made it to Agra!

The train ride was long - six hours late (six extra hours!) but it was nice waking up and watching the rose colored morning bathe the Indian countryside. Truly beautiful. There were men in flowing white shirts standing in their fields. Women in saris walked by with baskets on their heads. White stork-like birds walked amongst them.

Denise and I stayed up late talking into the night. It's nice to have a travel companion. Nice to bounce thoughts off each other, off the walls - off something besides the inside of my own head.

Our motorcycle rickshaw (like tuk-tuks, Jess) pointed out the Taj as we left the train station. We both turned and said "ahhhh" in unison. You have to. Because it's magic. We'll wake up at sunrise tomorrow to see it proper, bathed in light. I've been reading in my guidebook about it. It's a really beautiful story. A king built it for his beloved wife, Mumtaz, who died giving birth to their 14th child! It took about twenty years to build -but soon after it was finished the king was overthrown by his son and imprisoned in the nearby Agra Fort, where he could only gaze at it through a window. When he died he was buried next to Mumtaz - and there's a legend that he had originally intended to build an exact replica of the Taj opposite the one standing - only this one in black, a mirror-image in the negative. It's just a legend, the last part, but I like to think it's true.

I keep pinching myself. I'm at the Taj Mahal. In Agra, India. And there is music outside and Durga Puja floats parading down the street.

The Taj Mahal.

Then back to Calcutta we shall go. Where Durga Puja awaits. Not to mention the "Goodbye Monsoon" party Aneita and I are planning. With drinks and lanterns and dancing in our courtyard. We figured it was time to dance the rain away.

p.s. an elephant just walked down the street. with painted ears. looks like a festival is happening tonight!

Tomato soup and feeling better each day. The ganges makes me well. Maybe. perhaps. The thought is nice. And the monkeys make me laugh. And the streets smell like incense. Old windy mazes of stone with cows blocking the way. It's beautiful and I don't want to leave. Varanasi.

But I am leaving. To Agra. Train and sleep and the Taj Mahal.

The Taj Mahal.

quick note

I can't type long because there are so many bugs in here trying to eat me! (they come out at night, and in the morning lay on the ground so you stomp on them as you walk!)

Just in case my last post wasn't clear - Varanasi is the most wonderful city. Truly beautiful. Today we watched them carry bodies in funeral procession down to the burning ghat by the river. I saw at least thirty (naughty) monkeys, goats, water buffalo, and got attacked by a bull (so I hit him on the head). We ended up at a Puja ceremony down by the river tonight and men in orange silk performed a ceremony with fire on the banks with hundreds of people looking on. It was surreal and otherworldly. Old worldly.

I really can't write more I have to run (especially because Marion and Shane just made it back with the beer) but I wanted to say I'm going to try to go to Agra tomorrow to see the Taj Mahal. It's a long trip and I don't know when I can write again, but I wanted to let you all know that I'm well (in case my last post wasn't clear!)

Love you all.

The Ganges

I remember one time in college. I was walking across the campus through the snow falling at night. I remember the snow was already several feet deep on the ground and I was watching the lights catch it as it fell. Suddenly I came across two deer frozen and staring at me on my path. We looked at each other for a while, and I knew that I would always remember that moment, because it was so beautiful.

Yesterday I woke up on the train after very little sleep. We had stopped at a station (it was my fault, I talked everyone out of taking the express train because I was cheap) and there were children and men walking up and down the aisle shouting "Chai, Chai. Yes Madame, Chai?" (which is really annoying when it's six in the morning and seeming to happen at ten minute intervals). I turned over and looked out the window. The sun had just come up and I was getting my first real view of the Indian countryside. It was so green - rice fields spotted with banyan trees (and a tree with a white bark that I don't know). And I saw a small girl wearing a bright magenta dress climbing one of the trees. And it was just like the deer. I think I shall always remember it.

And I think I shall always remember the Ganges. My eyes have seen the Ganges. Can you believe it?

We came into Varanasi and I said, "Denise, wake up!" she jumped up and looked out the window and there was the Ganges. Brown and beautiful.

It many ways it's like an ordinary river - but there is something about it. Maybe the history - maybe the beauty of this place, but I find if captivating and beautiful, and I'm inexplicably drawn to it.

Our hotel is the best luck in the world. After winding through the tiny hot maze-like ancient streets, we came to this beautiful place with a big white balcony, filled with tables and plants that sits right on top of the river.

Last night Denise, Salyuri and I ate dinner and watched as people sent candles down the darkened waters. It looked like stars.

This morning we rose before dawn, Marion too (but shane slept I guess -he's another new zealander we picked up along the way - and he has curly hobbit hair!) and we went down to the river and got in a row boat and watched the sun rise from the middle of the river. I sent flowers down for my loved ones and lit a candle for my health (which immediately capsized. Hmmm)

And my health is what I complain of now. I think the train ride did me in - I'm terribly sick still, and frustrated. It seems to be my lot in life - to be ill, and today I am not gracious about it.

I think a lot of it had to do with dehydration and lack of food. I've had no appetite since I've been sick, and most days eat just a piece of bread or something pathetic like that. I was so weak and dizzy by yesterday I felt like death and started crying. Denise - thank god for people with common sense - sat down next to me and rubbed my back and said in her Irish accent, "this not eating of yours isn't going to work. I'm going to go buy you some fruit and you're going to need to eat it." So she left and I sat on my bed and I cried and I cried and I cried.

And I said to myself, Kate, why are you crying?

