Vacations only exist so you know your real life is crap--Part I

Thailand—Saturday (Prep Day)

Only one more day until Thailand, and I just couldn’t wait. I haven’t taken a vacation since January 2002 when I went to Disney World with my parents and sister. That was a great time—I don’t care what people say about Disney World but it is the happiest place on earth. Well, I believed that until I went to Thailand, but I didn’t know that fact the day before I left.

I had originally scheduled two days—Friday and Saturday—for cleaning and packing. However, since this new turn in my project has been so amazing I can’t get people to leave me alone. I went to two friends’ house for dinner on Thursday night and stayed entirely too late—didn’t leave there until 11. They are the most interesting couple and “drinks” usually turns into 5 or 6 hours of hilarity. This night was no different. But during dinner, I think while we were discussing the impending birth of their first child, I got a phone call from my research assistant saying that someone very important could only see us at his house at 8:15 am. Of course. So although I didn’t get to bed until after midnight, I had to be up at 6 and ready to throw my A-game at this guy bright and early. Crap. I didn’t even have time for a cup of coffee before we had to leave and hike over to his house. It was a good thing we did, since he gave me some very important information and a few documents—in spite of my no coffee, at best B game performance. Unfortunately, since I was leaving the country and he couldn’t just leave the documents with me, I had to go make copies. No breakfast, and still moving at 9:30. Long story short…the copies were still being made at 11:30 and I was 5 minutes from losing it. Hungry, tired, pissed that I wasn’t cleaning, I took the documents and went home only to get a message from someone ELSE I was supposed to meet. Are you freaking kidding me? I want to see these people, especially the second person who is another friend who is always amusing and full of interesting stories…but why does it all have to happen when I’m leaving the country? In spite of my frustration, tea with this friend ended up being a great time and lasted until quite late…so no work on day one of prep. It was actually ok, since I got so much information and had a great time with my friend. But I was feeling a little stressed by the time he left my house at around 8. I’d been home about 40 minutes since 7 am that morning…AHHHHH….and I really needed to clean.

As you may know, when I arrived home after my trip to Sikkim a few weeks before, I had families of mold growing on my life. So in preparation for this week away I had decided to bleach my entire house. I sealed my closets hoping the mold wouldn’t roost on my clothing… but I can’t seal EVERYTHING. That’s just a little crazy cat lady for me. So instead I turned to my new bestest friend: bleach. I love bleach. It signifies clean and disinfected even though I am getting a little tired of smelling like a pool. But that couldn’t be helped this time. So I spent about 5 hours cleaning everything in my house on Saturday—bathroom walls, tables, bedroom walls, all floors…everything. I mop once a week and the water is still the color of the Hudson. No wonder bodies turn up there all the time—the chances of seeing below a depth of 1 inch is almost nothing. But I digress...

I packed in about 10 minutes since I was taking next to nothing. I have very few pieces of clothing that I didn’t have made here, and as much as I like the salwar I have absolutely had it with the damn dupatta. It is a scarf which translates to your modesty. Literally. You can’t leave the house without it and as beautiful as it is…the damn thing drags the ground, gets caught in doors, is pulled on my monkeys and mischievous young men and frisky monks (that is a totally separate story). So I decided to only take enough clothing to actually get me to Thailand and then I could buy some fabulous pieces there. So my suitcase was virtually empty—a great way to travel.

The pregame to vacation is something I have no practice with; obviously, since I’m a woman that never stops working. However, I did make one very vital, very un-Chelsea-like decision. I elected to leave my laptop in Darjeeling--and in case you are tempted to call me a liar, like my mother and three very good friends, I'm not lying...I seriously went without it. I am deeply committed to this lifestyle makeover. I didn’t even take a notebook, which I did eventually regret and purchased one from a convenience store in Thailand. But I decided that even though I could get lots of work done in the evenings that this could be one of those great steps to normalcy. So no work. Not even the opportunity to squeeze some in during the ride over or at the airport. Nope…nada. There could be hope for me yet. This particular step left me feeling queasy and faintly like I left a vital appendage behind but I soldiered on and shut my suitcase a bit lighter than normal.


