Kate goes to India

2008-12-03T17:25:00.000-08:00

home safe and sound.

with a slight cold and loose motions - but who can ask for anything more?

And thus ends the India blog.

Well, there might be one more conclusive one in me tomorrow, but I'm not making any promises. So in case this is the last blog, thanks for reading and the comments and all the support. I have so many amazing people in my life and I love you all and I can't wait to trap each of you in a corner and talk your ears off.

weird to be home. but a good weird.

I have a lot to go think about....

homeward bound

2008-12-01T00:42:00.000-08:00

It was really hard to say goodbye to the women at Kalighat.
Radha was crying yesterday and I asked a girl who speaks Hindi what she was saying and she translated it, "I'm all alone in the world. I have no one."

It broke my heart. But the girl told me later that the other women were comforting her and saying, "we're all alone in the world too. But we're in here together."

So we painted nails, and massaged arms, and put coconut oil in hair. And Racha sang a song for all of us, and Sanita held my hand and told me to come back to Kalighat. I really love these women. I wish you all knew how amazing they are. Truly. Truly. Amazing women.

I hate saying goodbye.

Last day in Calcutta. Goodbye party tonight. With more goodbyes. and then a 9:30 flight tomorrow morning to Mumbai. A 12 hour layover. a 16 hour flight. a four hour layover. another flight. and then home. which all adds up to 41 hours and 22 minutes of travel time.

I'm going to be INSANE when I get home.

but I'll be home. and that'll be nice. even if crazy. see you all soon.

(I should be landing at 1:20 pm on Wednesday in pdx)

2008-11-29T06:49:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to Maddy, Denise and Verity's for their rooftop Thanksgiving dinner. SueLynn; the cranberry sauce and stuffing were a HUGE hit. Denise specifically told me to tell you so. And she's not American, so that seems like an even bigger compliment because she wasn't expecting it. So thank you! I can't believe you sent a can of cranberry sauce!

Went to a football (soccer, for those of us who speak proper) match today. Wonderful. My team (in one day I've managed to acquire a team) won. So fun! I love a good game. And a stadium half full of crazy enthusiastic fans. We shook our fists (and when really mad, our sandals) and the refs needed armed police with crowd control shields on guard in case the angry fans decided to chuck water bottles at them like they apparently did last week.

HOWEVER. Me and a girl I was with were the ONLY females in the entire stadium. I'm not joking. The only women. I have to admit that a spare thought in the corner of my neurotic brain feared some sort of catastrophe or natural disaster that would leave us stuck in the stadium - as the only females.

Luckily I take kung fu.

And luckily it means that there's no line at the women's bathroom!

It was a really fun game. And I think I had at least twenty people take my picture. They probably thought I was Kate Winslet and not Kate Nordbye. An easy mistake.

This post is crap. I can't think straight enough to write. Mostly because I, once again, joy of joy Calcutta, have only moments left until I'll need to rush home to the bathroom.

two days left. Then bombay. then new jersey. then home. (with hopefully a plenitude of toilets between here and there)

Bombay

2008-11-28T04:46:00.000-08:00

The man that sells newspapers on Sudder street is one of my favorites. We have a fight most mornings; I try to read my book, and he tries to take it from me so I'll be forced to read his newspaper.

It was the same yesterday. I was at the cafe, reading about the underworld of Bombay (which, eerily, was predicting an attack would happen soon) when he came in and snatched my book, "nooo, I moaned," as I was just at a good part about all the police corruption, but this time instead of grinning, he slammed a paper in front of my face and pointed at the headline: Mumbai Under Attack. (Today's headline just said, in huge letters, "FEAR")

It was strange, and scary, and as I started reading the death toll I started to cry, and then I couldn't read any more and had to turn the paper over and say, "Liz, tell me something happy about your childhood."

"Well," she said, hesitating, "My dad use to take us camping in the Lake District and it was really wonderful."

Mr. Darcy is from the Lake District, I thought to myself, which helped for a second.

But still I'm scared. And everyone is watching. I paid my bill and walked to work and started painting a horse green and a bear purple. But after a few hours my stomach was hurting so bad, so I walked home and vomited five times.

It was probably food poisoning again, but still....sometimes I think my mind and my body feed off each other.

So another night sick in Calcutta. Reading bad news. Hearing bad news. Carmel came up and lay on my bed. Katerina brought me anti-nausea medicine and toast. Esther lay in bed and listened to my ipod with me (and even let me sing "tiny dancer" really loud which always makes me feel better), and then Carmel came up to read me a book in her wonderful Irish accent.

It's good to be sick in Calcutta with so many people around to take care of you. Still. I want to be home.

And not in Bombay. Mumbai. Which is where I will be in four days. My flight from Calcutta stops in Bombay for a 12 hour layover on Tuesday before my flight home. And I'm scared to go. But glad my flight is for four days from now, and not yesterday. Which. Eerily again. Was one of the dates I had considered. So that I would have come home on Thanksgiving.

But it was nice to go to Kalighat today. The women seemed happy to see me and asked me where I had gone, and when I said, "Darjeeling," they all smiled and pointed to the sky. I think to mountains.

Three more days left in Calcutta. I just want to be home safe.

2008-11-26T04:05:00.000-08:00

I'm going to miss my spice seller, Pappu.

Whenever I need spices I walk to new market and sit in his shop while he orders me tea and potatoes (he discovered I like potatoes) and chat while I sip on tea and pick out what spices I want (cumin, tumeric, all ground by hand, and masalas - oh I love the masalas). then he puts them in plastic bags and seals them with a candle. He let me try today, and I was really, really, really bad (there goes my career in spice selling - and american drug dealing).

He left me today with presents (something small, sarah) for my sister (he wants my sister to come to India next time with me) and instructions that when I return to Calcutta next time, I'm not allowed to stay in a guest house, but I'm to stay with his family. He also invited me to dinner with his family on Sunday, but I can't make it, which is sad, because I imagine a spice seller is a really good cook.

Felicity and Marite both leave tomorrow. Carmel said today that the hardest thing about Calcutta is all the goodbyes you have to say. I immediately thought, "no, the hardest thing is all the death." but, in thinking, I guess goodbyes and death are pretty similar.

Sigh. The days are going fast.

2008-11-25T04:01:00.000-08:00

I painted for over eight hours today. Very irritated painting, by the way, because most of the people have quit over drama (boys and nun fights - same old same old) and new people have come. And new people don't paint inside the lines. Which is very irritating, as I am quite attached to one particular whale.

So there was my vent. And all the thought and space I'm going to give to it. Instead:

I was looking through my camera today. I have only one week left, and I've realized that I've hardly taken any pictures of daily life in Calcutta, which is what I wish I could share the most. The problem is, I can't really take those pictures because every time I want to, I never do; I get too embarassed; it feels too obnoxiously touristy; too intrusive into daily life. So, you'll have to do without, I'm thinking. And instead make do with the mental notes I took on my walk home today.

walking through the Muslim section: most of the women are wearing sari's but a few of them are in burkas and all I can see are their eyes. And they avoid my eyes. I wonder about them. I wonder if they like it. If they choose it. Or if they are forced. I would like to talk to them, perhaps more than anyone else in India. But I can't. They seem off limits.

Most of the men are in white undershirts and lungis (cloth worn around the waist). Shopkeepers, butchers. Huge slabs of meat; mostly beef. Large chunks of wood and giant butcher knives, swinging and cutting them, raw and bloody, then hung up by rope.

Boys hold hands. You almost never, never, see a male and female touching (unless you're in the richer, more westernized neighborhoods. Or at certain parks - where they kiss behind umbrellas). But the boys hold hands. All the time. To my eyes it looks like boyfriends, but in India it is officially against the law (as in, you can be put in prison) to be gay. So the handholds are just friends friends. Maybe...

People everywhere. always cars, rickshaws, people, bikes, motorbikes buzzing around you. It's hard to remember what an empty street back home looks like. I'm used to the crowds now and I wonder if the space when I return home will be unsettling. But here, hundreds, thousands of people pushing past you around you everyday. All day. And night. Because 15 million people have to go somewhere. So they are here. Everywhere.

And lines. Everyone waits. In lines, in their shops, on the streets with their hands extended out to you, "yes sister, money, sister," waiting for customers, chai, to sell fruit or newspaper, hundreds of people for hundreds of hours, if not pushing past you, are waiting.

Forty chicken tied upside down to a bicycle, being taken to market. Or piled upon each other in a small wicker cage.

Dogs, dogs everywhere. Mangy and with fleas. Half their fur bitten off in fights. But happy - walking like they own the streets

Cows tied to poles.

Goats. A hurd of goats walking down the street with men in lungi's with bamboo sticks to keep them in line.

Men bathing. All the time; gathered in groups around the water pumps with soap and pails poured over their heads.

The traffic. It'll kill you. Really. Either through emissions (slowly, daily, every breath in-an-out. I've been back one day and the inside of my nose is black again already) or quickly. In that it will hit you. I haven't been hit. Katerina has been hit (but not too hard) five times now. Because pedestrian's don't have the right of way. It's everyone for themselves and every space is fair game. Only usually the biggest things win.

Fruit for sale. Men swatting the flies off with fabric. Beautiful fruit; bananas, apples, pomelo's, sweet limes, oranges, pomegranates, pineapples, asian pears, and the sweets; sweet shops, with sugar and spice. And bread. Men frying roti and potato paneer; vegetable paneer. Chai shops everywhere served in tiny clay cups that are smashed on the grown when the tea is gone. So good the chai. Really really good.

Anything you want here on the street; shopping bags and magazines selling sexy bollywood stars (who bare everything on covers but still can't kiss on screen - too taboo. the kiss.) shoe shines, wallets, fabrics, bracelets, cold water, warm water, yogurt and curd, milk trucks.

Small boys chase small boys. Men laughing and snap each other with fabric. People sleeping on the streets, always someone, curled up on a small piece of blanket with the extra cloth pulled over their face. Or not. Face exposed to the sun and everyone steps around. Small children in school uniforms pulled by a rickshaw driver or walking hand-in-hand.

Taxi drivers lined up by the water pump to throw buckets of water on their bright yellow cars.

Men waiting outside the mosque dressed all in white.

Hindu women with bright red bindi dots on their foreheads and more red at the hair part to show they are married. Nuns and priests; catholic, jain, hindu, muslim.

People with limps. Old women and men being walked by their adult children. Bent backs and crooked hands. Beautiful sari's, deep bright colors. Every color.

Restaurants, hotels, round the corner and I'm home.

And Katerina says, take a picture of the cat for felicity's going away party tomorrow! And I shower and then take a picture of the cat. Write emails and Carmel is home and it is so good to see you, and let's meet for dinner (and I can't believe I told the soccer players from Nigeria that I think I'm faster than them, and now all of a sudden I have a race on Thursday. the same day that my knees and ankles will probably start to hurt so I won't be able to race :) and a game on Saturday - only this time I watch, and one week left. One week left.

2008-11-23T23:18:00.000-08:00

Oh, home to Calcutta; where they'll steal the shirt off your back and then sell it you for 100 rupees. And then hit you with their car so they can take your shirt again.

It was kind of endearing the hoard of taxi drivers waiting outside the train station trying to rip us off: Ohhh, we're home. And I love it.

Goodbye Darjeeling.

Esther and I stood on a hillside road our last night and watched (I'm not good at estimation, but I'm very good at exaggeration) I'm guessing close to two-thousand people march in line; silent, and holding candles. A night vigil. Perhaps for peace, perhaps for the boy who died, perhaps for their dear Gorkhaland.

Then we caught a jeep, packed full, including a very drunk man who for thirty minutes enthusiastically (and unrelentlessly) tried to convince me to marry his son, "I have decided that I would very much like you to be my daughter-in-law." When he tumbled out of the jeep, the rest of the people groaned and apologized for him. No problem, I smiled (though it was a slight problem, because to listen to him I had to turn my head to the side, which always, always, makes me car sick if done for an extended - say, thirty minutes- amount of time).

The train ride was wonderful. I fell asleep almost the moment I sat down, and when I awoke, it was Calcutta.

And the weather is wonderful. Warm, but not too hot. And it's nice to be back. I'm sharing a room with Esther for the last week, and I was unpacking and I heard Katerina and Felicity call out, "Come down Kate, we want to see your face."

It's nice to be back.

2008-11-22T22:40:00.000-08:00

"oh hello! I've just slipped a note under your door, but it is much better to run into you!"

I'm walking up the steep stone road and come across Joan, our favorite elderly British lady who tells scandalous stories to the women on the trains. She's squatted down next to a small Nepali boy playing cars with him.