And I answered myself, removed, because I'm so so tired. And I don't want to be sick. And I'm terribly terribly far from home - and all I can think about is home. And yet I'm here, in the most peaceful beautiful place. And I am crying because I don't think I'm the same person I was. And I'm crying because in these past few weeks I have seen so much poverty and so much suffering and I'm not sure how to take it all in. I'm not sure if my heart can take it. Sometimes I feel like it might break against my ribs. And I'm crying because my heart is already broken and I'm not sure it will mend. And I'm crying because it is so beautiful. And I'm crying because I am sad. And I think, it is good to cry when you are sad.

And then I was done, and they brought me fruit and I ate tomato soup and watched the sea of stars float down the river.

Sometimes I think India is too much for me. It's both beautiful and miserable all together - a bit manic-depressive, I suppose, and I can't seem to find my balance.

And then there's the fever. I woke up again so hot last night. I couldn't sleep, and so scared because I couldn't get my body to cool down, and it's so dark. And sometimes. Often, I am afraid of the dark. I woke Marion up. She's a nurse and she took my pulse and felt my head and gave me tylenol and a cool clothe to put on my wrists and my forehead. The next morning she hugged me and said "I prayed for you so many times last night." Which is funny. Marion and I were talking over beers a week ago and she was talking about religion. She said she doesn't particularly perscribe to a faith, but ever since she came to India, she's started praying. She isn't sure to what, but as she is sitting with the desperately ill and dying people at Prem Dan (another Mother Teresa house like Kalighat - only bigger) she often isn't sure what to do, and has found herself praying. And she thinks maybe that's why India is such a spiritual place. Because over and over again you are left with nothing else to do, but to pray.


Anyways. Denise and I are talking about changing our ticket to go to Agra and see the Taj Mahal before heading back to Calcutta. Most of me wants to because we are so close. But it is miserable to travel when sick and sleep when you can't breathe. And I'm a bit overwhelmed right now. But we're so close...

So I think I will go sit by the Ganges and think about it. I am completely captivated and enchanted by this place. I despise this place. I love this place.

Ganges

I will catch my train at 8:00 tonight. And when I wake up, I will be in (or approaching, for my literal readers) the ancient city of Varanasi, which sits on the Ganges.

My French friend, Tiph, is already there, and sent out this email this morning:

"We are at the hotel Alkha! very very beautiful place! we will wait for you at the end on the morning thursday on the roof!"

I will write when I can. It might come out as poetry.

Feeling better bit by bit. Which is good for all of us (this includes me) who no longer wants to read or think about my abnormal bowel movements.

I do want to think about how I have the greatest friends and family in the world. It was so good to chat with my sister today! I love her! And Chris sent an email the put all my anxious thoughts at rest. There is no replacement for that. Such wonderful people in my life - truly and utterly.

I also feel blessed to be moving amongst the living again. I walked down the street today and felt particular fondness for the life about me in all it's complexity: the man carrying a satchel of coconuts on his head, the men bathing (and peeing) on the corners, the women in the doorsteps in their beautiful red saris, the child asleep on the stairway, the goats being driven down the street. Today I loved them all.

Still, lately I wonder how much to trust what I see. There are so many layers, it's hard to know what is true. I suppose that is the case everywhere, but in a foreign country, with all the intricacies of culture and language, custom and history, sometimes it seems all the more difficult (though the reverse can also be argued. Just not by me today.) Here's what I mean. There are these women that walk up and down Sudder street where I live. They seem obviously poor and they carry small, tiny babies in their arms and they beg for money for milk for their babies. Everytime you walk down the street your eyes and your heart are accosted by the sight of so many such people - the women and babies, the men with no arms, the hunched over and crippled, the blind, the poor. And I want to pour all my money into their hands and say, take it, and have food!

But it's so much more complicated than that. A girl who has been here a year said she has seen one of the women's babies change three times in the course of a year. She says that they aren't actually their babies, but the women buy or "rent" them as an aid to begging (and this in turn supports child trafficking). She said that most of the beggars in this area aren't the "real" poor - she said the real poor can't even make it here to this street to begin with, but in reality that this area is controlled by the mafia and other forms of underground crime, and the beggars pay a fee to beg in this area. And if you buy milk for the women, they will return it unopened to be resold, and the money will be divided between them and the mafia.

And yet the poverty is so real.

It's just hard to know what is true. And it's hard to know what affects your actions, any actions will have on the lives around you. Will giving to a beggar aid child trafficking, or will it mean that someone has a meal that day? The difference seems so important, and it is so difficult to know.

So I go to Varanasi tomorrow. To see the Ganges. To float flowers down it. And perhaps to write a bit of poetry. And perhaps things will make more sense. Or at least there will be more peace for the things that don't.

In the meantime, I am off to see the doctor again. I saw him last night, and go for my lab results today. I liked him a lot. He reveled in storytelling, and was captivated by Aneita who is from Austria, "his favorite country in the world." He said, "oh, you are from Austria, then you must come sit by me so I can hold you hand, as it is my favorite place in the world." So she did, and he held her hand and dreamily spoke of the walnut bread he and his wife buy there and the pumpkin dressing you can get on this one street at this one place in Vienna. It was nice. I was half hoping he'd invite us home for tea so I could continue listening to him talk. But instead, he did something kinder; and gave us medicine and told us to go home and "read good books."

But first -eeek - today I shall expose myself (in more ways than one) to the art of Indian hair removal. I'm trying to make it sound exotic. I'm just getting my legs waxed. Off with the old! Because I'm off to the Ganges!