Thailand (almost)—Sunday (Day One)

In order to get to Thailand from Darjeeling, a number of steps must be performed. First, you have to get your luggage from your house on one side of the hill, up and over the crest, and then back down again to the taxi stand. I usually pack light enough that I can easily carry my own things. However, since I am going to the land of plenty I’ve decided to take an actual suitcase and bring things back. This was a great idea, except it had rained and those rolling suitcases don’t really work in mud. Especially when you live on a road that looks like there are bomb craters every 5 feet. Usually a person can just leap gracefully from edge to edge and make it without a problem. But with a suitcase and carry-on luggage leaping is not really possible. I thought about heaving them across these craters…but it would have taken 8 hours to get down the road and then there is that 45 degree angle up road that I take on my morning walks. Such a thing is not made for luggage either. So my friend and I had to suck it up and hire a porter to carry our stuff.

Step one is accomplished…luggage is at the taxi stand. This stand is relatively close to my house—not all the way down in the bazaar like many others are—and the taxis run about ever half an hour to the train station in New Jaipalguri. This trip normally takes about 3 hours. Normally. But with my luck lately, why did I actually believe we would make it in that amount of time. I know what you’re thinking—no freaking way did you get another slow taxi. WRONG!!! We were with Evil Knievel’s less cautious cousin Mike. No kidding, this guy got us to the train station in 2 hours and 15 minutes…including a tea break and traffic. If we hadn’t stopped those two times, he could have cleared 1 hour 45 minutes easy. There were times our tires were no longer in contact with the asphalt. My friend and I got to the taxi stand late and so had to sit in the back of the jeep with two very large, very friendly Bengali men. They could have had the entire back of the jeep to themselves and had little room for luggage. As it was, they used most of our space as well; legs between our legs, arms using our airspace for their playroom, etc. Fantastic. This was one of those moments I mentioned in an earlier post when you really wish you’d booked the private jeep. But it was cheap and we had time, or so we thought. As it was, we got there a full hour before we’d planned and so just sat around the train station. As train stations go, the New Jaipalguri station isn’t unique. Usual crappy food, porters in red shirts running all over trying to convince you that you aren’t strong enough to carry your own bags. We arrived just as night was falling and a blizzard of moths were swarming around all lights. It really did look like snow falling through the lights. Beautiful, if a bit annoying when four or five try to take up residence in your mouth without your permission. Had they asked....

The rest of the day was very uneventful. We got on the train and found our berths in the second class AC (air conditioned) compartment. I used to travel first AC—meaning there is an actual door on the compartment. But I’ve been here long enough that I am now more comfortable with people packed arm to arm when I’m traveling alone. There are less opportunities for things to happen when there is an audience. So I now prefer second AC—there is only a curtain separating you and the hallway while actually has berths lining the walls. So there is an audience, even when you fall off the top berth while rolling over in your sleep. Fire up. But I did sleep exceptionally well and was well rested for the day ahead, which was a good thing.

Thailand (sort of)—Monday (Day Two)

Today was one of those days where you almost regret getting out of bed, or in my case, the train berth. I was traveling with my neighbor, an American woman. Her husband left us about two weeks ago to visit his family in the US and attend a conference in California so we had been on our own on the way down the mountain. We had both had giardia in the past two weeks and she had only stopped taking the medication two days before we left for our vacation. Unfortunately, she is allergic to one of the giardia medications and this allergy usually manifests itself in the forms of hives. Everywhere. These started on our way down the mountain, but we both thought everything would be fine. We were nearly wrong.

When we woke up on the train in the station in Kolkata, she was absolutely covered in hives. And when I mean covered, I mean wrists swollen, hives on eyelids, everything. She was itchy and in pain. Everywhere there had been pressure the night before—back of the knees, ankles, rear end—was swollen in the hives that looked more like welts than little innocent hives. But she/we decided to soldier on because we were going into town to the best breakfast place in India, Fluries.

A quick side note about Fluries—I had heard many things about this place before I first came to India two years ago. It is even mentioned glowingly in one of my favorite Bollywood films, so my interest was peaked. But I spent most of my time in Kolkata the last time with friends and so never got over Fluries. I deeply, truly regret this move. I would never have discovered the place but another researcher in Darjeeling and I were both there in February and he had the absolutely brilliant idea of meeting there for breakfast. I have never been the same since. So when Karen said, “why don’t we stop off at Fluries for breakfast before heading to the airport,” I jumped at the chance. Our train arrived in the station at 6:30 and the flight to Bangkok didn’t leave until 12:10, so we had some time.