"I have to tell you, I have just so enjoyed meeting you two young ladies. You're simply wonderful and look at you, so sparkly! And anyways, I've given you my email and I'd love to keep in touch, but if you don't feel like it, don't bother at all," and she continues on, "and I have to tell you, I've just gotten into the most wonderful fight. I was buying tickets and this man cuts right in front of me! So I say, 'excuse me sir, but I was here, and you're just going to have to wait.' and he says, 'but I'm rich!' so I say to him, 'I don't care if you're god, you're going to have to wait because I was here first and I'm not finished.' and he replies, 'you British don't own India anymore and you never should have been here in the first place,' so I say, 'you're perfectly right about that, but good manners are universal and I was here first.' and then he says, 'but you're a woman.' and I say, 'I don't care what I am, I was here first!' It really was a fantastic fight, but I'm keeping you and you have to go.

So she hugs me and runs off down the hill.

One more plate of momo's, twenty-five deep breaths (to last me through calcutta), and away we go. Last train ride. Through the night, back to Calcutta. With, hopefully, no boob grabs or exploding light bulbs. But one can only hope.

It's strange. But once again, I've found myself missing Calcutta. Oh how I hate it. Oh how I love it.

Darjeeling time limited

2008-11-22T03:15:00.000-08:00

Esther just squealed. She has an email notifying her that she has an interview in Hamburg for nursing school when she returns. Two seconds later, I squealed as well, because I have an email notifying me that mum will have my favorite potatoes waiting for me when I return. Which, honestly, is nicer than nursing school.

Another wonderful day at the top of the world. Only Ethan's gone. Our brand new best friend. He left this morning to catch a bus to Kathmandu. Good for him and all, but sad for us. I'm not sure the rest of the tenants of the guest house would agree, but it was good to laugh. And bore holes into the tops of unopenable rum bottles. (our fingers were too cold and ethan's pepper spray wasn't effective at all.) Have I mentioned that it's really really cold here? I sleep in long johns, wool socks, and six thick blankets. And it's still cold.

I love the people you meet while traveling.

It's officially food day. Esther and I have dedicated the day to eating whatever and whenever we want. So I have to go. It's time to eat again. (by the way, we had the best food in the universe last night, and I'm sorry you weren't all here. Umm Thalis at Sonam's Kitchen. But I now know how to make vegetable steamed momo's so, yeah, don't eat until I get home so you have lots of room!)

Calcutta night train leaves tomorrow, with me on it.

2008-11-21T00:47:00.000-08:00

Just so you all know, I've seen Mt. Everest and it's tiny. Size of my thumb. I'm not sure what the big deal is, so I've squashed it between my fingers. Squish squish.

Esther bought a tea set and wanted to send it home, so we spent about an hour in the Darjeeling post office today, and I think it should be a tourist attraction - only I'm glad it's not, because after spending the sunrise with about 300 other tourists with cameras yesterday, I'm a bit done with tourist attractions. Anyways, all packages foreign or domestic need to be "sewn." The tea guy kept saying this to Esther and she kept agreeing, and I thought it was just an English translation error. But it turns out there's this man who sits in the corner of the post office (chewing betel the whole time - is my guess to explain the wad in his cheek) working at an old wooden desk. People bring him packages and he wraps them and smooths them down, then takes out a piece of white cloth, a large hooked needle, and sews them up into a neat little bundle. Then he takes out a candle and some red wax and makes a series of wax imprints on the seal to close it in. Next he takes an old plastic bag (perhaps from bread) and cuts it into a little package that the shipping directions are put inside. I'm pretty sure at this point none of you are interested anymore in my post office narrative, but maybe it's the "home economic student of the year" (don't laugh) in me that really likes watching a person at a craft. Like Bob Ross, on OPB.

We've met the most fantastic British woman. We actually met her in Pelling and she's shown up in Darjeeling at our guest house and she's great. Really. Everything you would imagine an obstinate independent British woman to be. She's older, maybe 60-65? and she's fantastic. A shop keeper asked her to come into his shop yesterday with the assurance, "don't worry, I won't force you to buy anything." And she promptly replied, "Sir, there isn't a person alive who can force me to do anything I don't want to do, you included, thank you very much, and I shant be visiting your shop today, I'm tired and am going home." He tried to bribe her in with some tea. "Sir, unless you give me a glass of wine, I will just continue on my way, thank you very much." And so she did.

Today we ran into her buying carrots to feed to the horribly hungry looking ponies around that tourists ride and sharply rebuking the men for underfeeding them.

Last night she told us a story about her train rides. "I've never been married, never had any kids and I'm sick, completely sick of the snickerty old Indian women who interogate me every trip as to where my husband is. So on my last ride I met this gorgeous Swedish man - he was a real dish- and I asked him if he would pretend to be my lover the next time a woman asked me. And he said, no problem, he'd go along with anything. So soon this woman sits down across from me and asks, 'where's your husband?' and I replied, 'oh, he's home with our six children and I'm traveling here with my lover.' and the Swedish man, he was great, he said, 'and yes, we like to have regular sex on the hour so we better be going,' and up he jumped and put his arm around my waist and we walked off to the bathroom, and when we came back he laid down and stretched out saying, 'I need to rest now.' It was such great fun and that poor woman was too scandalised to talk to me the rest of the trip!"

And then yesterday she was to be found laying flat out on her stomach on the sidewalk to have a better look at a buddha statue she was interested in, not to be bothered at all.

Really like her.

Esther and I walked up a hill today to a small goompa (monastery) shared by Buddhists and Hindus and covered everywhere with Buddhist prayer flags. It was quiet and smelled of incense and there were (at least) 30 monkeys and monkey babies running all around eating and swinging off the prayer flags. Then we came back at ate a huge bowl of potatoes and played cards. I taught Esther gin, and have been beating her really badly. So then I taught her spades and beat her really badly at that as well (it was just like playing poki). Which made me feel really good. Like beating the Weisenburgs at spoons (that's right, I said it).

And anyways, all is well and good and cold and full of books and interesting people and traveling stories and on and on.

2008-11-19T23:16:00.000-08:00

"traveling can be an eerie sort of loneliness sometimes," Scott was saying. We were eating dinner and I hadn't been really listening because I was looking at the last onion pakora. But "loneliness" caught my ear and I looked up.

"I've been traveling for seven months now. And when you leave home you think you have this great community of people around you. And at first they write all the time, and then less and less, and you less and less. And pretty soon its been months since anyone has contacted you and you start to wonder if you were to disappear completely, would anyone notice? And I've been thinking about it..."

When times are dark (or distances are far) friends are few.

maybe I haven't been gone long enough, or disappeared enough. I feel my friends and family still so strongly. You all are still with me. still. still there is a loneliness. A sense of disappearing and wondering who would notice. and who it would matter to. But those aren't accusing thoughts, just the slow meandering thoughts late as night as you are so far away and about to get into a jeep and go even further away.

We woke up at 4:00 this morning when the moon was still bright and the sky still dark, and caught a ride up to Tiger Hill to watch the sun rise. Dark car ride with strangers, and my thoughts are still on last night, wondering meandering. And death and life and, I wonder, is there anyone I would die for? Kill for? And brain goes on, is there anyone who would die for me and kill for me and what would be the point and is that Orion over there and this concept of family it is all so different for all of us and, fuck, he's not slowing down for the corner. don't die don't die don't die.

And the thoughts weave in and out. And I love you all and. then there are new people everywhere you go. Last night we met Ethan, and he likes my clothes but not the jewelery or the hat I bought and "oh my god where can we get a drink around here and I love your pants and your shoes, the whole thing, I love it" and he came over to play rummy and we trash-talked the whole game and suddenly you're running into people on the street you've only met once and they feel like your old best friend and he's saying, "kate, come on, go to Nepal with me, and lets go find drinks and go to the zoo to look at the red panda!" and yesterday you were strangers and now you are friends and it's all so strange these pockets and communities of people that spring up.

And I miss you all so much. I have things to tell you that I can only tell to you and I have tea and stories and things to write. And miles to go.

but first sleep.

or tea. in the shadows of darjeeling.

"I'm leaving in two weeks," I'm telling scott as we're walking down the hill today. Three months, it's almost been three months.

"yeah, that's not enough time," he responds, "at three months you're just beginning to leave home at home." Is his weird paradox.

Sikkim fi-li-li

2008-11-19T02:53:00.000-08:00

Anita woke me up at 4:00 in the morning, as she had taken to doing the previous three mornings to look at the weather. If there were clouds, we slept, if it was clear we would catch a ride up to Tiger Hill, where, when the sun rises you can see Mt. Everest.

But instead of looking at the weather, she sat on my bed and whispered, "goodbye my friend. I came to say goodbye." And then they were gone (but they came back for breakfast, to make the goodbye hard all over again) and then they were gone again. And Esther, Scott, and I hiked down the hill and caught a jeep to the state of Sikkim.

I'm not really sure how to begin to recount the past four days. But I'll start with this: a few days ago Esther and I were walking through a trail in the middle of the Himalaya mountains. We heard there was a waterfall to be found on the other end, and as we were walking I realised that I had no idea what the date was, I had no idea what day of the week it was, and except for a general guess provided by the sun, I had no idea what time of day it was. I was just in the wild, and it didn't matter and it was wonderful.

The jeep rides are a trip unto themselves. Scott caught one a few days before and the driver had gotten out every few villages to take a shot of who knows what, and pretty soon was trashed and driving a jeep full of ten people quickly around the mountain bends. Scott said at one point the jeep lifted off onto just the two side wheels. Two wheels! You would think that was a big deal too if you could see these roads! They're tiny, steep, windy, and often running head on into a jeep making his way back down the other direction at equal speed.

Our driver certainly wasn't trashed. But he did stop every few villages to cram more people in and pick up a package of beets or socks or sack of pigs to take to someone's sister or uncle a few villages away. And after one stop, he certainly had liquor on the breath. But luckily it didn't affect his driving as much as his singing. All the Sikkimites (Do I call them Indians? They seem a people unto themselves. Mostly they speak Nepali, a few speak Tibetan, and even fewer Bengali) started singing a trekking song:

Resam fi-li-li
Resam fi-li-li
U rera jahm khii
dara ma bahnjahn
Resam fi-li-li

which a song about a sari silk blowing in the winds of the mountains and the valleys, over the forrest. However, by the end, when we were shouting it at the top of our lungs, the words were changed to, "I am a monkey, you are a donkey, resam fi-li-li"

And then we arrived in Yuksom. Where I can safely say I ate the cheapest food of my life, and then spent the coldest night of my life. Burried in a small village, deep in the mountains, winter approaches, and you dread the moment the sun goes down. Because the temperature quickly goes with it, and it takes every wool scarf you have to maintain body heat. The locals, however, say "this isn't cold. Cold is still coming." I have to admit, though, I am happy I won't be there to see "cold."

So we bought a deck of cards and rolled ourselves in blankets and bought huge pots of spiced tea and distracted the cold away.

But here is something. And it's important to me, so I will share. In the middle of the woods (which Sikkim is - beautiful mountain woods) night always terrifies me. As the skies get darker, I can feel my body getting tenser and tenser. A fear of the claustrophobia of the night. So dark that you can't get out and so big that it swollows you whole. So I sat there, in the stars and the darkness, waiting for the fear to start tightening around my muscles and chest. I waited and I waited. And it never came. Not once. The dark fear that has been with me for the past five years is suddenly, without pause or pomp; gone. I seem to have outlived it. Or lived it away. Which I guess is what you do with fear? And I don't know what to make of it. Only how wonderful my nights will be. From here on.

The next day in Yusom, Esther and I hiked up to see some old palace ruins. We took the high trail (as up is always better, sarah) and came to a small cluster of huts on a mountain ridge, overlooking the whole valley. We tentatively walked forward, not wanting to disturb the homes, and a trail of kids came out and marched behind us, laughing and giggling, all the way to the ruins (which turned out to be a very small pile of rocks). The kids circled us, up high there on the mountains and a very small one looked up at us and said, "dance please." We looked down at their dirty smiling upturned faces. "Dance?" I said, "I don't know any dances." They stared at us. I shook my hands a bit. "Yes, dance!" they smiled.

So what can you do? When a kid tells you to dance, you really need to dance.

When all else fails, there is always the hokey pokey. Which, I admit to doing. We made a circle and hokeyed pokeyed, and it was a hit. Esther and I sat down laughing and the kids (who live at the top of the world) sang and danced their Nepali songs while the sun shown down and the valley collapsed around us. in. perfect. happiness.

Later we hiked down to the waterfall and lay on rocks in the sun. And soaked it all into our skin.

The next day, Scott opted to go for another "walk" (I guess that's what Australians call miles and miles of mountain packing) while Esther and I caught another jeep to Pelling. Where we found the old ruins (legitimate ruins!) of the ancient capital of Sikkim. We sat among the stones and bricks looking at the mountains and the hills and in the distance we could hear the gongs and chants of a Tibetan Monastery echoing through the forest.

We made our way (via "shortcut" by the way, shortcut means "climb this mountain the most difficult way possible") up to the monastery where young monk boys were practicing their kung fu and football skills. Inside were elaborate pictures and carvings - one wooden pagoda replica inside was said to have taken five years to carve.