So I took the medicine

I wrote and called home yesterday at about 9 in the morning, Calcutta time. By the time I was done, I was feeling miserable, so I went back and sat in the courtyard - and did indeed stare at the geckos. It was horribly hot, and just seemed to get hotter and hotter. I was in such a terrible state that I started crying.

Which is where they found me. Puddled and crying in the courtyard opposite the geckos.

Aneita and Stephi took my temperature, and it turns out that I had a fever. Immediately, I was given medicine - one to kill the fever and one to kill whatever was alive in my belly and killing me (softly) from the inside. Stan set me up in his room, which comes complete with the best fan ever, straw mats -and here's the big one - a television! So I sat in there all day and miserably (albeit romantically - I find being sick very romantic here) sipped on 7up and watched Robin Hood, Men in Tights, and reruns of Seinfeld. Felicity brought me yogurt with cultures for my belly. Havila painted my toenails. And Aneita gave me a back massage.

Really. Not so bad.

I think the fever has broken. I feel better today, just very weak. But so far I've done laundry (hand-washed in buckets and put on the line), went to the store for orange juice, went to the post office, and even made it here. I'm just very tired and very weak. But I'm feeling like I will be fine by Wednesday when I travel again. (Only I'm slightly afraid that when this sickness if over, I will next be diagnosed with diabetes as cookies and 7up are all I want to eat :)

Last night was Tiph's last night - and I'm very sorry to see her go - my first friend I made here. She stopped in to say goodbye. There are a lot of goodbye's here. Like in the Wizard of Oz "my, people come and go so quickly around here!" But she is also heading to Varanasi and we will overlap when I first get there so we're hoping for a meet-up for coffee by the Ganges. I like saying goodbye slowly, in segments.

I am anxious to get back to work. But I know I need to be careful with my health. Still... there is so much to see and do. And it's not good to spend too much time alone with one's thoughts. As easy and as attractive as that usually is for me - it can also be quite dangerous. Especially when sick.

(I've decided, that despite my healthy and strapping good looks, I sadly have a sickly constitution. And I'm beginning to fear that in the case of an apocalypse or zombie invasion, I wouldn't survive.)

I remember when I was sick in Thailand. We were living up in the mountains then, and I had gone to bed early. Chris, Amir, and Rachel had started a bonfire in the field. I remember Chris and Amir coming into my room and picking up the mattress I was sleeping on. I shouted, "what are you doing?!?!" And they replied that I had to see the bonfire. They set me down, mattress and all out in the field - and I remember waking back up to them running away. I shouted, "where are you going?" To which they replied, "the water buffalo are stampeding! the water buffalo are stampeding!"

Good times.

But enough! I've determined to get better!

And so I shall.

ugggh

still sick.

I have been hesitant to take medicine - because I'm afraid of medicine. And I'm ridiculous. And sometimes stubborn about ridiculous things. But I think if I'm not better by tomorrow I will take something. Maybe... :)

I want to be better by Wednesday. On Wednesday I'm going to Varanasi with the girl from New Zealand and the girl from Ireland. Can you believe it - I am going to sit on the banks of the Ganges?

By the way, I have an address you can mail things to - only I didn't bring it with me, so I'll try to remember for next time.

Also, does anyone Skype? Because we can set up a computer chat time!

Alright. That's about all. I'm going back to my apartment to stare at the Geckos.

I'm homesick

and also sick sick. Which might have something to do with the homesick bit.

Whenever I'm sick, I still want my mum.

And someone to hold my head in their lap and stroke it softly and say, "poor, poor thing."

As it is, Aneita brought me toast and Felicity brought me electrolyte powder and Tiph said she'd check in on me and sigh. At least I get to be sick under a mosquito net which makes me feel infinitely more romantically pathetic - always a plus when sick.

Mostly I'm just tired - with body aches and stomach cramps. It's hard to tell if I have a fever or not because as Aneita said, here our foreheads are always hot and our skin is always clammy so it's hard to tell the difference between normal and not.

But whatever I have seems to be going around - so many people are sick now, but for the most part they recover in a few days, so there's hope.

And as it seems to happen to everyone, I've decided to look on being sick as a rite of passage for being in India. This just means that I'm really here. Right?

I still want my mum. :)

It has happened. The curse of Calcutta. I hear it happens to everyone, yet still, with fear and trembling I pleaded with all that is good and benevolent that it would not happen to me. Alas, my cries were unheard (perhaps divine retribution for nun-fighting?) So Gordon, thanks for the Imodium. Best birthday present ever. And the only reason I'm able to sit at this computer right now. So really, many many thanks. (Also, I'm hoping it means I will be able to go see Mama Mia with the Germans. I know, I know. But I love musicals. I can't help it!)

Fully Imodiumnized, I went to the Leprosy Center today. I'm glad I did. It was incredibly sobering, but also incredibly inspiring. The clinic was started in the 1950's basically as a group of people sitting under a Banyan tree. Mother Teresa petitioned for some land and was granted a bit of wasteland by the railroads. Later, in the 70's when they tried to expand, the railroad petitioned and they were refused. So one of the men, angry, took a group of the people with leprosy down to the railroad station and demanded, "So where do you want us?" The answer was of course, not here, so they were granted more land and now they have a fully self-sufficient center.

There are dozens of looms, and the people that can work sew their own clothes there. It was fascinating to watch - hundreds of threads on hundreds of spindles being woven into cloth. The sound was like rain falling.