Back to the hives—we got out of our air conditioned train and descended into the heat of Kolkata. When you’ve been living up in the mountains where the temperature is usually in the 60’s and 70’s at midday, walking out into 85 degrees at 6:30 in the morning is a bit of a shock. We were both warm, which (of course) makes the hives worse. We made our way through the crowds and packs of porters who were offended that we didn’t need them and walked to the prepaid taxi stand. There was a line, so we waited. And waited. During this time, my friend started looking tired and finally told me that she wasn’t feeling well and was going to sit down. I looked at her sitting there and got a little scared. She had mentioned that her throat had been feeling a bit tight that morning and I flashed back to my roommate in graduate school. She had a similar reaction to a delicious and cheap Chinese buffet and it ended in me throwing her into the car and racing to the emergency room. I did not like the idea of doing that in Kolkata where I know of no doctors and no good hospitals. I’m sure there are some, but I’m only in the city every few months and only for a few days.

So after seeing her sitting on her suitcase with her head in her hands, I decided that I had had it with the line. I walked up to the front, stuck my face in the window and asked (nicely) for a taxi. Quickly. It took a minute but we managed to get a taxi. I walked back to find my friend and for a minute I couldn’t find her. She was sitting behind a pillar and was leaning down on the suitcase. She looked up at me and said she thought for a minute she was going to throw up and pass out. Which was the reason for her sudden departure from the line. She was having a little trouble breathing and looked near panic. She is probably the most level headed person I know, so to see her looking like that was not a good sign. I asked if she wanted to go to a hospital immediately, but she thought she would be ok. We piled into the taxi and were off for the restaurant. When we arrived, everything was closed for another 20 minutes so we took that opportunity to sit for a minute. She decided to call her in-laws (her father-in-law is a doctor) and act about the reaction to the medication. They gave us a few suggestions and medications to get her and requested that I stick by her—which I was, to the point that I think the magazine guy who was watching us thought I was a little in love with her. But was sat there, breathing, and waiting for the air conditioned restaurant to open. Poor Karen, she was so itchy and uncomfortable and there wasn’t much I could do. No chemists were open so I couldn’t even get her hydrocortisone and the sun was beating on us unmercifully.

However, 7:30 quickly arrived and Fluries opened. Breakfast was fantastic although the music definitely left something to be desired. The last time I was there they were playing some very mellow Norah Jones. This time was not quite so mellow: a mix of covers of the sappiest love songs from the past 40 years sung by people who clearly have no future in music. The play list is as follows: Lady in Red, Endless Love, Everything I Do (I do it for you), My Girl, Can You Feel The Love Tonight, When a Man Loves a Woman, Love Lift Us Up (where we belong), Hopelessly Devoted, I’m Your Lady, My Heart Will Go On, I Just Called (To Say I Love You), I Swear, Just the Way You Are, Fools Rush In, La Bamba.

Ok, so the last one is not a sappy love song...and I do actually like Fools Rush In. But honestly, can you imagine trying to keep a delicious breakfast of a cheese and tomato omelet and coffee (perfectly creamy and delicious) while listening to that drivel? I ask you, what would you do? I considered running around, crying and tearing my hair…but the coffee was just so good. So instead, we laughed—in spite of the massive hives and breathing difficulty—laughed ourselves silly at the beginning of each song. Good times.

After we finished breakfast, we went to visit a friend and her family. She had just gotten married and was moving that same day to Australian. From there we left for the airport just as the day started to get really hot. The flight itself was unremarkable except for the amazing food and real china during lunch. Jet Airways is the nicest airline in India and is, frankly, better than most in the US. Their flights are rarely delayed, they serve meals on even the shortest flights (the flight from Kolkata to the airport closest to Darjeeling is 45 minutes and you are given a full meal), and are incredibly nice. Always available for water, take your jacket and hang it up in the closet, etc. US carriers could take a few lessons.

And so, after those adventures we arrived at the new international airport in Bangkok. This airport is a mix between a high-end mall and an airport. My first impression was: clean. Very, very clean. So clean it was almost antiseptic. There is metal and glass everywhere and I’m sure the fingerprints are a pain to get rid of although the effect is quite striking. I’m more of a tree kind of girl myself, but there is something to be said for surfaces that don’t mold. Oh wait, I’m not in the land of mold and mist…I’m in Bangkok. Home of mangos and sticky rice and no mold. But I digress yet again.