Then we made our way back to our guesthouse where a fire was going, and the staff had brought in Millet beer for us. Millet beer is the alcohol of choice in the mountains. It's served in these large wooden/bamboo mugs (that look like mini-barrels) and millet is put inside and hot water is poured over the top. You sip the beer through a bamboo straw (so the millet doesn't come up) and it tastes a bit like Japanese Saki. Which means I didn't like it, sorry, but they lit the fire outside and we all gathered around and played guitars and drums and sang songs late into the night. Until Mynos got too drunk and it was time to leave - but that's another story.

And now I'm here. Back in Darjeeling - beautiful Darjeeling where the tea is good and the wool is warm. And I wish I was back in Sikkim. Looking at the stars.

I'm in Darjeeling for three days. Esther and I were going to go to Bodhgaya (were Buddha achieved enlightenment) but when we tried to make the tickets today, we found there's no direct train, so we'd have to take a five hour jeep ride, two ridiculously long train rides, and then, then, then, still catch a bus. So no Bodhgaya. At least now. For now we will drink tea and drink the mountain and then head back to Calcutta.

oh calcutta.

I only have two weeks left. That can't be right, can it?

2008-11-14T04:54:00.000-08:00

Darjeeling has proven not good for getting blog comments. So I go to Sikkim.

You need a government permit to go to the region of Sikkim and so Esther and I trekked back and forth up and down steep Darjeeling hills to the magistrates office (after going to the tourist office for the paperwork - on the other side of town) to get our permit. And met Scott on the way - another volunteer from Calcutta that we knew. He just got back from a five day "walk" around the mountain valleys. And has decided to join us to Sikkim. And so we go, a merry group of three. But we loose Anita and Christoph. For good actually, as I won't see them again before I go home. Only I'm not ready to say goodbye to them, so it's looking like I'll just have to go to Austria. Some time. Some day.

But tomorrow, Sikkim. Pending whether or not we can catch a jeep there. Darjeeling has shut down for the most part. It was difficult today to find a place that was open for food, and so it was a rather hungry day for me. But I've just had a giant bowl of potatoes so don't worry - I'm happy.

It turns out that it was not a young girl that was killed yesterday, but a young boy, in the seventh grade. Apparently a military truck backed up into him, and his friends jumped out of the way but he was not able to escape in time. The area, full of tension over issues of separation, quickly formed into a mob and smashed the truck windows and overturned it. Riot police arrived at the scene and it looked like there was going to be a confrontation between the police and the mob but a group of at least 100 women formed a wall between the two groups saying no violence and both sides backed down. With no violence.

Still the city is shut down. And it seems like a good time to leave. Not that I feel any of the tension directed towards me. To me, everyone is so kind - the kindest people I've met. Really. I get a puzzled look on my face and people stop and offer to help without me having to utter a single plea.

Today Esther, Scott, a guy named Will, and I walked to the Tibetan Refugee Center here in Darjeeling. It was a truly amazing center offering refuge to the thousands of Tibetans that have been displaced (imagine fleeing across the Himalayas. I have difficulty being in an unheated room here, let alone surviving a trek across the world's largest mountains) since the Chinese invasion (genocide) of Tibet. The center houses the people, provides schooling and is a handicraft center so that the people can make goods, sell them, and provide a living for themselves.

And once again, it leaves me with inward thoughts that put my life and troubles and worries in perspective.

I have seen a lot these past few months. I want my friends and family to talk them all over with. Sometimes they seem to much, and me not enough. But other times - other times not. Anyways. You are all in for beers (more likely a whiskey) and long talks when I'm back. There will be no escaping it. I'll corner each one of you individually and spew everything jumbled and mulled out in one single sitting (without a bathroom break).

I personally can't wait.

But until then, Sikkim, 20 days, wool socks, and my one yellow sweatshirt.

And again, I'm not sure if there will be internet, but I will do my best.

2008-11-13T05:38:00.001-08:00

changed my mind, it doesn't feel nice to be cold! It's sooooo cold! More wool, I need more wool!

We went to a tea farm today and watched the workers weave through the rows of tea bushes on the high mountain slopes. the sun was (briefly) warm and, hitting the tea, made the air smell rich and sweet. we sat and watched them before being beckoned into a woman's shop to buy tea and watch how to make "the best brew in the world in five seconds." I think she was a bit of a hustler, but she was such a pleasant hustler that it was fun to sit and laugh and hear why "Darjeeling tea is the best tea in the world." In Happy valley, Darjeeling. (which is part of her reasoning as to why the tea is so good - because it's happy)

But the rest of Darjeeling wasn't today. the town shut down after a small girl was killed today by a military truck. We watched them carry her tiny coffin up the steps lined with people. and all the markets and all the restaurants closed in mourning, in protest, in solidarity, in sympathy.

there's tension in the air. but i am safe. don't worry.

and off to wrap myself in wool and hope it keeps me warm through the night.

2008-11-11T23:18:00.000-08:00

I am safely and happily in Darjeeling. And it is just as beautiful as I imagined. Yesterday we drank (Darjeeling) tea and watched the sun set on the mountains. And were were at the same level as the clouds.

We are living nestled in the hills, with the landscape dropping thousands of feet to one side and rising hundreds of more on the other. And it's cold. Cold! It feels so wonderful to be cold. We went shopping at the street markets last night and stocked up on socks and hats and underjohns. But we only need them in the morning and the night. During the day the sunshine is so warm and wonderful. I love it.

This morning we went for a walk looking for breakfast and got lost in a maze of steep hills and steeper stairs in tiny alleys and houses and hillside. We were walking down our thousandth step of steps and a woman stopped us with a smile, "Where are you going?" she asked. "We have no idea," we responded. "Come, Come," she beckoned us and welcomed us into her small home and sat us down on some chairs. She served us tea and cookies and said it is a tradition to serve tea to strangers. We chatted (her brother does kung fu and tai chi, and she said I should come back tomorrow because he will be visiting and we could do a session together. But I will be too embarassed. But it was nice). And we talked about religion and politics and all the things you're not supposed to, but it was wonderful. She told us about her love for all religions and people and about the protests happening up here (mostly peaceful hunger protests by students). Darjeeling wants to separate from the State of West Bengal and form their own state so they can have their own representation of governemnt. She smiled and said, "some day we'll be free." Apparently the central Indian government already supports them but of course West Bengal doesn't because Darjeeling is their largest source of income, producing 25% of India's tea. It's always about money in the end, isn't it?

And here we are in the mountains bordering Nepal, Tibet, and India. And it's absolutely wonderful. The cleanest air. And kindest people. And most beautiful mountains.

There are beautiful Buddhist prayer flags hung everywhere. And the people say that when the wind hits them, it carries their prayers to the heavens. And every house, no matter how small, has dozens and dozens of flowers - marigolds. And more marigolds. And I think I could stay here happily for a very long time.

But we will only be here for a few more days, then Esther and I will head deeper into the mountains to Sikkum and back to Darjeeling before home. It will be much more difficult to write posts (and anything internet related for that matter) while I'm here, so I apologize in advance that posts and emails will be few and far between. But I will be thinking my thoughts of you all, and everytime the wind brushes my face it will carry them home to you. Promise.

Himalayas!

2008-11-09T23:51:00.000-08:00

In a few hours I'm catching a train up to the mountains. Trains don't run all the way up to Darjeeling, so we'll get out and catch a jeep up to the hill station.

I have no idea when I'll be able to write again (likely it will be tomorrow, but if not, the next day. promise). And when I write it will be in the shadows of Kanchenjunga, the world's third largest mountain. If the mornings are clear, I hear we will be able to see Everest. And climb it - probably takes a few hours or something.

Wish me good luck and no car sickness in the mountain jeeps!

I can't believe the life I'm living!

2008-11-09T00:44:00.000-08:00

short post on sweet things: It was a really nice birthday

We went to the flower market at 5 in the morning and bought loads of marigolds and sunflowers, banana leaves, and bright pink flowers that I don't know the name of. And walking home past new market people kept smiling and asking what the flowers were for. "Puja" we said laughing and then they laughed. Because here, everyday is a puja.

But yesterday was Kate Puja. Which is a great puja (as long as I don't get thrown in a river when all is over). And Katerina told me today that Kate Puja lasts at least three days. So it's a very good puja.

We decorated the courtyard and it looked beautiful! Flowers and palm leaves, candles and red balloons. And the food was soooo good. Heaping plates of samosas and chow mien and then Nico also made salad (he found lettuce. No on has lettuce in Kolkata and he found lettuce! It was amazing and delicious) and potatoes and eggs, and dipping sauces. And Carmel made the most delicious chocolate biscuit cake (how she did this with no oven is beyond me). And all night Nico mixed drinks - mohitos and pineapple rum.

And everyone - the party was so great! It really was. At least 50 people came - in and out throughout the night. And we laughed and danced. Anita and I did our Austrian Folk dance and everyone got a red bindi and a flower crown. And the food and drinks never ran out. And Neev's friend who plays Indian music came and played and sang late into the night, with a strong clear Indian voice that wails and wavers, with us all gathered around by candlelight. Though, he said, he would have preferred to sing showtunes. And kept trying to slip a "Chicago" song into the Indian playlist. And so the Irish sang their songs. And talked their shit. Connor said, about my Indian drum solo, "I'm going to go eat a samosa and chew really loud in hopes that it will drown out your horrible playing." And it was really a great night.

And the pinata. They made a pinata! I told Anita that my mom used to make me a pinata when I was little for every birthday. So I should have been suspicious when she asked and took interest in the explanation of how one makes a pinata. Because somehow, somewhere, Christoph made me a pinata and filled it with candy and hat and sox for Darjeeling (that they embroidered Udurgydurgy on - which is Austrain slang for the lid of a gas can. Which is the name of their culture club. Of which I am an honorary member. And as Christoph says, "whenever you are unsure, just think 'udurgydurgy' and know that everything is well.) He made the pinata in the shape of a light bulb. A bright yellow light bulb (as I am electrokate) and they blindfolded me and spun me round and round. And wet pinatas are difficult to break.

And a new housedress! They bought me a new housedress. It's blue and beautiful and has elephants on it. Perfect for dancing.

And it caught on fire.

Because I knelt in a candle that was by the drink buckets when I was getting a beer for Denise.

"Ach, Denise, I'm on fire!" I shouted and clapped out the flame.

Of course I caught on fire at my birthday. And now my new dress has a new hole, which also looks very nice.

And we sang and ate and danced until 2 or 3 in the morning.

Really. The greatest party ever.

100 million thousand hundred bazillion and one thanks. To everyone. Thanks for the emails and the messages and well wishes because they all made it my way. And it was wonderful.

And P.S. Jeremy, there was an article in the paper today (as every other article is about Obama) and it was how Obama is inspiring the Dalit movement of India (the "untouchable" class) and I just thought your coworkers should know that.

2008-11-07T06:32:00.000-08:00

"Felicity," I am moaning and barely holding my head up, "Do you have any bread?"

"Why's that, Kate?" Felicity is grinning her evil Irish grin, "whatever would you be wanting bread for this morning?"

I grin my sheepish American grin.

"Is it just the hangover, or is it something else?"

"It's just the hangover."

"Good. That's a sign of good health." (Felicity feels like everyone's Irish mum) "I had no idea you were drunk. You just seemed really happy. And you kept saying you weren't drunk at all, and then you wandered right on off."

Yes. That sounds about right.

And then she turned to her friend and said with a laugh, "Kate is our token American and she got so pissed last night at her Obama party that when I came home and they were dancing Austrian folk dances!"

Which is true.

I came home with the vodka and rum declaring, Obama won! And Christoph said, "hurray! let us all have a drink!" And Brenden showed up with some mixers, and Katerina and Anita and Christoph got out their wooden flutes and harmonicas they bought on the street and Carmel sang some Irish songs and soon we were all dancing around the courtyard.

And I really didn't drink that much. But Carmel told me the next day. "It's not that you drank hardly anything at all. It's because you were drinking first a shot of rum, then vodka, then schnapps (the schnapps is really good by the way, and homemade by the Austrians from walnuts and it tastes like licorice). I think you don't understand that your mixers shouldn't be other liquors."

And I'm telling you this because it's my birthday now, so my mum isn't allowed make any comments (or sighs) regarding alcohol. Because Obama won! And happy birthday to me!

So Anita said, "O.K. let's get serious now. We've got a party to plan." And she took out a pad of paper and Christoph said "I will buy whiskey and DJ the music." Good. Good. And I will buy flowers at the flower market (because Mrs. Dalloway decided that she would buy the flowers herself) And Felicity will buy banana leaves to use as plates, and Esther will make a giant cucumber yogurt salad , and tonight I asked the street vendor to make me 100 samosas and 20 plates of veggie chow mien (and that will cost like ten bucks. I love India) And Stephi will buy incense and flowers. And we will buy beer and rum and Neev's friends who are musicians are coming and said they would play. And I hope people come. To the best party ever.

