The Path Diverged

Hanging by 1/4"

2011-10-31T15:13:00.000-07:00

We woke up with the sun this morning to go ice-climbing. We discovered soon enough that when they said "All levels welcome," they meant "All levels are welcome to join us on an intense, strenuous, full-day ice-climbing event."

We arrived at the meeting location at 7:45am, and were outfitted from head to toe with new gear: beanies, waterproof jackets and pants, two pairs of (warm) woolen mittens, socks, plastic boots and - the things Jeff had been waiting for - crampons.

We boarded a bus with our 3 guides, two guys from the States, and two girls from Korea, and made our way to the glacier.

It was a long and surprising path even getting onto the glacier - we began our hike in a rainforest, then continued onto a rocky flood plain with a glacial river running through it. We followed the river back to its source - or at least, to the huge wall of ice its source was hidden in. That's where things got intense.

With further instruction, we changed out of our own hiking boots into the heavy-duty boots provided by the company - they doubled the size of my foot, tripled the weight, had two sets of laces, and looked as if they wouldn't be phased a bit if an avalanche came down on top of them (regardless of what happened to their owner...)

Then came the crampons - metal claws we strapped onto our boots that dug their way into the ice at every step. The way the tiny, bent metal claws protruded from all sides of the boot, I felt like a centipede making its way across the hills of ice.

Thus weighed down but with a solid grip beneath our feet, we stepped onto the glacier and into a totally different world.

There was only ice, as far as you could see. Small gravel-like pieces on the ground were transformed into diamonds by the sunlight glinting off of them. Ice hills rose in front of us, a sign of things to come. Sheer walls rose up in some places, and small rivers cut their way through the softer top-layer of the glacier to feed the rushing, larger river gushing beneath. In some places, steps had been carved into the ice for "trampers" like us; these, in addition to the holes in some of the walls that looked like large, rounded windows, and a large tunnel we walked through on our way only added to the feeling that this was some alien world, already inhabited, that we were only visiting.

The famed "blue ice" was all around, adding color to the white landscape. It was especially noticeable in deep cracks and crevices, enhancing the already blued shadows. Several of these deep crevices ran across our path, forcing us to step over them, peering down into the abyss beneath our feet and hoping we wouldn't be swallowed up at the next moment.

Unfortunately, at this point both of us started getting blisters on our heels - with unfamiliar gear and not much time to put it on, we hadn't tied our boot laces tightly enough. We couldn't stop, and just kept following our guide down and down into a large crevasse where we were to begin our first climb.

I absolutely thought our guides had lost their minds as they were leading us down there - in some places there were ropes to hold onto while descending the 2-foot tall "steps" (aka, narrow and unevenly spaced shelves in the walls of ice, sometimes stacked vertically, sometimes on opposing sides of a large gorge)... and in other places, there were no ropes at all to help with our descent into the Earth.

When we reached the bottom of the crevasse and I saw the towering, sheer wall of ice we were supposed to climb, then I knew they were crazy. We were given two axes, strapped onto the safety rope, and off we went, like geckos clinging to a wall.

It is absolutely like nothing else I have ever done, and still seems preposterous when I think that all that was keeping us on that wall was 1/4"- 1" of our axes embedded into the wall, along with about an inch from the crampons on our feet - and just the spikes on our toes, at that!

And in this fashion, with barely any contact with the ice wall, we inched our way up, bit by bit.

It was exhilarating (if not simultaneously terrifying and exhausting), and we got to climb in three different areas. Jeff was such a pro he made it up an inverted climb to the very top, until his 2 axes were hooked over the top of the wall and his feet were dangling in midair below.

All too soon, the sun sank behind the mountains and we had to begin our trek back. It was an incredible day, and an experience we'd recommend to any glacier-visitor!

Blackwater Rafting with the Glowworms

2011-06-19T22:04:00.000-07:00

As soon as our USB drive was loaded with the pictures from zorbing, we were in the car and off to the Waitomo Glowworm Caves. Our wet clothing sprawled on the dashboard, drying in the sunlight as we sped through the rolling, sheep-spotted hills of the surrounding farmland.

After two hours of counting sheep, our clothes were nearly dry and we had arrived at the headquarters for the blackwater rafting trip. I was disappointed that my shirt was still slightly damp - it was slightly cool outside, and I wasn't thrilled to be made any cooler.