We arrived and since I’m paid in Indian rupees, I needed to change my money for something that vendors would accept in exchange for mangos and sticky rice. Yes, I’m obsessing…but they are really, really tasty. So we wandered over to the exchange counter in the international terminal only to discover they don’t accept Indian rupees. I’ve heard stories of the general dislike between Indians and Thai. Its generally chalked up to cultural differences but often translated into Indians finding it difficult to catch cabs and get hotel rooms. This has even happened to a few American and British friends with Indian-sounding names. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised but still! This is a major route for trade in clothing and electronic goods: on the 2 am Thai airways flight between Kolkata and Bangkok there are always middlemen with huge packages of clothing to sell back in India. Maybe the whole no exchange is a slight discouragement…who knows. So anyway, no money.

Taxi to the hotel was a very clean smelling Toyota with room for our luggage and another family of 8. Well, that would be by the share taxi standards so maybe there was only room for 4. But with electronic windows and door locks, cup holders, and comfortable seats I was more than willing to stay in the car for the next 6 days. Luckily, good sense and my friend Karen won out. Our hotel was located in the business/shopping district and, oddly enough, a hospital.

Well, I need to take a break so I’ll finish the Thailand update in a few days and will include many, many photos.

Thailand adventures

Just wanted to let you all know that I am absolutely loving Thailand and may not go back to India! This place is fantastic--water taxis, mango and sticky rice, no dupattas (the scarf I have to wear with everything in India), and showers daily. Plus while its 107 in Kolkata, its only in the mid-80's here. Hot when you're used to Darjeeling, but a very nice change.

The general what’s-it-ness of it all…Part III

During the last week of March, I was quite busy running around. Sunday and Monday I attended a conference in a smaller town called Kalimpong, about a two and a half hour drive from Darjeeling. You have to drive over and down some hills (that, again, we would call mountains in most of the US), along the Teesta River, and then back up to the town. It’s a nice drive. This is a photo of the tea estate you drive through on the way down. The road was actually pretty crowded, we were just the second in a long caravan on their way to either Kalimpong or Sikkim, the next state north. They use the same road until you reach the river, which is a bit of a monster. Not this time of year, since it’s the dry season, but imagine it about 10 times larger once monsoon starts:

As we were driving to the conference, a friend of mine told me that it is very auspicious to make a wish, say a prayer, etc., while crossing this river. You can also chuck a 1 rupee coin into the river to make it even more powerful. Rivers are very holy things since they come from the mountains which are themselves the abode of the gods. So I always think of something when driving across, and only once did I toss a coin in. That came later in the week and was accompanied by some very amused Bengali tourists asking me what the deuce did I think I was doing. Fantastic. I’m sure that will make it into the family holiday letter (not my family’s, but theirs). The road is actually in quite good condition compared to that of the city. It was a great drive, lots of sun, good conversation, and no rain!

I took the same road to Gangtok, the capital of the next state north (Sikkim), a few days later to visit a friend and do some research. The state is restricted for foreigners, and so I had to go get a permit the week prior. This involves trekking down about 30 minutes down the mountain and into the district magistrates office, which is not easy to find even when you know where you’re going. I don’t know how tourists do it. You then stand at a window, the man looks up, sees the shiny whiteness of your face, then silently hands you a form. You exit the line, fill it out, get back in line, and he stamps it. Then you trek all the way back up to near the top of the hill to the foreigner’s registration office. There, a man is supposed to stamp your form and then fill your name in a little ledger. However, since I am a resident of India, the man decided that I was not allowed to go to Sikkim. I said, “Sir, that’s crazy. I can’t just stay in Darjeeling or the state of West Bengal for the whole year. I also work in Delhi.” To which he said, “but, you can’t go anywhere.” Uh…this could be a problem. I tried logic, I tried smiling and chatting. But nothing. Finally, I called another man over and he told the other guy he was crazy. Then tried logic. Then chatting. Then he just stamped my pass for me and said “go, its fine.” Great, grand, wonderful. You would think this ends the saga of the pass. But, oh, no. No freaking way. This is India after all! So you have to walk all the way back down to the office at the other end of the world, get in the same line, and then finally your permit is issued. I also wore the wrong shoes that day and ended up with blisters between my toes and on the bottoms and sides of my feet. I got home that night and decided that Sikkim better be the greatest place on earth or I’d ask for my money back. Wait, I didn’t pay anything for the permit. Maybe I’d ask the permit guy to rub my feet. Whatever, this place better be freaking great.