Because it is also a goodbye party. I leave Calcutta in just a few days. To head to the mountains for just a few weeks. And then I come back to get ready to go home. I can hardly believe it. And I'm not ready for it. When I bought my tickets three months seemed like such a long time. And now that I am here it is too short of a time. All day Stephi says, "you need to change your ticket. You should stay. Three months is too short." And she's right. And I'm thinking about it. Because it is hard to think of leaving this new home that I've made.

And yet. And yet. I will come home. And see you all very soon. And that feels good.

But first. I've got a birthday to go celebrate! And some mountains to see.

2008-11-05T02:52:00.000-08:00

today my alarm went off at 5 a.m. Why is it going off? I am grumpy. And then I remember. Because Obama might be president. He might be president. even right now. Outside there were fireworks shooting off; loud claps. Could Bush be bombing India (possible), could the Puja still be going on (probable), can Obama really win in America? Could it be possible?

I walked through the dark to the Park Hotel. The Puja of last night was still going on. It was called something like Chaat Puja, with something to do with agriculture. After work at Kalighat we sat on the rooftop last night and watched the thousands of people gathered in the street -dancing in bright sari's with their hands in the air. When we left they pulled us into their circles and we danced and danced and danced. On the streets. With our hands in the air. Anita and I, laughing and dancing with strangers who know how to shake their shoulders in really amazing ways.

We went to a concert at a local studio and listened to traditional Indian music played by men who when they sing close their eyes and tilt their heads back with a look of complete joy on their faces. And they tap bells on their toes in time.

And then we got beers and laughed with the Irish (who got quite drunk) and all the while it was Obama, Obama, Obama - all the conversation, all the background. It was like a pulse. To me.

So I walked through the dark to the Park hotel and watched the people dancing - they were still dancing from last night - all night long they danced and beat their drums. And then there was the hotel, with the American Consulate. And news crews, and interviews, and hundreds of balloons; red, white, and blue. And sandwiches and juice and huge screens playing constant streams of CNN. And at first there were only two states reported and I was nervous. And the room filled up with Americans and Indians and people from all over the world. And when they said that Obama had won Ohio I felt the hair on the top of my head stand up. He just won Ohio.

And then he won won, and I started to cry, and everyone was shouting and cheering and Obama has won. Can you believe it? I really can't believe it. I really can't.

Obama is president. I am too happy to write!

2008-11-04T00:02:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I walked into Kalighat and Radha waved me over. So excited. "What? What is it?" I ask her. And she is laughing and trying to tell me something. In her bad English and my horrendous Bengali I managed to gather that yesterday a baby had been born at Kalighat. A baby!

A woman was brought in off the street and immediately went into labor. The volunteers (luckily one was a nurse) helped deliver the baby. actually caught the baby! and she was breech and the umbilical cord was around her throat. But she lived and she is well and she is now at Shishu Bhavan getting bigger. And the women were so excited. All day. Apparently she was born with her eyes wide open. And a head full of hair. But oh so small. And all day the old women sat and talked about what her name should be. And a baby! A baby!

So I painted a wall blue and red and yellow and green. In her un-named honor. Because I wasn't sure which color she would like best. I hope yellow. But she is free, of course, to like whichever color she wants.

And when I got home we pulled out blankets and made popcorn (thanks SueLynn) and drank beer and watched Darjeeling Limited. Our own private film festival on our own private computer screen (well, Anita's) the size of my hand. And when it was over I laid on my back and looked at Orion, so bright up above. And went to bed with sweeter dreams than I've had in a long time. (But then, that perhaps could have been the beer.)

Tomorrow the American Consulate is hosting an election party at the Park Street hotel. Free food and television access to everyone holding an American passport (it's about time - I swear the German embassy throws a free dinner at least once a month!) So I think I will go. At (gulp) 5:30 in the morning. For coffee and Obama fever.

2008-11-02T20:36:00.001-08:00

It's funny the things that make your heart hurt. You think you're fine. And then just something small makes you realize that you're not. And you wonder what to do. So you write in third person and try to remove it from you by removing closer pronouns. Are they pronouns? See you are already distracted. And there is always writing. Vague.ly.

And crowded markets with men shouting, "Yes madam, please madam, look at my shop madam." And you tell them not today, but they don't, and you wonder what phrase it is you have to learn in Bengali that won't be rude but will really let them know you want to be left alone. And please don't grab at me and please don't follow me. And I won't pay that price, are you crazy! Because in your time here ten rupees has become something to argue over. And because even though there are millions of people swarming around you, and chickens in small cages that smell like waiting to be killed, and you think now you will always be a vegetarian, and you don't even notice the men anymore peeing in the street, but the smells you still notice - but the point is, even, with all of this you are still alone. very much alone. And it feels big and frightening today. And maybe you were trying to run away from a broken heart, maybe it's time to be honest with yourself and it's foolish of you. And you are not sure. You don't even know what you want. So you write long messages because you know he won't read it and then you realize that you are publishing them and who knows who read this and you are foolish, even in removed pronouns.

But I am always lonely on my birthday. Which is soon. Everyday in my head. And it approaches with the old familiar terrifying loneliness. approaches. The last two years were different, and you thought maybe you had gotten over it. But you hadn't and it's there, only now you're older. And as Thomas Wolfe said, You can't go home again. Because you can never go back. it seems. because things have moved forward. and why do I bare my heart like this for everyone to see? I wish I had a sense of privacy with my thoughts to protect me today. But I feel the need to share. So someone will see me. Anyone? Because despite all appearances. I don't want to be alone.

I'm tired of meeting new people. Every day new volunteers. I want old and familiar. And now Anita's boyfriend is here. Arrived and great and will travel with us to Darjeeling. And everyone has everyone. Isn't that sad?

And why is it that I feel the need to amplify feelings? sad songs and sitting by myself, when I should be in a park painting things yellow. With the nuns walking by and saying, "you should repaint that cow. There is not enough milk in the udders. And why does that baby have no hair?"

And I'm in India. And I have a sudden realization of just how short three months really is. And my handful of Bengali words. And palaces of sand still standing to see, that will be left unseen, because three months is really so short. And maybe I should just keep wandering around the world until my heart stops hurting. And I stop missing my grandpa. But I will always miss my mum. and dad. and sister. so it's no use. really.

And already I'm starting to say goodbye to what I still have. Calcutta, noise and smog and smoke. I really like you. In spite of it all. Though I hear the air in Darjeeling is pure. And clean. And crisp and cold. And yesterday I called and reserved two rooms for four. And we will pay $2 extra a night for hot water. Hot water! I have not had a hot shower in months now. two. months. Everyday I take bucketfuls of cold water from the tap and throw it over my head because I don't want to turn the shower nozzle on. For some reason a bucket of cold water seems more manageable than a cold stream from above. But hot water! A hot shower! I pinch myself into forgetting my heart.

I hope Obama wins. Otherwise. I don't want to come home. At least not to Portland. Maybe straight to the mountain to hide. And write books. And collect cats and turn into my old grandma wickersham. Who didn't write books but did collect cats. With her hands curled and deformed from the fire. All alone with her cats.

Maybe today I will go to see the great poet Tagore's house. And next to it is the coffee shop of writers. The India coffee shop. famous with students and writers. And will distract myself with poetry. And wander the world. Only I don't want to wander alone. And I don't want to say goodbye to India. Beautiful, crazy India.

India has beautiful poets. The best. Really beautiful. Which, in turn, make me feel beautiful. And I walk with a strut. Again.

2008-11-01T08:28:00.000-07:00

Bought tickets to Darjeeling tonight! We leave on November 10th! To the Himalayas! To the Himalayas!

happy.

In other news: A light bulb exploded today on me while I was in the shower and I have small chards of glass stuck in my back.

India is trying to kill me. Or I have super powers. And my superhero name is electrokate.

2008-10-31T05:55:00.000-07:00

How do you follow up a blog about a fire? It's just so exciting, I'm tempted to make something up to keep my readership.

Instead the truth: no fires, or sickness, just life as usual. (though I did make myself ill eating all the candy that SueLynn sent me - I wallow in an endless pool of rasinets and peanut butter m&ms - ummm happiness). And I finally got around to reading Mrs. Dalloway. Which I picked up just because the first line said, "And Mrs. Dalloway decided that she would buy the flowers herself." Which was great. The whole thing was great.

And next week is my birthday and I'm throwing myself a party with food and music and dancing. And I will go in the morning to the flower market to buy the flowers myself. And if you are in Calcutta you are invited. But only if you intend to have a lot of fun. And promise to wear marigolds.

Kali Puja and Diwali seem to be lingering outside in the form of music played on the loudspeakers. That never ends. Ever. All day. All night. Puja puja puja. Luckily my new mini-fan that sits on a table and not on the charred ceiling is good at blocking the sound. But then maybe I just don't notice because I'm passed out on chocolate.

So I'm well. Just weaker. And back at work. I painted on the mural today for eight hours, mostly because we finally are filling in with color and I got my hands on the can of yellow paint and refused to let it go. So now everything will be yellow. All yellow. Like a coldplay song. And my bedroom on 71st street. And the best half of the greenbay packers. now that brett favre is gone.

I only have ten days left in Calcutta. Then it's off to the mountains. Only everyone is telling us not to go to Darjeeling now. Apparently there is unrest there. But I'm so set on going. I find reasonable reasons to be unreasonable.

There's unrest all over India right now. The country seems to be ticking. There has been HUGE violence in Orissa. Against the Christian families. Apparently the Hindu families are putting orange flags up so that they are identified as Hindu and not Christian so their houses won't get burned down. And there have been bombs in Delhi. Two last month. And crazy stories from the trains.

I read an article in the paper last month about a kid who murdered his cousin and then convinced the town people that a djiin (genie- spirit) had killed him. And the town believed it. Until he gave himself away by bragging about it later.

But mostly the papers here, as elsewhere I've heard. Are all about the American elections. The world is watching. And waiting for Obama. (I got into a heated argument with a woman from New Zealand today who said she liked Obama because he "talked proper english not like those other black people in america.") I found that to be disgusting and ignorant. Sigh.

And apparently I'm the downer of all bloggers! Sorry.

All is well and good and go Obama and Happy Halloween and I'll be home in a month! Can you believe it!

2008-10-29T01:39:00.000-07:00

Honestly. Just glad I woke up. And glad, maybe for the first time ever, that I'm a light sleeper.

The smoke smell in my room was really strong - I thought it was from the Diwali festivities outside. Diwali isn't huge in West Bengal. I think they celebrate it more in Delhi, maybe Mumbai as well? I'm not sure. Here, Durga Puja is everything. But I found that in India, given the chance, they will celebrate anything. Which, personally, I am in favor of. Especially Diwali. The festival of lights. And we lit candles in the courtyard, and outside the people lit fireworks in the street. And I think Rama found his lovely way home.

And so I thought that the smoke had crept into my room to wake me up at 3:30 this morning. But it wasn't Diwali smoke. My windows were all closed. Then I looked up. And realized that my ceiling fan had sparked into flames sometime in the night and the flames were growing bigger and climbing towards the ceiling.

I jumped out of bed. What do I do what do I do? (I'm very good in crisis. By the way. I think maybe I would survive a zombie attack. If it weren't for my poor health) I had a bucket of water in my room (the remains of good intentions of mopping the floor that hadn't been actualized) - but it's an electrical fire, you don't throw water on it. What do I do? I ran down the five flights of stairs and two hallways to where the men sleep by the front gate. They were fast asleep on their cot. I shook the one closest to me, "wake up. please wake up. help me. FIRE. please help!" The first man didn't move at all, but the second man, when he heard fire jumped up and raced after me up the stairs.

He grabbed the bucket and threw it on the fan.

Which seemed to work. And made me feel stupid. But what are you supposed to do with electrical fires? Not water, right? Anyways, it worked, but my room was full of the most horrible smoke ever. He cut my fan down, remade my bed for me and said, "well, goodnight, then." and off he went. But today when I saw him he touched his heart and wiped his forehead with a sigh of relief. Which made me feel solidarity with him. Our secret firefighting club.

And Felicity kicked the cat out and let me sleep on her extra bed because the smoke was too thick in my room to sleep. And I lay and tried so hard not to wiggle and wake her up, which was so difficult because I so love to wiggle.

This morning Carmel, who lives on the first floor, told me she had heard me shout fire last night, and worried, had followed us up the first couple flights of stairs, but then got tired and turned around and went back to bed. Which made me laugh (she is so sick now. Everyone is so sick. Everyday I hear about people fainting and hospital trips and vomit. oh the vomit. everyone is sick. oh india.)

And I think it's silly of the fire trying to kill me. Because I haven't been to Darjeeling yet. And come virus, fire, hell or high water, I'm going to Darjeeling. Dammit. To look at the goddamn Himalayas. Dammit.

