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.