The trip to Sikkim didn’t start well. I hadn’t been feeling great, and should have probably postponed my trip. But the friend I was meeting was heading into a month long silent retreat the next week and that would kind of defeat the whole purpose of me going. So I sucked it up and got into the share taxi. Share taxis are those you take when you live here long enough to stop wanting to spend tourist prices for everything. I actually prefer them for most purposes. For example, a tourist taxi (which means you get the whole jeep to yourself) from Siliguri (town in the plains) to Darjeeling is about eight or nine hundred rupees. A share taxi is, during high season, 100 rupees max. During the rest of the year, you can make it there for 40 rupees. So my trip from Darjeeling to Sikkim cost me a total, on the share taxi, of 125 rupees. However, it means sharing a jeep with at least 10 other people. As I said, I actually like them because they are a great chance to meet people. It does, however, mean zero personal space. On the trip back I had an adorable young man who fell asleep and leaned on me the whole time. Good thing for him he was cute and totally non-threatening. Just wait until you get some geezer who coughs and spits sleeping on you, then you hate yourself for not getting your own taxi.

Anyway, so I’m crammed in a taxi with all these people—although I was in the ladies seat by the window next to the driver, so you only have three people in that row—and we start out. The driver thought it was totally hilarious that I could speak Nepali, so he kept talking when all I wanted to do was sleep. We hit traffic coming out of town, traffic at the next town, and then once we cleared the traffic we stopped. Directly across the hill from my house—well, down the thousands of feet ravine and back up from my house. The driver cuts the engine, opens the door, and disappears. Seriously, there is NOTHING around on this road. Nothing. Not even a tea shop. When the deuce did he go? I’m looking at my house in the distance thinking, “when will this bloody driver get a flaming move on?” The Bengali tourists got out and started taking pictures. Of my house. Well, Darjeeling to be more precise, but I’m sure my house was in some of them. Very tiny of course, but there nonetheless. I’m watching them, thinking how much they must be enjoying the coolness of Darjeeling compared to the gawd-help us awfulness of Kolkata. Still sitting. I check my phone. No calls, no messages. Clearly we’ve entered a time warp in which no one loves me enough to call. Stupid friends. I bet they are at home, drinking tea and laughing about not calling me. Still…sitting. Am just about to throw myself down the ravine, when the driver reappears. And does nothing. Sitting, tra-la-la, sitting. I grab the door handle, prepared to jump, when he starts the jeep and starts off as if nothing happened. Luckily, I have cultivated the kind of calm that one can only achieve while living in India. There is so much chaos, and so much ridiculousness that calm acceptance is the only option to throwing oneself down a ravine. Or in front of a bus, if no ravine is to be found.

Anyway, we move along fine for a couple of hours (its supposed to be a 4 hour trip) and then…traffic again. By the checkpoint at the border between West Bengal and Sikkim. I have to get out to get my pass stamped and I watch the driver buzz off up the hill. I get my pass stamped, chat for a second with the border guard—its amazing how easy it is to get things done when you surprise people with your language skills. The second I speak Nepali, they go into some sort of trance and things are shockingly simple to get done. They completely don’t expect it and so are hypnotized. I’m like a snake charmer, only with no snakes and very little charm. I run back up the hill, only to find that my driver went off expecting this whole border crossing to take a while. He didn’t realize that I’d been here long enough to know that you don’t wait politely until someone finishes their conversation or work if you need something. You just shove your passport under their nose, smile, and when they do nothing, say “I think I need a stamp in my passport. Please do it now.” I love it. But my speed and awesome efficiency meant that the driver had gone. Probably for tea and a smoke, or maybe a nap. So we waited. Again. Unfortunately, there was no ravine to throw myself into this time. Still…waiting. The boy who accompanies the driver ran off to find him. I was, at this point, considering hot wiring the jeep and taking off. I think the Bengali tourists would have supported me in this effort, but the driver appeared and we were off again. For about 10 minutes…then traffic:

Please…someone…kill…me. So just as we got out of the traffic, something happened. Before I tell you what happened, let me just say that I am a patient woman. I have waited for years for things to come to fruition. I can, on special days, sit and wait for water to boil. But today nearly tested my limits, because just as we got out of the traffic…WE GOT INTO AN ACCIDENT. Honestly, can you believe it? I ask you…is it even possible? The worst part of it was that the accident was barely a fender bender. True, we were rear-ended by a huge truck. And yes, there was a bit of damage. But does that require 30 minutes of negotiations about compensation? There really isn’t insurance here, so the driver had to wait to get the most out of the guy as possible. For the dents and scratches. That I could have fixed in 20 minutes with a hammer and some clear nail polish. But 30 minutes of yelling, clutching of the breast, fists shaking at the sky. I gave up and took a nap, which is not an easy feat when you are at a 30 degree angle up the side of a mountain with men screaming at each other outside your door. But I channeled the calm that comes from years of meditation and experimentation with mind altering substances and slept. Quite well actually. Eventually, the men came to an agreement and we were off. Finally! But wait…we had to stop at the nearest ATM for the truck driver to withdraw money to pay our driver. So stop again. For another half an hour. I have at least 7 more grey hairs from this trip that I know for a fact were not there before I left my house.

I finally made it to Gangtok (the capital), a little shabbier and older than when I left, but otherwise unscathed. Gangtok is actually a very charming city:

Its not as crowded as Darjeeling and all traffic has to clear out of a certain area by 4:45. Fantastic. I’m still not entirely sure it was worth the walk up and down Darjeeling for the permit, blisters, and the 7 gray hairs…but it was a great time.

Unfortunately, what was just an annoying bout of giardia—used to be my favorite of the intestinal diseases/parasites because of its lack of terrible symptoms—became the worst case of my life. I only got to enjoy Gangtok for one day, because by the next I was sick. The kind of sick where you camp out on the bathroom floor for 12 hours sick and then lay in bed for 3 days recovering. And it only took 4 doses of the medicine before I could keep any down. Giardia is so not my favorite parasite anymore. I had to stay in Gangtok for 3 extra days because I was too sick to travel or even sit up for more than a few minutes at a time. Its now been a week and I’m still not 100%. Stupid parasites. Trying to ruin my good times.

Although totally unrelated to my life, I wanted to share the following with you all. This is a box of breakfast cereal that I purchased for those mornings when I didn’t want banana oatmeal or toast. Make sure you read slowly and carefully.

So after all that, you’re expecting quite a lot! Cure cancer and the lot. Pretty impressive. I anticipated lights and choirs of angels singing when I opened the box. This is what I got:

Stale cornflakes with a few almonds thrown in. I haven’t been able to toss them out, just because I expect them to cure themselves of their staleness, sprout pineapples, and wow me again. I’ll keep you posted as to the developing awesomeness of my muesli.

Well, I think that’s enough of an update for now. I’ve been cooped up in my house for days and so have had time to work on this edition. I’m heading to Thailand in a week and a half, so I’m sure I’ll have fun things to say and photos to post after I return.

Hope all is well with everyone and keep those emails and letters coming. I so enjoy both.

The general what’s-it-ness of it all…Part II

I finally left the city for my first overnight trip since arriving to go to a tea estate to do some interviews. I don’t know if any of you are tea snobs, I mean, *cough*, aficionados, but I was at Margaret’s Hope. Maybe the name means something to you, maybe it doesn’t. Anyway, had a fabulous time—toured the factory, met the very nice and very helpful estate manager, and stayed with my friend’s family. These are photos of part of the estate:

It is very steep and the workers pluck everything by hand:

You can imagine, working all day long walking up and down these hills plucking tea. So think of them when you drink Darjeeling tea—they’ve worked hard for it, so you’d better enjoy it!

We stayed with a friend’s family, who had a new little puppy. It had a sibling, but it died a few weeks before. The puppy is very small and adorable in a sort of living-cotton-ball way. But he did love to be held and got a little scared during the amazingly bad hail storm we had that night. This is a photo of another friend holding said puppy:

We didn’t just have fun with puppies and hail…I actually got some work done as well. This is a photo of me interviewing an old man at the estate:

We walked to his house and asked his son where he was, since I was looking for someone who was working before the British left India. So the son called down to a small plot of land where this 95-year-old man was working among the plants. He walked over, brushed the dirt off his hands, and gave me what has become one of my favorite interviews. What a character! He is partially deaf, and so my research assistant had to yell to him since he couldn’t understand my ‘strange’ accent! But he managed to charm us all and I was very sorry that the interview had to end. I didn’t even realize we were done talking, when suddenly he said, “Ok, I’m going to work now.” Very matter-of-factly. Just got up, smiled, and walked away. What a great guy.