2008-10-28T00:20:00.000-07:00

Anita came and laid on my bed this morning. "By the way, I think I have lice again," she said.

Yesterday she came in with a bamboo flute she bought on the street and played me music to cheer me up. Which it did. So the lice are forgiven.

Yesterday was another low day for me. Felt so sick, with horrors of mono running through my head. But 12 hours of sleep does wonders. And I'm doing better today. Except for the mysterious itching....

Joking. No itching.

So the Sunderbans. I know I haven't written about them yet, but they now feel so removed it's difficult to get my mind back there. I'll try. But I warn you in advance, I'm already unsatisfied with anything I write.

It was a beautiful trip down. We caught a bus and rode through the countryside. Small villages and soccer games in every town. Sometimes being in Calcutta it's difficult to remember that India has life outside the city.

It seems that for many of the people south of Calcutta, fishing is a huge livelihood. We went past field upon field upon field submerged, with people wading through the waters with nets, bringing in the harvested fish.

And then we boarded a boat and headed into the jungle. Only it's not really a jungle. It feels more like a marsh. The mangroves are low lying trees with huge roots that stick out above ground. Because the water of the Sunderbans is salt water (from the Bay of Bengal) the mangroves are the only vegetation that have adapted (and thus have no competition for sunlight, keeping the tree growth relatively short and low to the ground). Their roots stick up to absorb more oxygen that is apparently difficult to absorb in the rising salt waters.

The people that live in the sunderbans are a sub-tribe (from what I can gather - I'll have to look it up) of Bengalis, and they are mainly rice farmers, honey collectors, and fishermen. They live in mud and straw houses in a landscape and a lifestyle that has changed very very little for hundreds, possibly thousands of years.

And every year they are hunted and killed by the world's only remaining man-eating tigers that live in the sunderbans.

And the people seem to accept it. Here, they say, the Tiger is stronger than man. But why do they only kill here? Up to 80 people a year? Where elsewhere in the world, Tigers haven't attacked, let alone killed a human for years and years? There are many theories, all interesting, but all just theories. No on knows why for sure.

Still, it's terrifying. Many of the women dress in widow clothes when then men go out fishing (tigers have been known to pull them right out of boats) or deep into the mangroves to collect the honey.

We were safe though. In a really big boat. And (I now feel lucky about this) we didn't see any tigers. We did see crocodiles, lizards, and birds though. Which all felt much safer.

And the tent was like a house, and there was a huge buffet at every meal and the food was so good and the flowers and fellow travelers beautiful and the landscape breathtaking and so so quiet.

And that's all I feel like writing. It's difficult to think about because now I'm in an internet cafe and it's the first day of Diwali and there is a dance party happening outside and the sunderbans feel like a wonderful world away. How quickly Calcutta takes over everything else.

Time is moving quickly. Stan went home today. We sent him home with a shirt that says "Calcutta is great, france sucks." And I only have about a month left. Only a month and a few days.

Just please, please don't let me be sick again! I have so little time left.

2008-10-25T20:55:00.000-07:00

Public Notice: The small but powerful matriarchal nation of Kate has just made a bid to declare SueLynn as a Saint of the People for her humanitarian work in providing peanut butter and rasinettes to the downtrodden and suffering....

I think the fever has broken. It's now at around 99.8, but that seems fine to me. I'll take it. Because after three straight days of laying in my bed in fever and pain, I'll take just about anything.

I think Mother India hates me.

I'm just happy to not be alone. Anita brought me trays of food and played backgammon, and Carmel came and laid on my bed and talked about love, life and literature (the world's greatest topics). Stan let me become a fixture in his room (it has a television, and since being sick I've learned a lot about the mystical snow leopard of Pakistan and the beautiful snakes of India!) and as he stepped around me I asked, "do you want me to go?" and he said, "No. I'm use to you." And Felicity checked on me most every hour with toast and tea, and vomit buckets, and even cleared aside my piles of books and papers so I could "vomit proper, without spraying every which way."

And then she took me to the hospital because the pain in my body was really so bad. It hurt to touch my own arm. And I cried, because hospitals scare me. And she asked why I was crying. And I said, "because I wanted to be strong enough." And India isn't always what you think, she smiled and said. No, I replied, also smiling. I imagined it would smell of spice and jasmine. Felicity said, "one time, on one of my first visits to India, I was heading down south and at that time there was no direct flight, so you had to fly out of Mumbai (bombay) and then catch a seven hour bus ride. Anyways, one of the times there were problems with the flight and it ended up being 12 hours late. It was such a horribly long day and I was so frustrated, but when we landed we stepped off the plane and the air smelled like Jasmine and incense - and I would have done the whole trip again, just for that moment."

The blood tests came back negative, which means no Malaria (and there was much rejoicing), and it's most likely that I have some sort of a virus, that will pass with time (I'm a virus collector, by the way. Not by choice, but it appears to have become a hobby with me).

So the good news is that I will be ok. Anyways, I think I cried most of it out of my system by now. And also. Also. Also. Esther showed up at my door yesterday declaring, "special delivery" and in her hand was a HUGE box from SueLynn full of peanut butter, and rasinettes, and peanut butter m&m's and art supplies so I can color, and holiday decorations and a birthday present and it was huge and it was the best present ever! And I started bouncing up and down, but that hurt, so I just hugged it all to my chest; unpacking it and then repacking it so I could unpack it all over again.

And now I'm getting well on peanut butter.

November is soon. At which point I will only have a month left. Can you believe it? So much still to do. I want to see the Himalayas.

But I'm tired now and need to head back to bed. But tomorrow I will try to make it here again to tell you about the Sunderbans, the only place in the world where tigers still actively hunt humans - killing up to 80 people a year. I have to tell you. tomorrow.

Thanks for all the well wishes. It means a lot. I miss home.

2008-10-22T20:52:00.000-07:00

I'm back from the jungle. It was a really great time, and I have so much to write. But not now. I came home with a fever of 102. And everything hurts. It hurts to wear clothes and touch keyboards and think. And it's difficult not to be frustrated.

I'm strange. And leaving for the jungles.

2008-10-18T21:02:00.000-07:00

"I actually don't have any interest in seeing the temple" I said to anita, katerina, and felicity. Which was too bad because we were already there.

We got there at 1:00 yesterday after carefully not reading what was clearly written in the guidebook: "the temple is closed daily at 1:00 and opens again at 3:30." They all decided to wait the two and a half hours, and then I turned to them and said, "I actually don't have any interest in seeing the temple."

Which is too bad, because I am interested. Only not just then. Just then my only goal - as has been my goal for the past two days- is to not be around people. Which is a change. Because the first month I wanted people around constantly. To fight off the loneliness and make the unfamiliar feel manageable.

But I can't get the image of the woman with her scalp missing out of my head. And I'm not sleeping well. Or eating well (just eating a lot. salt then sugar. sugar then salt) and I told anita I was leaving, and they looked at me strangely and I got up and left. And as soon as I was gone I breathed a deep breath and caught a taxi to the metro and from the metro wandered the streets, feeling only comfortable around strangers. I don't know why

I don't know why.

I'm acting very strange. Or maybe more like myself. The introvert that I secretly am. When I was in college and SueLynn was in the room I often would pretend that I was an invisible vapor creeping along the walls. And when I was in that mood she would always let me be - which makes her, once again, the world's greatest roommate. I know it's strange. Sometimes I just want to be invisible. Except with Poki. I always wanted him to see me. And I tried so hard I misunderstood that he was seeing me. all the time. And that was also part of the problem. But a different problem than what I want to talk about.

So I have been creeping around the courtyard, staying close to the walls. Hoping no one sees me except complete strangers who won't expect anything from me and ask me how I'm doing, because I'm exhausted and I don't want to talk about it.

So I sat on a bench and drank tea with the West Bengali's and felt better. And the man told me that Darjeeling will be so cold, and some rooms will have no heat, so I will have to take rum with me to stay warm. And I think that's a really good idea.

And I took the morning to myself to listen to music and watch the moth on the wall and write random sentences on scraps of paper. Which makes me feel better. always. And now I will go paint pink elephants on the wall.

And tomorrow I will go to the jungles by taxi, bus, and boat. And Anita, Steffi and I drank all the rum and made up songs on the guitar, "Sunderbans, sunderbans, we're going to the sunderbans..." and we will see tigers and birds and crocodiles and mangrove forests quiet air with blue and green and then maybe I can get that picture of the woman's scalp out of my head. Where it doesn't belong.

Be back Wednesday

2008-10-17T05:41:00.000-07:00

Anita walked back over to park street yesterday to see if the man with the stolen pants was o.k. She didn't see him, but she did see a man with no shirt, and she said to herself, "no just keep walking, just keep walking."

This morning at breakfast Father Abello came over to talk to me again. He is a Canadian Catholic father and has lived in Calcutta for something like 36 years. I hate it when he talks to me because it always turns out to be a big political discussion and I always disagree with him and he always makes me angry and then sends me emails regarding the ills of contraception (it makes me so upset that the sisters are so against contraception when India - and everywhere- are having a crisis of overpopulation. I feel really strongly about this. anyways) anyways. anyways. I was trying to avoid eye contact and he was scanning the room looking for Americans so he could come over and tell them not to vote for Obama. But he found me and came over, and I thought, "oh no, not today Father Abello, please, I am talking to the really cute boy with dimples today, and it is a nice morning so far and please don't come over." And I felt like a catholic school kid. Only I'm not catholic and the boy was really cute, and afterwards we joked that we should hide the ballot that just came in from America for one of the volunteers because Father Abello might steam it open and vote for McCain.

And I decided that cute boys would be a good cure for the heartache that isn't going away. Why does it still hurt. I don't want to hurt anymore. And I don't want McCain to win. either. There are more Americans here than last month. Last month I only met two, now there are so many and mostly from the Northwest, which is nice. And we decided to have an "Obama wins" party in a couple of weeks.

The mural is coming along so quickly. I thought that we would still be scraping, but the walls have already been plastered and primed and Verity is drawing on the outline of the mural. I am so impressed by how hard people are working. They are starting at 8:00 in the morning and working until 5, 6:00 every night. This morning we followed her pencil lines with black paint until the wall started to look like a giant coloring book. It's great.

Anita and I are going to the Sunderban tiger reserve on Monday. We will go for two nights (sleeping in a tent) and return on Wednesday. (I have decided not to tell Anita about my claustrophobia and my habit of sleeping with a knife when in a tent. the knife eases my mind. in case I need to cut my way out) The sunderbans are a giant nature reserve - supposed to be comprised of the world's largest river deltas and forest of mangrove trees. It's pretty much a jungle from what I can understand - I wrote about it I think already? I can't remember. Long day.

A woman died at Kalighat today. It is very hard for me. I'm trying not to cry. I don't want to cry. today. I was squatting next to a big basin of water washing the dishes from dinner and they brought her body past me covered in a shroud. They were deciding what to do with her jewelry. I think. I don't know. I just sat there with my hands in the water.

Another woman was brought in today. Her scalp was ripped open and you could see the bone of her skull and in some places you could see her brain. There were worms and maggots crawling around in the open flesh of her head and three nurses were gathered around her with tweezers pulling them out. Somehow she is alive. I don't know how.

I am going to go buy a beer and write. A very hard day for me.

I want to curl up into myself smaller and smaller until I disappear.

And then I want to reappear, because I'm scared of being forgotten, and I want someone to cuddle me and play with my hair and hold my forehead and I want to eat mint chocolate chip ice cream and play soccer in the mud and have drinks with good friends and live forever by a river with a large fur-faced dog and good food and friends and family and someone to love and be loved. And I want french fries.

Don't misunderstand what I write though. I'm o.k.

2008-10-16T00:27:00.000-07:00

Today I live for pineapples.

And the air conditioner at Oxford Books.

It's still really hot. But I think the evenings are getting cooler. It's not easy to say that at night when we're all still sitting around sweating, but it's easy to think that, and so I will.

And I refuse to be swayed otherwise. I believe it's cooler. And so it is. But oh lordy, it's so hot.

I don't feel upset today. But I was so upset last night that I have to pay tribute to my frustration through a blog vent. So if you are in a good mood, I really think you shouldn't read further. Just wait until tomorrow when I write something that uplifts your spirit and conclusively ends poverty and oppression through words alone. Just wait.

Until then.

Sigh. O.K. so here's the vent: I really fucking can't handle the adolescent males. I really can't. Maybe on a different day I'd have a more anthropologically unbiased nonviolent point of view. But today I fucking can't handle them.

And it's mostly them. Occasionally younger boys and older men, but mostly just the adolescents. Who think physical harassment of foreigners is an acceptable pastime, and have learned enough words in English so that walking down the street I hear at least four, five times a day, "I want to fuck you. You are a sexy machine goddess I want to fuck." It's gross.

It's worse when they touch you.

One of my friends was walking down the street and kept accidentally brushing her hand into the man behind her. She was embarrassed and apologized, until she realized he was following her on purpose for the cheap thrill of having his penis touched.