They dye their own fabrics, have their own garden to grow their own food, bake their own bread, cook their own meals. There's a room where they make prosthetics for arms and legs. They make their own shoes out of a special rubber so that the feet affected by leprosy will be able to walk. If possible. They have a school for the kids (who sang us songs in four different languages). They have a rehab room with stationary bikes and massage oils. And a nursing room where some of the patients learn to treat and bandage each other's sores and ulcers. They operate completely independently of any volunteer help. Truly amazing.

The most difficult part was walking through the room of people who won't recover. Many of their eyes literally appear to be melting away. Imagine, not being able to close your eyes? Or to cry? Some have lost arms and limbs, as leprosy affects your nerves and your ability to feel. So while most of us will notice a cut or burn and tend to it, they won't, and as a result infection and ulcers occur regularly and result in loss of limbs. It felt a bit horrible marching past the people as if they were museum objects on display. But as the man hosting us said, this is the only change in daily monotony they have - visitors, that is - and they look forward to it eagerly. And so it seemed. Most people sat up and smiled and said a hundred "namastes" over and over. Beautiful and humbling.

And then the Imodium wore off. Sigh. So a day of books it is. And rain.

Outside there is music happening. Yesterday was a minor festival - I asked people what it was and they just kept saying "puja" which I believe literally means to give respect (and it's also the name of one of my students). From what I've gathered it's the holiday of factory workers. But not one seems to pay too much attention to it, and though there are cars decorated in marigolds driving up and down the street and shrines on the corners - every time I go outside to see what's happening I keep being told "it's over." So I go inside and hear music again, and when I come out "it's over" again. Maybe they're playing red light, green light with the tourists.

The big festivals are yet to come. October 1st is Gandhi's birthday, and also the last day of the Muslim Ramadan, I believe. Then, the biggest festival - which I can't remember the name of - is on the 4th of October and will run for many days. All over town people have constructed giant bamboo structures, and I hear they are making sculptures and statues that will be paraded down the street and placed in these structures.

In other random news. I met a girl from Ireland today and we talked excitedly for about an hour - it's so nice to meet fellow English speakers! I admittedly have been envious of the French, Japanese, German, and Spanish who seem to be here en mass. There are relatively no British, Irish, American, or Australians here - the latter of which is quite surprising because Australians are everywhere. Always. In hoards. Still, it's pretty great to be living with people from all over the world. I love it.

In more other random news, I've been meaning to tell you that the men around my area bathe on the street everyday. I don't know why I want to tell you - but I do. It was the first thing I noticed as I drove in to town early on my first morning. They all huddle around water pumps on the street corners and wearing only a waste clothe, soap themselves and bathe, in group, on the corner. (They also pee on the corners and everywhere else, but this is less interesting -as men seem to do this everywhere anyways. At least the drunk ones. Or so I've known a few.) I asked one girl where the women are and she told me that if they want to bathe they have to do it very early while it is still dark (it gets light here at around 5 -5:30 in the morning) and as a result, very seldom bathe unless they are on their period.

Very interesting. I suppose in many places, in many ways, it is a man's world, huh? And the wealthy's world as well.

Alright - here I go again. (Mama Mia!)

And then it rains...

It's still monsoon season.

I woke up at five to go to laughing yoga, but the rain was pouring and pouring, so I sat in my room under my mosquito net instead and watched it fall. And it fell all day. In places the streets started to flood, but not too bad. I have heard that during the worst times of year the water can get calf high - or higher - and the only transportation that can make it down the streets are the hand-drawn rickshaws.

It's wonderful and strange sitting in my room listening to the rain - comforting really. Sounds like home. If just for a moment. And its nice to read and write and listen to the sound. But it's sobering when my thoughts go to all the people who sleep on the streets. Where do they go? I'm not sure.

Sometimes when we're walking, the rain will come, out of no where - fast and hard, and life freezes. Everyone huddles under the roofs and at the shop door steps and waits for it to past. And as soon as it does, they immediately unfreeze and begin moving as fast as before with horns blaring from the taxis and shopkeepers shouting and people passing by.

Yesterday at the school, the rain fell so hard that we had to pause for a second to make sure it was real. Everyone rushed to the windows and watched as the palm trees and coconut trees and banana trees were beaten against each other by the rain.

On the way home, three of us; myself, and a girl from Korea, and one from Switzerland, got caught in a heavy downpour. We could have run for cover, but were already so soaked within seconds that it seemed just as well to keep on walking home. We kept looking at each other and laughing, because it felt like being kids in a sprinkler. And sometimes, when soaked, it's best to just laugh.

Last night we sat in the courtyard and watched the rain fall. We were all huddled on small chairs in the only dry corners and must have sat out there for several hours, not really talking, just staring. I had been feeling lonely all day. Even though I know a lot of people, none of them are fluent in English (and I am not fluent in their languages), and I find myself so longing for really good conversation - I have so many thoughts that I want to share. And I want to talk fast and excitedly and not think about my words - but just talk and talk - and it's lonely. But sitting there, in the rain, not talking - I wasn't lonely anymore. It was just really beautiful.

Eventually one of the Frenchmen opened his door on the other side of the courtyard and proceeded to do silent pantomimes against the darkness - It was like watching a play and it was hilarious. My favorite night so far.

Today I decided to skip work. Aneita, my friend from Austria, thinks I'm working too much. I agree with her - I'm starting to get really tired, but I keep going anyways because I'm both afraid of missing anything - and I'm still a bit afraid of the loneliness that keeps creeping up.

The first room I stayed in when I was here - the one with the mouse- was like a small, cold, dark prison cell. And it was the worst claustrophobia of my life. Feeling alone and trapped. I don't think I would be able to survive prison, if ever I were to go, if it is anything like that - because the loneliness is terrifying. Deafening. And with no clear end.