The slightly damp shirt ended up being the least of my concerns. After we signed the necessary forms (yes, even if you rip off my helmet and push me over a waterfall, I promise not to sue you), we were led outside to gear up. They handed us booties, boots, helmets with headlamps, and wetsuits that looked as if they'd been worn a thousand times and maybe dragged across the rocks of the cave as well. And they were wet.

Not "damp," but wet - cold, clammy and wet. It took plenty of wiggling, tugging, and pulling to get it on. My shirt now seemed a trivial concern.

Outfitted in our wet wetsuits, rubber boots and helmets, we piled into a bus and drove to the cave. It didn't hit me until we were inside the cave that we would be in a cave - inside the Earth - for the next 3 hours. It was dark, and very much seemed like we might be on a journey to the center of the Earth.

We alternated tramping through the cave on foot and floating down the river when it was deep enough in our inner-tubes. We also made two waterfall jumps that had a surprising technique to them: we were instructed to stand backwards on the ledge, heels hanging over the precipice and water rushing over our ankles. Then, bent forward slightly, with our bums sticking through the donut-hole in the inner-tube, we jettisoned ourselves off backwards and splashed, butt-first, into the black water below.

But the highlight of the expedition was certainly the "glowworms." We spotted a few early on, but nothing was like seeing the entire ceiling covered with them, like stars in the night sky. We formed a chain in our tubes, each sticking our boot-clad feet under the armpits of the person in front of us, and floated through a cathedral-like area of the cave. The ceiling arced above us, and tiny points of blue light seemed to hang suspended in the air.

It was completely breathtaking, floating in silence under the starry cave ceiling. Definitely worth the utter coldness that took a hot shower, change of clothes, and hot soup to remedy.

New Zealand: Zorbing

2011-06-15T16:55:00.000-07:00

We didn't stay long in Rotorua the next morning - we had zorbing to do! With only three locations worldwide offering the chance to roll down a giant hill in what appears to be an oversized hamster ball partially filled with water, we weren't going to miss our chance to try this "extreme sport."

After we arrived at the Zorb site, just outside of Rotorua, we donned our swimsuits and clambered into a beat up old van that bounced us all the way to the top of the hill where the Zorb ball awaited our arrival. Three young kids who were going for their third time that day rode up with us, and chattered excitedly the whole way, strategizing how best to tumble and slosh their way down the hill. At the top, we climbed out of the van and head-first into the Zorb ball. It was like being inside a spherical kiddie-pool that was filled with warm water. It was clear enough to make out indistinct shapes outside the ball, but nothing more. We sat, perched on the edge of the hill inside our ball, and waited.

Then, a loud thump on the outside of the ball gave us our signal: we moved to the front - the side where the ground sloped away underneath us. We could feel ourselves beginning to tip forward... and then we were over the edge, and tumbling down the hill. Inside the giant orb, we sloshed and splashed in the water, sliding against the sides and bumping into each other. There was no controlling where we were going, and though it did no good, we couldn't help but splay our hands and feet out in every direction as we picked up speed. It was like being inside a giant snowball tumbling down a mountainside.

Soon enough, though, the ground evened out and the ball slowed. They opened the side and we slid out, smiling, laughing and wet. It was a great ride!

Coming in the next post: Blackwater Rafting in the Glowworm Caves

New Zealand: An Epic Honeymoon - Part 1

2011-06-10T18:09:00.000-07:00

First let me say, we knew we had picked the right place for our honeymoon when, upon entering the country and going through customs, they specifically asked us, "What kind of camping gear do you have with you?" Any country in which this is a standard question for all visitors as they cross the border is totally cool in my book.

We arrived to a beautifully gray and rainy Auckland around 9:30am. It was a long day, starting in Dallas the morning after our wedding, then flying to L.A., where Katie and Thea tag-teamed picking us up from LAX so we could go home, swap our bags out, then drive back to catch our flight. We ended up with a 2-hour delay and didn't leave until 1:30am on Monday morning. Thanks to the international dateline, we arrived this Tuesday morning - a full day later.

But, it was a smooth trip and now we're here, ready for adventure!

Right off the bat I got more of an adventure than I bargained for: thanks to leaving Jeff's driver's license in the scanner at home, I got to be the official "hirer" of the rental car, which also means I was the official driver on the trip. Normally not worth writing home about (or, in this case, blogging...), but in New Zealand they drive on the "wrong side" of the road. This puts the driver on the right side of the car, the gear-shift to your left, and oh yes - the lever for the windshield wipers is to the left of the steering wheel instead of the turn-indicator being on the left (this was a fact I reminded myself of often, as I would inadvertently make the wipers come to life as I was preparing to change lanes... oops).