Another friend was at a restaurant where a man - no joke- was staring at her, took out his penis and started masturbating, right there at the restaurant. She got up and slapped him. And he said, "I apologize that you had to see that." She went over and told the servers, and they went and talked to him and came back and told her, "He said that nothing happened and you are making it up." She went inside and found the owner of the restaurant (thank goodness it was a woman) told her, and the woman went and screamed at him and kicked him out.

My same friend was riding in a bus or a plane (I don't remember which) and fell asleep and when she woke up a man was sitting there with his hands on her breasts. She started crying and told an attendant who, get this, told her it was her fault for falling asleep.

Another friend was walking down the street (this is my favorite story) and a man came up and full on grabbed her breasts. She screamed and then men around her asked what happened. She told them what he had done and they chased him down and held him for her as she beat him with her umbrella. (this is my favorite story).

Last night I was making a Veggie Chow Mien run for the house mates (15 rupees for a big bowl! 47 rupees equals a dollar, by the way). And I was standing there waiting for the to-go order and a group of adolescent males came up and grabbed my ass and ran away. And the frustrating part is that there was a group of other males just sitting around watching it and laughing. It was really humiliating actually to just stand there waiting for my food being laughed at.

But the worse part about all of this is how jaded it makes me. It puts me completely on my guard and I find myself, after a day of hassle and harassment, responding really shortly and rudely to people who are perfectly wonderful and kind and just trying to help me. And I think sometimes I miss out on really good interactions because of that. That's the most frustrating part, because for every asshole, there's at least ten really great people. With amazing kindness and I don't want to stop seeing that.

Luckily I have great house mates to vent to and luckily Brenden was there to play Speed with me, and I'm really good at Speed and I always feel better after beating someone at cards. And then he taught me how to play 13 and I won a rupee off of him, which felt even better and all was forgotten.

Until I lay in bed and thought about how frustrating it can be to be a female. And it took a while to calm down enough to sleep (women are so emotional, I hear)

One of the women (girls) at Kalighat is new this week. She's five months pregnant and has come here to have her baby. The sister was telling me that the girl says she's only 10 years old. The sister believes it because the girl has such a young sounding voice, but I don't believe it, her body, her hands, and her face look older. Her voice is young though. She could easily be 15. And the thing is, as they were saying, it is good she is here, because young and pregnant on the street she would get raped every night.

I like her. She's very much the teenager. Even though we don't speak the same language, I spent like twenty minutes looking at nails and shoes with her. Then when I turned to another woman (a cute old woman with a bald head and bottle-cap glasses, who I think was pretending to fly yesterday) the girl repeatedly hit me on the back. "Ow!" I'd say, "what do you want?" She'd point to the food plates getting ready for dinner. "It's not time for dinner, I can't do anything about that," I'd say, and turn back. And she'd proceed to hit me like ten more times. Because she wanted dinner NOW. It was really funny. Very much the teenager.

And another woman reached out her hand to me yesterday when I walked by, and I sat down next to her, and she curled herself into my side and cried into me. And I just sat there and rocked her, and she'd look up and kiss my face. It was so sad and so sweet and I remember being sick and wanting to do the exact same thing. I don't know why I'm saying all this. Just needed to.

But the best story yesterday (not that any story has been good so far) is from Anita. She was walking down Park Street in her never-ending pursuit of British Airways to extend her ticket. She walked past a man who was laying with no pants - completely exposed - on the sidewalk. She thought I have to do something, what should I do, and she said, "I looked up, and right there were a pair of trousers hanging on the rail, and I thought, this is perfect! they must have come from heaven! Look I need trousers, and here they are!" Gleefully, she took the heaven-sent trousers and gave them to the naked man. She said he was so happy and she bought him an egg and rice roll and walked home thinking how great everything worked out. And it wasn't until she was on the bus later that day that she realized the possibility that the pants hadn't come from heaven but she just maybe had stolen someone else's pants (hung out to dry after laundry) and given them to the man.

To which Felicity said, "Of course you stole them, and now that first man is beating the shit out of the other one." Which was just too funny - not that it's funny at all - but that Anita has such a good heart and tried so hard, and it was just such an innocent, albeit really obvious, mistake, and Anita was so distraught over her attempt to do good. And we've all done something similar. And we're all just stumbling along trying to do the best we can.

And men can be gross, and women can be dying, and people can be pantless but you just have to keep going and you just have to keep trying sometimes, huh?

Anyways, that's all I've got.

2008-10-14T22:21:00.000-07:00

back by popular (solicited) demand.

Didn't get my tickets to the Sunderbans yesterday, because there was yet ANOTHER puja. Puja puja puja. Crazy. So all the offices were closed, but we'll try again today. So instead we walked down to the river and caught a ferry across (it was a lovely ferry ride and only cost 4 rupees! 4 rupees. That's like a nickel. Maybe ten cents, I'm not sure. But yeah!) then we sat in front of the train station and drank tea and sipped chai, caught another ferry back across. And a very nice day.

I'm tired and covered in paint. The mural is coming along so much faster than expected. It's really exciting. And has inspired me to start doing my push ups again. Cause I'm really tired.

But well. Well-ish. Very lonely for people at home today.

BUT: I got my very first letter today! I pranced around showing it to at least ten people. It was really exciting. To me. And from my sister. And so beautiful. And I've already read it three times and I'm about to go home and pin it on my wall before falling into a coma like sleep.

Shit happens....on my shoulder.

2008-10-13T23:15:00.000-07:00

The trouble with blogging everyday is that I don't want to. (And I'm only doing what I want these days. It's awesome.)
The trouble with not blogging is that when I do want to, there is too much to say! So much, in fact, that I'm having trouble getting my thoughts to work in a linear fashion. So excuse the onslaught of incohesiveness in advance.

Yesterday we made it to laughing yoga!

Anita, myself, and a girl from South Africa (she's here visiting her mom who owns a wine farm in South Africa who decided to come here once a year and volunteer after her husband died -aside: I love everyone's stories! - Also, they said if I wanted to come to South Africa they'd show me around!) - anyways, we got up at 5:30 and caught a taxi to a place I can't remember the name of. It was by a lake and as we walked around the orange sun rising cast a brilliant light on all the trees and illuminated the people doing morning walks, yoga, meditation, and salutations to the starting day. And through the mist we could hear, ever so softly, and then ever so much louder, "Ha-ha-ho-ho-ha ha ha ha ha."

By the time we walked around the lake there was only like ten minutes left of the group, but we joined in and a woman came over to us to explain the exercises. It was such a wonderful way to start the day, I'm thinking of going again.

The day before we went in a large group to the marble palace which is a beautiful mansion with the most unbelievable marble inlay on the floors. Home to Hindi princes for generations. Still owned by the family of seven brothers. And as correctly described in the guidebook, really eerie; like a scary movie/horror set. Oh the horror!

Then we walked up to find a famous Indian coffee house by the college campus. It was closed, but we let ourselves in anyways. And sat in the empty room, with a distinctly cuban writer's feel and thought about all the stories that had been conjured there. And I'm dying to write. I wish I had brought my laptop. I'm bursting at the seems with characters and situations that have to be stories immediately. All I want to do is write and write and write. Only not blogs. Because no one comments and that's depressing. (this is me making an obvious request:)

Then my ATM card died, and my watch died and a pigeon shit on my shoulder.

So here I am in the middle of India with no access to money. It's a bit unnerving (and inhibits my sense of freedom) but I'm surprisingly fine with it. Brendon was commenting yesterday that it was refreshing how I took my quandary in stride. Because what can you do? But secretly, I'm only calm for two reasons. The first is because I only tend to get anxious at night time. Especially if I'm with people I'm comfortable falling apart in front of. So I just waited until I was alone in my bed at night and realized in a moment's panic, "I'm completely stuck in India and can't leave if I want because I have no money." The second reason is - because honestly what can you do? Poki told me a while ago about an ancient Chinese (I think chinese.) practice of making all major decisions in seven breaths. And I've been trying that. So my ATM card doesn't work, what do I do? "one breath, two breaths, three breaths, four...wire my parents for money." done. How much money, "one breath, two, three, four...done." And then it really is done.

All who know my indecisiveness would be very impressed. This will come in handy later when I have to pick out a new toothbrush.

And the other secret reason (I guess there were three) why I'm not worried is because I'm not alone. I was telling people about my prediciment and Carmel (my new friend ever since I invited her out for a beer two days ago - she's Irish) said, "oh it's no worries. We'd all take care of you. If you need money, we'd get you money" and Joe from New York said he'll give me all the money he has left over on Thursday when he leaves. And Stan and Brendon and Anita - everyone asked.

I'm getting to love my life here. Last night Steffi asked, "why don't you extend your ticket. You should stay longer. What do you have to go home for?" And the last question is haunting me a little bit...

Last night we sat around in our courtyard. hungry. And someone asked, does anyone have any food? I said, I have one onion and garlic. Steffi had three tomatoes and a cucumber. Stan had two bags of pasta. Anita had a papaya. And we pooled our meager food together and gave it to Nico and somehow an amazing meal came out of it.

Time is moving so fast.

Anita and I (and maybe Katerina) are going to go to the Sunderbans this weekend. Hopefully. It's the world's largest system of river deltas, mangrove forrests, and Tigers! We will spend two nights on a river boat drifting through the jungles. Reportedly, the women that live there dress as widows everytime their husbands leave for work, as so many of them have been attacked by tigers, and then change back into their regular clothes when their husbands return. The men, many of them beekeepers I believe, wear masks on the back of their heads because it is believed that a tiger won't attack you if it thinks you are looking at him.

Today I started work at Shisu bhavan, another house for children. I will be going there in the mornings now to work on a mureal! One of the volunteers (an anthropologist, very excited to hear I studied anthropology!) has been coming here for ten years, and she is painting a beautiful beautiful bright mureal in the children's playground. Today she and I scrapped off an old one (pale and depressing) for three hours off the walls - and we're not close to done. Hopefully by tomorrow we can finish up, wash the walls, and then by the end of the week whitewash everything. She's already designed the mureal (it's really bright and beautiful and will completely enclose the playground!) and she'll outline it, then me and another volunteer will paint it in. She's also planning to put candystripes on the play equipment and paint a pond at the bottom of the slides so it will look like you're sliding into a pool of fish!) We're also hoping to bring in barkdust to put around the garden and make the playground a really beautiful oasis for the kids. I'm really, really exicted to work on it and just wish that my mom, sister, and jess were here to work on it because I think they would love it!

I'm still working at Kalighat at night. How will I ever find all the time I'm needing. It's starting to go so quickly. It's caught me completely off guard.

this is how we survive

2008-10-10T20:55:00.000-07:00

Just having a really good time.

mostly.

I was talking with a girl I met yesterday and she lived in India three years ago, and now is back for the first time. She said (in effect), "The whole time I was gone I missed it horribly, and kept trying to figure out a way to get back. But I also realized, that while I was here I wasn't ever completely happy. I don't think you can be. There's the noise and the pollution, and you have to be on your guard so much. And you often really want a toilet. And there are so many things you can't eat and you get hassled so much that you want to scream. But then there are the women and the children you work with and you love them so much. And the other volunteers - everyone. But then you have to separate your head and your heart. Often you have to cut out your heart completely, otherwise it is just too assaulted and I don't think you can live, I think you would explode. So you walk around each day in your head. And you love it and you hate it."

And now she's back - working at Kalighat again - and one of the women patients remembered her from three years ago and started crying and held her and wouldn't let her go. It almost made me start to cry, but then I've cut my heart out so I can't.

And after work we all went out for beers - France, Spain, Ireland, Canada, and me (I love it!) only there was no alcohol at the bar that night (shitty bar if you ask me) so instead we just sat and talked and voiced all our frustrations, which are growing. Frustrations about the work and the organization and all it could be but refuses. And one volunteer who was last here 12 years ago (!) said that everything is identical to how it was then. No change. (I think "but this is how we've always done it" is the death of so many organizations) and the other girl said that three years ago she sat around with volunteers all having the exact same conversation.

I have so many thoughts. What shall I do with them?

But it was nice to talk. And as frustrated as everyone is, we all love Kalighat: Aroti walked yesterday. This was really exciting for me because she is the sickest woman I've seen - a breathing skeleton with the skin just hanging from the bones. And there are the women with maggots eating holes in the sides of their faces. Huge ulcers and abbesses hanging from the bodies. But Aroti walked.

I've been giving her a massage almost daily for two weeks. Bare hands. And her skin is falling off her back in sores. And not until yesterday did someone tell me that she has a horribly contagious skin disease and I shouldn't touch her without gloves. I asked what it was, and the volunteer looked at me in horror-struck seriousness and whispered, "Herpes." Perhaps it was a misunderstanding of the language barrier, and I'm certainly no doctor, but pretty sure that isn't herpes making the skin fall off her back. If it is. I know a lot of people in a lot of trouble! But the truth is, whatever she has, it seems worse not to touch her. I mean I know I should be careful, but I just keep thinking if I was her - I would want to be touched.