And yet I find that everything has an end. Only you just have to let things be. And when I feel lonely, instead of trying to fix it, you just kind of sit with it. Turn it over in your head and your mind. And then the rain falls and you sit silently with people you barely know, and it is gone.

So today, I skip work. Tiphane from Paris and I sat in a cafe and talked about life while the rain fell. She said if I come to Paris I can stay with her. Maybe I will study French again. I hate it that everyone speaks English but I don't speak anything else. We talked about love and life and all the places we want to see (as one tends to do with the French, I suppose :) and then walked here to the internet cafe. Later I will buy soap to wash my clothes in a bucket, perhaps go look at fabric with Tiphane, and then I'm going to meet a girl from New Zealand. We met yesterday and she asked me to travel with her to Varanasi next Wednesday. It is a holy city to the Hindi and is known for its hundreds (or maybe eighty) ghats down on the Ganges river. I think we will stay three days and then she will go to Delhi and I will return to Calcutta. It's nice to have a room here, because I can leave my backpack and just take a small bag for travel. And it's nice feeling like I have a more permanent room to come home to and travel from. I'm thinking of staying two months in Calcutta instead of just the one, and doing small trips from here (then I can travel with people and don't have to lug the bag). Who knows though. Turns out - I can do whatever I want. :)

Which right now might possibly be going and taking a nap! Yesterday I finally got sheets for my bed. The first day I asked at the desk and they said they don't have sheets. The second time I asked, they just said no. The third time I asked, they said ok - and now I have sheets! Which makes it the best day ever! Sometimes, it's the small things. Huh?

Oh, here comes the rain again.

Were you all really sad that I didn't post yesterday?

Have you been living in suspense about my nun fighting ways and how I will turn out - will I bitch-slap a monk next? Pants a priest? Groin-kick a Rabbi? There's really no telling.

In truth, I was doing something much more violent last night - I was sitting in the courtyard playing Risk. And considering that the people playing were American, French, British and German, I think a game about trying to dominate the world seems really appropriate.

I won, by the way.

Well, not really. We had to end early because some of us wanted to walk to The Victoria Memorial to see a light show, but I was winning.

See. I really have no morals.

But I do finally have an appetite! It's taken about three days for my stomach to adjust to the heat. For those first days I was hungry, but whenever I had food I just couldn't seem to swallow it. So instead I would stare miserably at all the delicious things to eat and wander the streets hungry.

But I'm starting to acclimate. And eat! And eat and eat! Viva la food club! The food here really is fantastic. And I've found the Germans to be great eating companions as every night their goal is to find some place new and fantastic to eat. Last night we ended up in a small vegetarian restaurant full of plants and brightly tiled walls. We got our first round of food, then ordered a second, and then a third. It felt so extravagant (and I suppose it was by relative Indian standards) but the bill only came out to about four dollars each. And it was at that moment that I decided that all future travel will revolve around food.

I decided to go back to the school today. Because it isn't about me, it's about the kids, and as far as I know, they don't have a teacher right now - so it felt right to go. And it was a good day. The kids were happy to see me (which is surprising because I made them cry the day before. I told you - no morals) and were climbing on me screaming "Auntie Kate! Auntie Kate!" Which was both really beautiful and also a bit itchy (as one of them has lice. Cross your fingers for me, but so far so good). There were SEVEN teachers that showed up today, and three of them were just returned from travels and have worked there before so I got to commiserate with them, and just really felt very supported. The impromptu lessons went really well. And I taught them the hokey pokey which was a huge hit.

And the nun didn't yell at me once! She definitely scowled at me when the kids were teaching me an Indian dance at the end of the day. But no yelling. I think she yelled at five other volunteers instead. I think she is an unhappy nun. Maybe she should eat more Indian food. It definitely makes me happy.

The bus ride home was -- aaagh -- well, yeah. Anyways. The buses don't ever really stop (unless you are a large group). They just kind of slow down and you have to jump on . Like hitching a ride on a train in a western movie (a genre I'm now an expert on, apparently) - like that. And they're packed! We're crammed in there, sweating like sardines (if sardines sweat? they definitely cram at least) and it's a loooong ride.

I was so exhausted when I got home that I didn't even make it to my bed. I fell asleep on my linoleum floor with my book as a pillow.

Woke up, went out for lunch, then headed to Kalighat for the afternoon to work with the women. Afterwards we sat on the roof again and drank tea and watched the people go by. It was apparently kite-flying night and there were groups of kids flying their kites up and down the street and on the rooftops. Beautiful.

On the metro ride home got hit on, for the bazillionth time. It's actually really obnoxious. Allen, a man I met today from Holland was laughing and asked if I liked the guy. (I've made up a boyfriend, whom upon mention is the only thing that makes the flirtation stop. I just say, "my boyfriend wouldn't like that." And that seems to end it. I've decided that I really like my imaginary boyfriend. I think I'll keep him). Anyways, Allen's lived in India for the past three years. He said, "the Indian men like to hit on the western women because they can talk to you and flirt - they still can't do that with the Indian women. But times are changing."

He thinks India will see major revolution in the next five to ten years. He thinks there is such huge underlying frustration that will eventually explode. He walked us home and told us that people are angry about the caste system, about the corruption. He said that there are an estimasted 1 million rapes a year in India, but only 2% of those are reported. And of the 2% reported only 12% are convicted. And what is more likely to happen, he said, is that the woman will ruin her life by reporting - will be ostrasized, looked down on as morally corupt. Often the police will blame her as well. Maybe she showed too much skin.