The general what’s-it-ness of it all…Part I

So as usual, I am horrifically late with a posting. I’ve been very busy since the last posting—working, living, trying to learn how to play. The most important updates, if you have no time to read further, are as follows:

1. I’ve started walking in the mornings.

Yes, its true. Me. Walking. Physical activity. Of my own volition. No, this is not a sign of the end of the world….just me trying to learn to be an all-around person, not just a graduate student. I met another anthropologist/graduate student while here and realized that my lifestyle is totally unsustainable. Those of you who are around when I’m working can attest to my zone behavior. Regular activities like eating, sleeping, communicating, and showering fall away when I’m working. This is not a good thing. I see that now. Really. So I’m trying to get into good habits like walking—yes, I actually enjoy it—eating good food, taking the occasional break, etc. So far its quite uncomfortable and unnatural feeling, but I am sure that with practice I will manage to act like a person and not a robot all the time. We’ll see…I’ll keep posting with my progress. But I figured if I could sustain in while here and get into the habit that it would be much easier to keep it up when I return. Plus, I’m in crazy great shape now (my rear is a good 2 inches higher than it was when I left the states) and would like to capitalize on this opportunity. Would save me the trouble of having to really work hard when I get back. Also, if I’m in such kickin’ shape at 8,000 feet, I’m superwoman at sea level. I could probably jump over a bus at this point, with these calves. Maybe I’ll try that next time I head down to Kolkata.

I would like to say, however, that this walking is not like walking on a track. Remember, I’m on the top of what we in the US would call a mountain. So my walk consists of about a half mile of flat, then a quarter mile up a road that is about a 45 degree angle (no kidding, I’ll take a photo of it one of these days to prove it), then down and around the top of the hill for a few miles, then up another even longer 45 degree angle hill that almost killed me one night after going out with friends. This second hill should not be undertaken by the faint of heart, asthmatics, or anyone with good sense. It has felled lesser men, but I tackle it during this walk with grace and dignity. It is a fantastic way to end, especially when I decide half way up that life is no longer worth living. I’ve threatened my walking partners (my neighbor and my research assistant) that I would set up house right there and go no further…but they know how to persuade me to finish. It mainly involves reminding me of this new “whole-life” approach I’ve started. The jerks. This hill also includes dodging jeeps creeping down, brakes screaming. I’ve seen a number of cars lose their breaks on this road and I always expect to see one whizzing at me just as I’m too weak to jump out of the way. Fantastic.

2. I’m taking a vacation.

Once again, part of this whole life approach. So I’m leaving for Thailand on the 14^th for 6 nights of mangos and sticky rice, showing my ankles (maybe a knee if I’m feeling really frisky), and shopping. While there are many things available here in India, sometimes a person just needs a plastic broom rather than one made of dried grass. The grass molds during the monsoon and I don’t need more mold than I already have. I was sick last week (I’ll explain later) and was away for 6 days instead of 3 and I came home to mold growing on my clothing in the closet. There was also a colony on my stove and the refrigerator. I would have preferred to just abandon everything and move…but my neighbors convinced me that a little bleach and some sun would save me. Lucky for them, the sun has been out and my house no longer smells like a nasty wet basement full of old gym socks. Ick.

3. Mango season is coming.

That really isn’t news unless you worship the mango like I do. When I was in Peace Corps (some of you have heard this story already, so my apologies), there were mango trees in the area and we used to pay kids a few rupees to shimmy up and get them for us. There is nothing like a sun-warmed, ripe mango. I hear love is better than mangos, but I’ve not experienced such a love. Except for mangos. There is, however, a problem. Lichi season is also almost upon us and I can never really decide which is better. I worship the mango, but lichis are like perfumed bits of heaven. Such a tough decision. Like deciding which of your children you like better, or which Dave Matthews song is your favorite. Almost impossible. They are wonderful in their own special ways, but cannot be compared. So my stomach is becoming very happy in spite of my illness.