So you see why I've had to cut my heart out.

Last night in our courtyard, we were sitting around in happy silence - satisfied by yet another amazing meal from Nico (I don't know how he takes so little and makes it taste so good!). And for some reason we started laughing. And for some reason I looked over at Anita and she had a huge pool of drool dripping from her mouth. So we laughed even harder and I said, "wait, wait, here's my impression of Anita" and I took a sip of water and let it drip from my mouth. To which she promptly emptied an entire bottle of water over my head. And for the next hour stan, nico, steffi, esther, anita and I ran around screaming with buckets of water and dumping them on each other's heads. Until we were drenched, and dying with laughter, and shouted at by another volunteer exasperated by our water waste and lack of ecological consciousness.

It was the world's best water fight. Ever.

And that is how we survive.

I got married!

2008-10-09T21:47:00.000-07:00

alternative title: Best night ever

yesterday really was the best day ever.

let's see. where to start....

Well first, we'll start with death. The cemetery was so beautiful; you stepped through the gates and it was like stepping back into another time. Like and Indiana Jones kind of time with giant tombs and monuments covered in jungle vines and moss and palm trees. It apparently was the East India Trading Companies cemetery so all the graves were british, and many seemed to have died very youg: 23, 25, 27, 28 years old. Many babies as well.

And then I got married.

We took the metro to the kalighat area. And it was insane. I sincerely believe that half of the city was trying to cram themselves on there at the same time. It was utter chaos (and horribly hot as the humidity has been at around 95%) We were packed so tight and still people were yelling and pushing. I was enjoying myself for reasons unknown. Especially seeing how I'm usually horribly claustrophobic. But for some reason I was really unphased.

And then we got to my stop. People were pushing and shoving trying to get out and a nearby Indian man turned to me and said, "you want off here?"

I nodded, and he swooped me up by the waist and jumped off the train with me into a sea of people. It wasn't necessary. But made it much more exciting.

But I didn't marry him.

Instead I went shopping for more moomoos! My housemates have been impressed by my house-dress and wanted ones of there very own. It's funny actually, because they were asking me questions in all seriousness "what do you recommend...what do you think about this one?" as I have become some sort of expert in lounge wear. makes me laugh.

The Kalighat area was a sea of people all celebrating the last day of the Puja. We decided to stop in a few more pandels and unknowlingly went into a small blue one that looked like a castle. It turned out to be full completely of women (in beautiful saris of course) and they all had small trays of red paint or dye in their hands. And they descended upon us. It was hilarious. At first they started with making just the red bindi mark on our foreheads and a red mark at our hairline, but they soon proceeded to cover our faces completely in red. We were laughing so hard and they were laughing and it was like a giant red paint fight with a hundred women.

And when we left the panel there were more women on the street and all around kali's temple and they all came up and laughed and smeared more red on us. Until we were completely covered. And best night ever.

Later, one of the brahmin priests was telling us that the red bindi and hair line mark is the sign of a married woman, so he was joking with us that we all got married last night.

(Though today, in retrospect, I've decided that being married sucks because some of the red won't come off my face, and now I have orange stains, mostly on my chin that really won't come off. I've scrubbed and scrubbed!)

So we walked all around and it felt like the whole city loved us - everyone that saw us cracked up laughing and said, "Oh so beautiful! Very nice, very nice! Happy Puja!"

And driving down the steets were giant open trucks carrying the Durga's to be thrown in the river. And each truck was full of a couple dozen people playing music and dancing. So we jumped in a taxi and followed the procession to the river and watched as they danced the statues down to the river and plunged them in (apparently, the story goes that when Durga is submersed in the river, Kali will rise back up in her place). And it was a huge party, and everyone was dancing and laughing!

Then we headed back to a rooftop restaurant with our bright red faces to greet the laughing waiters and drank beers to toast our marriages.

Best night ever.

2008-10-08T21:15:00.000-07:00

Tired today. I've been having trouble sleeping the last few nights and it is catching up to me. Just the horrible horrible heat at night. And noise. And pollution. And I'm picky. But it's o.k. I have plans.

Today is my day off. A few of us will walk over to the old cemetery - I admit to loving cemeteries and visit them in any new city when I get a chance. I heard the one here is very quiet and very green and feels very ancient. I also admit to wanting to go alone. I like sitting in quiet places by myself, but couldn't say no to a woman who wanted to join. Perhaps I will try to go back later just to sit with my thoughts.

Later we will go shopping for Saris and to see some more of the puja pandels.

Last night after work I found that Anita had bought a guitar and she and the Seattleite were playing in the courtyard. Guess what they were playing. Your clue is "college." If your answer is "anything by Bob Marley," you are correct.

Later Felicity, Anita, Steffi and I went to go see one of the major Pandels (house for the Durga statues). It was insane. There are thousands upon thousands of pandels everywhere - all over the light-lined streets (really like christmas), but some of them apparently are the biggest and the best and people will stand in line for literal hours to get in to see them. It was an overwhelming throng of people, but luckily (or with unfair privilege which pricked our conscious as we thought about it in retrospect) we were ushered through the "V.I.P" line. And even there the throng of people was crushing.

We were ushered past an amazing statue of Durga - gold and glittering. And she is housed in this bamboo structure created with incredible details and covered in fabrics and sculpted until it looks really similar to a Disney-esque castle. And what is interesting is that after tomorrow, all of these structures and sculptures created with so much care will be tossed in the river only to be rebuilt and recreated the following year.

But I have to admit last night was a bit much for me. I'm not a fan of crowds in general, and usually go out of my way to avoid them- so to be surrounded, pressed on all sides by about 13 million people. yeah. Not my favorite time. Still I'm glad to have seen it and experienced it. And I'm even gladder (more glad?) that Anita was feeling done as well. We caught a taxi and headed home. Anita was a bit more freyed than I was, so I made her listen to soothing music on my ipod. After listening to the song twice she smiled and said, "thank you, I really needed that. I was getting really annoyed, but now I see it is fine. It is all dust in the wind. :)"

And so it is.

Guess what song I made her listen to? :)

Then we shared the headphones and drove home through the city listening in silence to our own private soundtrack.

2008-10-07T21:08:00.000-07:00

I wish the geckos would quit pooping in my shower.

But luckily my housemates don't. That would be worst. So in honor of their sanitary ways, a post to let you know who I'm living with:

Anita: Anita is a 29 year old student from Vienna, Austria, studying for her masters in Cultural Anthropology. She is getting credit for being here and is writing about the role of volunteers in overseas positions. Or something to that affect. She admits to not being sure yet. She's here for three months as well and is great for impromptu dancing and games of backgammon. Really like her. She lived for a year in Malawi previously. She's known her boyfriend from birth, but they started dating after a party. Everyone fell asleep on the floor and when they woke up, they looked at each other and said, "Yeah, this is o.k." and have been dating for five years. She loves anthropology, but thinks she will continue in social work, which she's been doing for years. I like her a lot.

Steffi: Steffi is a nurse from Germany. Maybe 27? Maybe 30? She has been to India three times now and last night was telling me about a camel trip they took through the desert in western India. She said that one morning they woke up (middle of the desert!) and found that their camels had wandered away. Luckily they found them. She is working with a different nonprofit in the slums (literal, horribly destitute slums) that runs a health clinic and food kitchen. And she wears beautiful sari's and is such great company and usually up for most adventures

Nico: Nicolai is a woodworker from France. He just turned 25 and specializes in really fine wood craftsmanship. He is here working with another nonprofit that is teaching practical skills to kids from the streets. Which, in his case is the art of woodwork. His other amazing talent is cooking - especially amazing French sauces from which we all benefit. We bought him an apron for his birthday that he now wears every time he cooks - which is great.

Stan: Stan is a Laotian Frenchman who's age remains a mystery, as he won't tell it for some reason or other (though we've found that he has an older sister around 34 and a younger sister around 28 - so he's some where in the middle). Stan works with Mother House as well -and he has been here several times. He always seems to be working and to know people. Currently he works with the kids that live in the slums around the train station. Yesterday he was telling me they had a really fun day because they bought them all new clothes and the kids were ecstatic (which puts once again, into perspective the teens I used to work with who hated the free clothes we offered - which I guess is the difference when you only own one shirt. All American teens should be shipped here for a year, I've decided). On Friday he is trying to rent a car to take them to the beach, as they've never been before. I might join. He's also really good with anything computer or electronic - which has helped me a lot when I almost threw my re-chargeable battery away in irritation because it wouldn't charge. And he pointed out that I had it in upside down.

Felicity: Felicity is in her fifties. 57, I think she said, but that might not be true. She is from Dublin, or at least has called it home for the past 30 years. She will return there in November for good. She had been planning on staying in India to work, but as she recently discovered, "It takes people here at least 7 years to accept you as not being an outsider, and I just don't have that kind of time." So she is planning on going home to work with refugees, as she appreciates what it feels like to be an outsider, and because she thinks she can do more affective work in her home country. She's been self-employed all her life. Currently she's here working with yet another non-profit working with kids and spends her nights coming up with lesson plans - she's really dedicated. And prone to gentle teasing and swearing. And is extremely kind when you're sick and will bring you tea and fruit and toast. And when playing scrabble uses words like "shat" that pass tense of shit.

Esther: Esther is an 18 year old German girl (18 and a half, she stresses, because everyone is so much older) who speaks really good English because she lived in New Mexico for three years when her dad was flying planes. She is an avid skydiver -she has her license and has jumped over 8,000 times I believe. She's working with mother house as well on the team of volunteers that finds the people on the street, literally dying, and brings them to kalighat or prem dan (the other house/hospital for the sick).

And there are about four other people that live in the common area -but they work different hours and keep more to themselves, so I don't see them as much, except when I'm sick (which I guess is often) and as some of them are pharmacists they offer me sympathy and medicine. Both of which are nice.

It's a really great group of people. Almost always doing something interesting. At any point you can sit yourself in the courtyard and someone will be cooking, playing games, or doing something interesting. For example last night: I got home from work at about 7 and someone handed me a plate of dinner (do you have any idea how nice that is to come home to?! It's the nicest!) and several people went out to look at the puja festivities and came home with an american from seattle who was carrying a clarinet in his backpack and pulled it out and started playing jazz. Stan invited me to join him and Nico -I asked in doing what and he said, "I don't know, wandering around until maybe two or three in the morning." I laughed and declined - it sounded fun, but I'm still recovering. And someone was going to a Bollywood movie. And someone was going out with Indian friends, and someone was going to go see about volunteering with an organization that rescues child prostitutes. And others were playing scrabble and smoking cheap Indian cigarettes (that taste like swishers).

I'm happy.

where I make fun of myself

2008-10-06T21:42:00.000-07:00

My room is undoubtedly the hottest in the complex. It's a rooftop room - which is nice for the view -and also for listening to rain fall on the tin roof. But, with its situation, it gets almost no access to the cooler breezes of the day and it also seems to have an affinity for hosting all the hot air rising. Very hot.

But then, part of that (though not all of that) would be my fault.

I was in Felicity's room yesterday, where she let me sleep because I was feeling faint and we both agreed my room was too hot. And I was noticing how nicely her ceiling fan worked. And I sat there musing that it must be at least twice as fast as mine. And the same in Anita's room. "Oh well," I thought, accepting my fate, "at least I have a fan."

I woke up last night, unable to sleep. Restless. Perhaps from too much sleep the past few days. And I stared at my fan and watched it turn slowly, slowly round. By chance I looked over at my wall, and saw prominently displayed, right above my light switch, a large brown knob. I remember seeing it when I first moved into my room and thinking something along the lines of "hello little brown knob," and then giving it no other thought. But last night I gave it thought again..."hmm, I wonder..." I went over and turned it and watched my fan zap into high speed and my room immediately grow ten degrees cooler.

And I've been here a month. In a really hot room.

Sigh. Oh kate.

It reminds me of my first winter in that cat-smell apartment. My heater in my room was broken and I would call Poki late at night telling him how cold I was -too cold to sleep, shivering in my bed. He would plead with me to call my landlord to get it fixed. It's easy he would say, just a phone call. And for some unknown reason I would never do it, and instead just freeze and shiver in bed. (which is hard to imagine now. Cold, what is cold?) Until one night, in an act of greatness he walked through the rain and the cold at one in the morning to bring me a space heater. So nice. And the next fall the landlord happened to be over replacing the carpet and I told him about the heater and he popped a knob on in what took all of two seconds.

Sigh. Oh kate.

In other news in which I deserve to be mocked. I joined steffi last night to go look at all the Puja festivities. I ran upstairs to change (by run I mean I walked really slowly) and when I came back down I got really strange looks and stares from my housemates. "what?" I asked self consciously.

"It's just that we haven't seen you wear real clothes for like a week. Everyday you wear your red house dress. It's a bit of a shock."