He also talked about other forms of violence. Domestic violence. Child abuse. He said women and children get beat regularly, and the statistic for sexual abuse against children is 53%. 53%?!

I'm not sure where his statistics came from, but it was a sobering walk nonetheless.

He pointed to a man in a BMW and said, "here, this man can do anything. He can kill anyone in broad daylight. but because he is rich, and the system is corrupt, he can do anything." I don't know what is true. But still, it is hard to hear. He thinks it will change soon though. He thinks it is changing already.

Speaking of violence, briefly - if you heard about the bombings in Delhi, I'm safe and well, and don't worry. As a result, security has been stepped up in the Calcutta metro. So now instead of metal detectors with no on guarding them when you go through (every person sets them off, but no one cares, it's hilarious) there now is a guard who is sitting there - who doesn't care. Everyone still sets them off, but now he is there to kind of look at them.

But not all is ugly and violent. I think that's the important contradiction of India. And really everywhere. It is always wrapped up, tied up together. And for everything ugly there is something beautiful. I believe that.

Anyways. I'm tired. I've been going all day. I need to get food and shower. Maybe read and write letters. Laughing yoga didn't happen yesterday, so we're going tomorrow. at 5:30 am. Then to breakfast and Kali's temple, then I think skip work at the school (more teachers mean I get to play hookie!) and just head over to Kalighat for the morning and give myself the night off. Just to be alone with my thoughts.

And there are so many thoughts...

I have like fifty bazillion things to tell you that I haven't even gotten to yet. Time is beginning to move quickly.

And I'm having fun.

Still. And still. I miss everyone - all my loved ones so very very much. I wish you were here. So much. So much.

So I got in a fight with a nun today...

...but she totally started it.

Seriously.

Does that make me the worst volunteer in the world? Maybe it's the nuns. I did better when I worked with the Buddhist monks. They at least thought I was cute. :)

So here's the story.

I decided to go to the school again because I felt bad that when it comes to teachers, the kids just have no consistency. And I don't feel like they deserve that (These are orphans by the way who have been rescued from off the street). But when I got there today I was the ONLY teacher who had shown up and there were like 18 kids screaming and hitting each other and running all around. One of the toddlers had made her way in to the room so I picked her up to run her back to the nursery so I could get order in "my class." (not that it's really a class, and not that any one has told me what I'm supposed to be doing aside from "teaching the children." - with such flexibility I'm thinking of teaching them the quadratic equation and maybe reading some Homer?) From what I can guess, our point of being there is to perhaps surround them conversational English? That's all I can figure because no one has told me any agenda whatsoever. So anyways, I'm carrying the child into the nursery and the nun comes running out at me and yells "you're not supposed to carry them, it will spoil them!" And she seemed really mad (the other volunteers had warned me that she can be a bit mean and they try to avoid her.) I said that's fine, but what's not fine is that there's no teacher and I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing and can she help me? She tells me, "just go get the children in order." And then shoes me away.

An hour later I've decided to do a simple English lesson, namely have them write their names and introduce themselves - they throw a fit and one girl starts crying because she wants to color and I say that they can't color until they finish their work. So the nun comes running in, totally yells at me again and says that I shouldn't expect one of the girls to be doing any work because she's not an actual student there - she's apparently just hanging out.

I do not like being yelled at. Especially in front of the children. So I got angry with her and replied; if no one tells me what to do how would I know who is supposed to be my student or not - and then we went back and forth for a while. I'm sure you get it. We were a bit squared off. Not fisticuffs or anything mind you, but neither of us were backing down. Eventually she just turned and left. But the kids totally listened to me after that. So at least that was good :) We got through the lesson and even did a bit of the subtraction work. And one of the Bengali ladies who works there who saw the fight came up and rubbed my back and said, "don't be sad." Which helped. And the volunteer from Belgium came up and whispered, "I don't support her at all." Which helped too. And then I ate a cookie and some chai and felt bad for fighting with a nun. And not only that, I'm supposed to be the volunteer and supporting the program, so it feels bad that I got angry. After only two days! Sigh. I think it might be best if I worked someplace else. Am I a really horrible volunteer or what?

I ran into Tiphane, one of the french girls later that works at a different house and she said, "hey, I heard you got into a fight with one of the nuns?"

Geez.

Anyways, hung out with the french guys in the courtyard today, then went to Kalighat (home for the destitute and dying). The nun there is really nice, by the way, and we get along fine.

I gave massages today. Some of their arms are so small that I'm afraid they will break in my hands. Others have skin pealing off and lumps the size of baseballs in their arms. Others can barely flex their fingers, and some can't sit up at all. I held a woman's head in my lap and fed her curried potatoes and bread. Then I washed the dishes, and a group of us sat up on the rooftop and watched the sun set on Kali's temple. The air felt nicer up there and we watched in silence all the people walking by. It was nice. It really is an amazing place.

I'm getting more comfortable as I meet more people. There's a foul-mouthed older British woman who lives in my complex that I met last night and like a lot. And Aneita, from Austria and I are going to go to laughing yoga tomorrow in the park. Yay!

And I've been talking to a lot of people and gathering information on places to see: A Buddhist city of calm and meditation, a Hindi holy city where the dead are taken to rest by the Ganges, a city where all the buildings are white and you have to take your shoes off to walk around the lake in the middle. And there are historical sites, and temples, and of course, my dream of Darjeeling where I can drink tea and look at the mountains.

I'm embarassed about today. But like Aneita said, "she totally started it." Sigh. Laura, are you regretting you recommended this to me?