On to the general information. This past month has been an exceptionally busy one. I’ve been doing interviews, going to programs, and doing such important research duties. But my research assistant’s grandmother has been very ill and so there was a week in there where I was back and forth to the hospital all day, each day. Hospitals here are quite different than in the US: families have to provide bed linens, drinking water, medicines, and, if they can afford it, food. So that means cooking two meals a day, boiling water, and then hiking it all down 45 minutes to the hospital to feed grandmother and those family members staying with her. They took her to the government hospital which is not really somewhere anyone would want to be. Let along an 80 year old woman who had never been in one before. She managed to have two children and multiple illnesses through her life without hospitals and was pretty pissed that the family took her. She was a feisty lady and terrorized the nurses and doctors alike. It was both funny and tragic to see her so upset with everyone. At one point, someone told her to trust in god and she said that you have to because you can’t trust anyone people (referring to her daughters who put her there). The daughters were so upset, but finally she started feeling better. Then, suddenly, she went almost completely catatonic. The family decided to bring her home, and it turned out that the hospital had given her an overdose of her medication. She was given 7 shots in one day, plus oral meds. After a few days being away there, she started to improve. Her mind was never really back after that, but at least she was home with her family. Things seemed to be getting better, and she talked only yesterday about wanting to live. But she died this morning at 8:45. She told her daughters that she was so tired. She’d fought hard—she had kidney cists, almost total renal failure, plus most of the rest of her organs were shutting down—and had been in a lot of pain. So this morning my neighbor and I went over to help the family with the arrangements.

In terms of my work and life: This is a photo of my bedroom here. I’ve finally gotten things organized (minus the trash) and very much like the set up.

Its warm enough that I don’t need my sleeping bag anymore, and I finally got a foam mattress. Its like sleeping on a firm but giving cloud. So my favorite place in India has become my bed. As you can see, I have some very nice windows that look out over the valley facing east. My view:

My desk (with the red chair) is to the far left. I actually keep it cleanish and I got some pretty good speakers in town so I can listen to music. The speakers on my laptop quit working about 2 months ago, and I couldn’t live without music. My neighbor is heading to the US this week and will buy me an Ipod (yes, I’m also entering the 21^st century in terms of music technology as well), so it won’t be as necessary. The yellow, white, and gold tapestry is covering a door that heads off to my uncle/landlord’s puja room. It’s a room where he retires to twice a day (7 am and around 7 or 8 pm) to meditate and chant his mantras. He is relatively quiet, unlike the woman at the house I lived in southern Nepal. Some of you may remember the stories of her and that stupid bell at 5 am. If not, take me out for coffee when I get back and I’ll tell you.

This is a photo of my second room. I was standing in the doorway between these two rooms to take the first photo. As you can see, my kitchen is up against the windows so I can look out over the hills when I’m cooking. I now have a bright maroon refrigerator where that little stool is in the near right corner. The living room is to the left. I sit there in the chair most mornings to have breakfast and drink my tea. I try to leave the door open for some fresh air, but the 5 dogs that live in the house regularly run in and jump all over me. Silly things, but I do love them.

Since I now get up so early to walk (we’re out by 6:30 most mornings, 6 when we're really inspired), I’ve been up to see the sun rise over the mountains. This is the view from my door at about 5:30:

I have to get up that early since we only get direct sunlight until about 9 am, when it is blocked by the balcony of the floor above mine. So when I’m organized, I get up around 5:30 and do laundry. Sometimes I do it the night before and leave it out hanging all night…but I think the neighbors think I’m a little nutty. Of course, they probably think I’m nutty anyway, so who cares.

This next photo has nothing to do with any thing except general hilarity:

It doesn’t look as ridiculous in the daylight, but in the evenings, the “bullet proof dias” lights up in flashing hot pink. Yes, this does announce “BULLET PROOF DIAS” in hot pink neon. Fabulous. This is where all manner of politicians sit to view public performances at this garden. They do nightly cultural dances here and, I think, hold other events here as well. I was visiting it with a friend of mine and he said that it made him think two things. Either a) they are actively trying to get people assassinated by taunting people with it as a dare, or b) whoever built it just didn’t make it actually bulletproof and so wanted to tell people it was so they wouldn’t test it. Interesting theory. He later laughed and detailed the ways in which such assassinations could be easily carried out by waiting for people to leave (since there isn’t a bathroom in the place) or shooting through the back of the building. Politicians here aren’t too popular, so I don’t plan on sitting anywhere near that building just to be safe.