This is true. And not at all unique to India.

Eight years ago, when I was in Morocco, I found and bought what I would later affectionately refer to as my red house dress. My college roommates would call it my Moomoo. And I have worn it constantly for the past eight years. All through college, it's the first thing I would put on when I got home. My sister is probably really sick of it as well. And - joy upon joy- I have a HUGE and abbundant supply of moomoos here! I've bought myself a new red one, and wear it from the second I get up and put it back on the second I get home. And my new housemates are really tired of listening to my daily plans to buy more. Maybe even branching out in color. Yesterday they were teasing that everyone looks to buy more cheap work clothes, but with my record all I need are house dresses (as I apparently don't work - just get sick and go on vacation.)

Lindsey was joking with me before I left for India that while most people come home with beautiful souvenirs, I would just come home with a bag full of house dresses. How well she knows me :)

But life is good in moomoos. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

And life is good in general. Puja is like Christmas. There are huge bamboo houses covered in fabric everywhere - and you go in and see scenes set up of Durga and Ganesh and the like - and it's very much like a nativity scene. And there are Christmas-ish lights all over the place decorating the streets. And everyone is walking around in their brand new puja clothes and giving presents.

My stomach is still a bit sensitive, but well, all in all. I might even venture to work tonight! All very exciting.

And I am so happy with my place in Calcutta. It's so nice to have a community of people around. I spend several hours each day just sitting with various people in the courtyard. Sometimes we sit and watch the rain. Sometimes we chat, I don't know about what, often we cook together, sometimes we read, or write and listen to music - but mostly we just sit. It's nice. And I wish we had that more at home - where it's so possible to live an isolated life.

But then I've also really appreciated the time to myself here as well. I had forgotten how much of an introvert I am. I had forgotten a lot about myself - things had gotten so turned around; my perspective askew. But I'm settling into the habits of myself and enjoying the space to do so.

Wow- what a terrible India blog! I talk all about myself and not about India at all! I guess that's the consequence for giving me such freedom - my inevitably tendency towards self-reflection (at the cost of noticing really helpful brown knobs on the wall!)

Oh well :)

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

2008-10-05T21:53:00.000-07:00

where Brick= Banana and Road= Lassi

But I'm not ready to talk about that yet.

First I must tell you that I am having horrible dreams at night. In this one he was yelling at me and I was terrified. And I woke up and it was four in the morning and I had to shut all my windows and close my door because I was shivering in bed. And when I woke up again in was 7 and everyone was out in the courtyard singing goodbye to Havilah who left today by train by plane to return home from her year here.

And I wanted to stick my head out the window and say "The invalid in the corner room says goodbye to you too and wishes you safe tavel." But I didn't want the attention. Instead I lay in bed and smiled. Goodbyes are always sad.

And I'm sick again.

On Friday Anita and Steffi and I caught a metro to who knows where (well, they knew where, I had no clue because I have a horrible habit of not paying attention where I'm going, which is probably why, after living all of my life in Portland I still manage to get lost and often have to ask for directions). But we, intentionally, as this was our purpose, ended up in a very beautiful part of town where the streets were wide and the colonial houses large and looming and brightly painted. And in the side streets we found the hundreds of artisans hard at work making last minute touches on the thousands of Durga Puja idols to go out this week for the big festival. The idols are made of clay and straw (some small displays made of styrofoam) and shaped in the forms of Ganesh, and Ramayana, and of course Durga (the warrior goddess who has ten arms with a different weapon in each of them - very fierce this Durga!) and each is brightly painted and then carrried off on the shoulders of six or more men (reminiscent of the funeral processions we saw in Varanasi) and carried to all parts of Calcutta where they will be housed in bamboo structures for the festival until they are ceremoniously dunked (flung) in the river at the festival's end.

We walked along the river, got caught in the rain, huddled on a roadside bench for chai, and went to Kalighat.

And then came Saturday.

I awoke, ate my morning banana lassi, emailed, went to the store. And then had to drag myself back to my room, surprisingly weak and barely able to make it into bed. Steffi woke me up two hours later saying they were leaving for the zoo. My stomach felt horrible, but I hate missing things, so I pulled myself out of bed and off to the zoo I went.

(In my mind I was remembering the trip to the zoo I took in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It was me and six of the monks I was teaching English to. They all wanted to buy me a drink, and since I couldn't accept from one and not from all, I walked around the zoo with six soda's in my hands while they would point to an animal and exclaim, "Look Garakate, an elephant!" And I would laugh and ooh and it was such a wonderful day)

The zoo in and of itself wasn't remarkable. I mean it was a nice zoo, but not all that different from others. But it was a lot of fun because we took Sadatma (I think that is his name, like directions, I'm finding names hard to remember). Sadatma is a Bengali (teenager maybe?) who, for lack of a better word is a bit simple minded. He's shown up for the past year to help some of the volunteers and they give him food, clothes, and money at the end of the day. They discovered he had never been to the zoo before, so we took him (he doesn't speak, but I've never seen anyone utter so many happy squeals in my life! He was completely captivated by the Giraffes and just kept laughing and laughing). It was a fun trip, as the volunteers decided to make it his impromptu birthday (which was unfortunate for Nicolai, whose birthday it was in actuality) and bought him ice cream and peanuts and pranced with him all over the zoo.

And the whole time my stomach moaned. And each step got slower and slower.

And it was really too bad. Because, as said before, it was Nicolai's birthday and we had been planning with excitement all week of the pizza we were going to eat - with real Italian cheese at a real Italian restaurant (these things are very exciting.) And I heard it was a lot of fun. I however, spent the evening puking banana lassi in the toilet and moaning softly in my bed.

Turns out I can't eat anything here.

Maybe my next trip will be to the Greek Isles :)

I was afraid it was going to be all the same sickness all over again. And I admit to crying forlornly under my mosquito net. But I'm recovering quickly, and hoping it was all just a bad lassi and nothing more. And I am continually thankful to have so many people around me. Felicity, in her motherly way, checked on me every couple of hours and brought me tea and toast. Anita fell asleep on my floor by my bed (as she also didn't feel well) and then brought me 7up, toilet paper, and biscuits and played backgammon with me. And Steffi brought me electrolytes and Stan took my temperature and even though it is all a miserable deja vu - it's very comforting to not be alone. Because to be alone and sick is the most horrible thing. As I well know.

And so I made a list of everyone I wanted with me:

Nathan because he is a nurse and I remember him carrying me to his car that horrible horrible night. And I'll never forget that. And later flowers and soup. Best nurse ever!
Jacob because I have a new story idea inspired by sickness and wanted to share
Chris because Chris is Chris and I wouldn't have to explain, he would just know
Jessica, because she would make everything beautiful and make sense
Sarah because she would distract me with stories of Puck and other things and possible even say "poor, poor thing" and I love my sister
Poki because I always want Poki.
Kristy and Amy because they are my Kristy and Amy and there is no replacing them
SueLynn who would be practical in face of my irrationality, and would play card games and commiserate
Amanda who would sit with me and watch Pride and Prejudice a hundred times if need be
My Dad because he would make me food in the kitchen and he makes me feel safe
My Mom because when sick, there is no on who will ever replace my mom

And I made this list in my bed for hours. And I'm pretty sure every single one of you was on it. And when I was done. I didn't feel alone at all. In fact, I feel so completely surrounded by people that all there is to do is keep on keepin' on.

Still, the Greek Isles sound nice, huh? :)

2008-10-03T22:02:00.000-07:00

I believe firmly in writing inscriptions and dates in books.

People often say that a certain song relives for them a very specific time and place. That's true for me (and why my ipod is currently breaking my heart). But I think books are the same way, if not even more for me because there's an intenser interaction. I don't know. Just musing today.

Anyways. I've already finished my four books I brought with me. And was thinking with misery what to read next (misery because I finished Love in the Time of Cholera and I wanted it to continue for a hundred more years - apparently of solitude) But as luck would have it, I told Marion from New Zealand what I was reading and she handed me the autobiography of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and said, "here, read this. I need to lighten my pack load before Delhi anyways."

And it has the following inscription:
Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it.

I think the literal truth is not always the most accurate truth.

Anyways, off to the zoo today.
If the rain, rain goes away and comes again another day.

(p.s. This is the anthem, get your damn hands up... so they can be breezy :)

Not much

2008-10-02T22:18:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to be a faithful journaler (journalee?) but these past few days I'm finding myself with not too much to write. Life has begun to find its way into a bit of a routine. Which (secretly, and quite un-spontaneously of me) has been comforting.

I wake up most mornings between 6-8. Depending. Lay in bed and think my morning thoughts. Which today included great relief that I didn't have a book report due in an hour on five books I hadn't read (the nightmare of the dream I awoke from) and then a reflection, with satisfaction, on how well I'm doing. Surprise at my own strength and capacity to adapt and survive. To thrive. I think sometimes I need to put myself in difficult situations to realise that again. To remember it all - it had become so lost and muddled in the terrifying personal tragedies of the past few years. It was satisfying to lay in bed, listening to the day starting of a place so foreign and feel at complete peace with myself. My sense of self. My age, and date, and place in time. Does any of this make sense? Perhaps only to me.

Then I read my book. Thought about friends and family and all those I love. Stretched. And started my daily battle with laundry (as it has to be done almost daily - because 1) everything is always dirty and 2) if not done often it gets too much for a small bucket) Hung my laundry on the line - though now as I am writing, wish I hadn't because it's raining. Le sigh :)

Then I dress, do the necessary hygiene and go out for my morning banana lassi. Hop over to internet where I inevitably run into someone I know. Chat for while, email, then go to the market to buy the day's food.

Return home and read and write letters. Or sometimes explore the city - the market, old buildings, cemetary.

Eat lunch, and walk over to Park Street to catch the metro to Kalighat. Work my shift - massage backs, hand out medicine and dinner, wash dishes, clean bedpans and bottoms, then sit on the rooftop and drink chai with the volunteers and chat about the day. Walk home in the dark. Usually with a new volunteer each time - last night I met a young med student from British Columbia who is just about to start his internship and is doing a tour (for credit!) of different medical facilities. He loves open bleeding wounds he said, and enthusiastically invited me to Canada where he said they are in desperate need of people who have any experience whatsoever in working with autism. It was a fun conversation. And he reminded me of Gilbert Blythe.

And I met a woman yesterday who hasn't been home in seven years. She's been living and working in various countries with various NGO's and just keeps going. She's 42.

And I met a Frenchman with pretty brown eyes who kept warning me, "no, no the chai is very hot." And because I always ignore rational suggestions, I poured myself a glass anyways and burned my fingers terribly. But didn't tell him, because I was embarassed, and so kept holding the burning glass until he turned away and I could fling it down.

And then I go home. And we sit in the courtyard all night. And someone is always cooking and telling a story. Last night we had beer and whisky and sang drinking songs from our different countries. And I had my nightly French lessons.

And there are the little daily differences. Yesterday the hotel staff brought us all chocolate cakes because they were celebrating EID (the end of ramadan) and Gandhi's birthday - so we danced around giggling at the chocolate and had coffee. And tomorrow is Nikolai's birthday and we will all celebrate. And then Durga Puja starts where the whole city will celebrate for a week before tossing their hand-made idols into the river with great ceremony.

And we got into political debates.

Someone said, and I quote, "I never liked Hilary. I think it says a lot about a woman who can't keep her man satisfied."

At which point I flew into a mini-kate rage. And it took me a long time to settle down. But the world is pro-obama so I don't have to get too raging too often. Which is nice for everyone.

I'm not working in the morning at the school anymore. I think it's better for me. But because I love kids. And love being busy - I think I will pick up two morning shifts working with kids with physical disabilities. But only two mornings (and five nights at Kalighat). So I don't kill myself. Because that would suck. And not the point of this trip.

And I will do this for a month. I think. Perhaps (it continues to be the case that I can do whatever I want! so amazing!) Then I will go to Darjeeling and see the himalayas and drink tea. And Nepal to see Kathmandu. And then to ancient places where Siddartha reached enlightenment.

And so it goes.

And I am well.

And really, really proud of myself. In pause - I am amazed to come face-to-face with myself. And amazed at what I find. Still desperately sad and heartbroken and I miss my grandfather and my family and scared and anxious - but also strong and whole and quiet and watching the world with my eyes open again.

I guess I did have a lot to write about.

Here I am!

2008-09-30T22:22:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-28T04:58:00.001-07:00

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!

2008-09-27T02:47:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-26T08:49:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-26T00:15:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-23T22:19:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-09-22T21:57:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-21T22:18:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-20T20:48:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-19T07:21:00.000-07:00

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. :)

2008-09-18T03:57:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-09-16T21:49:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-09-15T06:16:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-09-13T06:04:00.000-07:00

...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.

2008-09-12T06:42:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-10T21:41:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-09T21:51:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-09T02:15:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-02T11:18:00.000-07:00

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