I'm not though. For all the confusion and frustration, it's truly amazing.

Today I sat with a woman in the home for the destitute and dying. The room is beautiful - right next to Kali's temple, which I think I will go look at on Sunday. The ceiling is high and the stone feels cool on your feet. But that is all I can remember of the space, I was too focused on the people. I'll try to remember to pay attention tomorrow.

The female volunteers work with the women, most of whom were picked up right off the street and brought here to hopefully recover, but at the very least have a peaceful place to die where they are loved and taken care of. And while I have been having some difficulties with some of the religious philosophy of the organization (particularly regarding birth control), I can't help but love it. And love that we are given absolutely no instructions on how to take care of the women except: "Just love them. That's all you have to do. They maybe have never had it, so just love them."

Most of the women are frightfully thin. Bones jut out at all angles, and many of them have open sores and large protruding tumors, or ulcers, or I'm not sure what. They lie in cots side-by-side with their names (decorated with flower stickers) above their beds.

I sat and talked with one woman for at least a half an hour. I told her that I didn't speak Bengali, but she kept talking to me anyways. I think she was telling me about her life. At one point, I think she was showing that someone had hit her, and about a cut on her arm. I believe she told me about giving birth. I'm not sure. I just laughed when she laughed and cried when she cried. And then gave her a head massage.

The morning I spent at the school. The kids are beautiful and all call us "Auntie," and like to sit in our laps. I had a little bit of trouble with the structure of "school." From what I can tell, the foreigners are more of babysitters, as there is no curriculum or rules, and the kids pretty much do what they want. At one point I did determine to teach them subtraction and had them stand up and as they counted backwards they had to slowly sink to the ground until they were laying down. This was a huge success and I'm thinking they're going to learn subtraction if it's the last thing I do!

But it might be the last thing I do. I'm not sure I can go there everyday. It's a long bus ride out of Calcutta and as I'm sadly very prone to motion sickness (sad sad) I got pretty ill on the bus (I will write about transportation here later. It's kind of a very fast, intense game of chicken. And I don't think there are rules. There might be. I'll keep my eyes out for them).

I want to make a note about why I'm choosing to work while I'm here. It was actually a large reason that I came -well, there are many reasons, but this is one. And it actually starts in Morocco. I was there many many years ago, and during my stay I got terribly ill. We think now that it was strep throat. And during that time, far away from home, I remember laying in a bed as a woman sat by my side and laid a cool cloth on my forehead. Sometimes she would gently hum, but mostly she just sat there. And it was the most amazing thing in the world to me. And I thought to myself, here it is, this is what I want to do. This is what I want to be for people.

So I went to college and started out as a pre-med student (as so many of us do) and discovered that I hate chemisty and molecular biology more than ANYTHING in the world. Except mushrooms - I hate those too. And eventually became an anthropology major because I just love people.

About two years ago now, I came down with Mono for eight months, was cancer tested for over a year, was hospitalized for four days -and remembered very clearly what it was like to lose your health and how important it is to me that everyone has someone when they're in pain. You know?

Anyways, when I heard about this organization, that literally picks people who are dying up off the streets and gives them a place to be loved, cared for by doctors, fed, nursed - I knew I wanted to do that.

It's incredibly difficult and hard and sad and like everything else, I haven't even begun to process it. But will tell you my thoughts as I do.

In separate news. It's still hard to be here. The noise and pollution and poverty are overwhelming. But as are the good things. Which I guess, is the contradiction of India.

I didn't end up going fabric shopping with the French girl, Tephaine, but met two other French girls (the french and the japanese are everywhere here!) and followed them to see the Victoria Memorial - a HUGE, beautiful, gorgeous monument (looks a bit like the white house -but way more magnificent) dedicated to Queen Victoria and the British invastion of India. It was interesting to read the history, but I was a bit overwhelmed from lack of sleep and heat and think I will have to go back later to take it all in.

There was also a beautiful garden outside where all the couples go to make out. They all sit on benches and neck behind umbrellas. Which I guess is a big heads up if a guy ever approaches me carrying an umbrella and asking to go for a walk.

Also, I got my picture taken at least 18 times yesterday. And I was sweaty, hot and swollen. I didn't like it. Which is why I rejected all previous offers at famedom that came my way.

Also, I'm now incredibly exhausted and need to go find some food and then fall in to a deep coma-like sleep. At least until the call to Muslim call to prayer wakes me up at four in the morning. Followed by the Christian church bells vying for attention.

Wow, I did not say even half of what I intended. There is so so much. Thanks for all the comments and emails! I'll try to get some more time tomorrow to respond!

Calcutta

I can't believe I'm here, walking the streets of Calcutta. It's so surreal and frightening, and lonely, and wonderful. And really really humid.

Yesterday was rough. After landing at about 5 in the morning (after 34 hours or so of flying/layovers) I was rushed upon by eager taxi drivers and whisked away to Sudder Street which is the major street for hotels for foreigners here in Calcutta (or Kolkata as the new spelling would have it) I actually was feeling pretty good - even though the taxi driver was completely ripping me off and I knew it. Was just too awestruck to really argue.

I walked up and down the street with my giant backpack being followed by hoards of men who all wanted to help me find a place and take my money. I eventually asked a Japanese tourist who was walking where she was staying and just went and where she told me to. Not having any clue what else to do.

The room was fine. By fine I mean that pigeons lived above it and there where holes in the ceiling so their feathers and poop drop down. The room felt a bit like a cell and I had this horrible sudden lonely feeling and it took all of my willpower not to head back to the airport and fly home. But I didn't.

That night - still on no food or sleep (I was too busy freaking out for either) I walked over to the orientation at the Mother Teresa home. There I got all signed up to work in the mornings at the school for orphaned children as a teacher and in the afternoon at the home for the destitute and dying. I start on Friday. I'll keep you updated as to how that goes.

In the meanwhile, I met several of the volunteers from all around the world. And that night ended up going out with four French girls and two girls from Lebanon (and I felt like the stupid American as the only one who didn't speak French. Or two languages. Or three languages). Side note: Dena I composed the first postcard to Felix that night on the importance of learning a language early. I haven't written it yet, but it's totally going to be awesome. At least it was at three in the morning when I sat in the dark in my cell of a room composing it, unable to sleep from jetlag.

I eventually digressed into more panic and eager thoughts of fleeing as the night wore on. At one time, I'm pretty sure a mouse ran across my leg.

The thoughts of leaving weave in and out of my day. But they go as soon as I am out on the streets. The streets are amazing. I'm not sure how to even begin to talk about them. They are the mixture of everything good and horrible about humanity. They are loud and crowded and polluted and bright and colorful and so many more things I haven't had a chance to process yet.

Mornings on the street so far are my favorite (I say this after two days :). It's less crowded and people have struck up several friendly conversations with me - which helps the lonely feeling.

I don't even know how to take it all in. I turn my head in one direction and there is a man squatting in a cloth with a prostrate as swollen as a melon hanging out. In another direction is a beautiful woman in a Sari being pulled by a barefooted rickshaw driver. In another, school children in clean uniforms. In another, children dirty and ragged sleeping on the bricks. And in another, men in bright white clothes playing polo.

Speaking of which, I walked by the gentleman clubs today and a group of them invited me over to play soccer. My feet were blistered or I would have. And I still haven't really had food or sleep - my stomach is upset and my mind seems to follow suit. But I especially want to play after seeing there was already an Indian woman out there playing and she was awesome.

Anyways, how can I say all the things I have to say?

The architecture of the streets are also fascinating. Calcutta is the old capital of the British Empire in India, and you can see that history in the falling down colonial style buildings that are scattered throughout the city. It's a very interesting testimony to a different time. As I suppose is going to be common in India.

I moved to a new apartment today. I signed up to stay for a month. A month. That's the committment I'm able to make right now with dreams following it of a mountain trip to Darjeeling to sip tea and look at the Himalayas by sunrise.

I like the new place already. Twelve other volunteers (I think - haven't met them all yet) live there. Each has their own room, but we have a shared courtyard, bathroom, and kitchen. And Havola, the girl I met yesterday said they often hang out together at night in the courtyard and cook together. Which is so what I need. In addition to the fact that there's an open courtyard I can sit in when I need desperately to get out of my room.

The room is nice. It is clean and has a mirror and dresser. I just got back from shopping and bought a few plants to put in the room to help me feel at home, and one of the french girls I went out with last night is coming over at 1:00 today and we are going to buy some beautiful fabrics to put up on the walls. And then there's work, that starts tomorrow.

I think I will be o.k. I'm really not sure. Part of me thinks I will be coming home early. But I've promised myself to stay the week before any rash decisions are made. (I say this after I've paid for a month).

I already have some questions about the work and what I think about some of their philosophies. But I'll wait to write those out.

One day at a time I suppose. Alright. Off I go.

Here

I landed in Calcutta this morning. The travel went well and me and my luggage are safe.

And alone.

It's really quite overwhelming to feel alone in a city of over 13 million people.

There are so many sites and sounds to absorb and no one to share it with. I think the next few days will be difficult, especially as I've already paid for a one bedroom spot by myself. But I'm hoping soon to move to a dorm style room and hopefully meet some fellow travelers. Otherwise, I'm really not sure how I'm going to get through this.

But, then again, I guess it's o.k. if I don't, right? The point is I did it, I'm here. And if I have to suddenly bale and head to Darjeeling to stare at the mountains or the Taj Mahal and then jet home as fast as I can. It's fine. Right? Honestly; It has to be, or else I feel trapped.

But for now, I'm trying to calm myself down and find things to help. I'm going to the Mother Teresa orientation today at three so hopefully I can meet people and set up a volunteer schedule to ground me. And maybe I'll bale on the room after tonight and move into a dorm. And maybe I'll find a really good meal and cup of chai.

And maybe that will calm me down so I can start to tell you about all the things I'm seeing. It's really so so amazing.

The email from mom with these quotes helped:

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face... you must do the thing you cannot do." Eleanor Roosevelt

"I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas. They've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind." Emily Bronte

Think of me often. I need everyone right now.

in transit

Killing time in London. (by the way, life's not bad when you say things like "I'm killing time in London.")

I was here three years ago after working on a goat farm with Brooke. We came into London to watch Les Mis for my birthday. (Pause for solidarity with the past.)

London looks the same as Oregon; green and gray and rain all over.

I've got one more flight left. A long one to Calcutta. But the flights have been good so far. International ones are the best in the giant planes with big seats. I had a whole row to myself, which was awesome. And each seat has their own movie screen and you can pick what you want to watch from 183 options! Are you kidding me? Something about the lap of luxury. The food sucked though. But I think it had to to maintain balance in the universe after the awesome movie options were added. Otherwise the earth would have been covered in too much good. Which obviously would suck.

I shouldn't blog on four hours of sleep.

Alright. I think I'll go to India now.

Six Days

oh no, this isn't a travel blog is it?