I had practice driving on the right side (and remembering about those dang windshield wipers) right from the start, as we immediately left Auckland and drove 2 hours south to Matamata - home of the Alexander Family sheep farm, and "Hobbiton," the set used for filming the Shire in Lord of the Rings.

Many of the 11,000+ sheep watched us drive along in "Gandalf," the white tour bus, as we left with the tour group on our way to the set. Once there, we got to see all of the Hobbit holes they constructed for filming, including Bag End. Each has a brilliantly colored door and well tended garden. They had all just been "freshened up," as filming for The Hobbit began less than a month ago.

After returning to "The Shire's Rest" (their base for the tours), we watched a sheep-shearing demo and I was thrilled to bottle-feed one of the lambs we had seen in the yard earlier!

The other important note from this afternoon was this is where we tried our first Ginger Beer. A cross between Ginger Ale and Root Beer, it has a strong ginger flavor and this particular brand (Bundaberg - supposedly the favorite of New Zealanders) came in a cute bottle that I'm sure made it taste even better.

After leaving Matamata, we wound our way down one-lane roads through farm after farm until we arrived in Rotorua, where we collapsed until the next morning!

When you've done everything else in Los Angeles...

2009-05-17T10:50:00.000-07:00

The video is up! Watch it on youtube.

Or, even if you haven't seen everything there is to see in Los Angeles, but like me, you're craving some adventurous outdoors-time and lack the time and money to go on a roadtrip, then Angeles National Forest is the place for you.

Not only is the park, which lies just north of Los Angeles, a welcome respite from the asphalt and high-rises of the city, but it is also the only place in California you can do a state-licensed bungee jump off a bridge.

Of course, I wasn't planning on bungee-ing when I went. Oh, sure - I thought about it when my roommate, Sarah, told me she had researched some bungee company and made a reservation to jump. But I quickly came to the conclusion that bridges were made for walking and driving on, not jumping off. So, when Thea (another one of our friends) and I went with Sarah to Angeles National Forest on Saturday, it was purely for moral support and to enjoy the beautiful hike on the way to the jump site.

When we met the Bungee America group in Azusa before caravaning up to the trailhead, they weighed all of us to ascertain which weight category we fell into for the bungee cords, even those of us who protested that we were only going along to watch our friends jump. But, even though the logical (though perhaps naive) part of me was asking, "Why do you need to remember that? You're not jumping, silly!" I found myself memorizing which jump group I would be in.

The trail to the jump site is beautiful, meandering along the edge of a river that cuts through the mountains. It feels worlds away from the city, with no trace of humanity save the subtle delineation of the path in front of you. And it's much more challenging than I expected: we waded through the river at least six times, crossing back and forth to pick up the trail on the opposite bank. The sun was already beating down on us at 10am, and I was not a little worried about a few guys in the group who seemed to have brought something in their water bottles that was intended to help them make the leap off the bridge, but might not have been as effective at helping them navigate the narrow, rocky ledges or deal with the heat.

Sarah took advantage of the two hour hike as an opportunity to try to talk Thea and me into making the jump with her. And actually, by the end of the hike, I could almost picture myself doing it - making the jump and having wonderful, heroic stories to tell afterward; knowing that I can, in fact, be a thrill-seeker when I so choose. Then, we arrived at the bridge.

"The Bridge to Nowhere," as it is named, spans the rocky, boulder-filled gorge that the river runs through 150 feet below. I leaned slightly over the concrete railing of the bridge to see just what the jumpers were facing, and the first thought that popped into my head was a vehement, "Hell, no!"

Don't get me wrong - it's a beautiful site. The river rushing over the giant, smooth boulders. The rocks all worn smooth by the force of the water. But, the thought of freefalling towards it made it appear less beautiful and more... well... fatal.

We were all tired from our trek, and we sat on the bridge to eat our lunch and, for some, to ponder their fate. Soon, "jump school" began, and Michael, a "jump master" from Bungee America began explaining how this whole plummeting off bridges thing works (though I don't think he phrased it that way).

That logical, and slightly naive, side of my brain was still asking, "Why do you need to know this? Did you see that view over the railing? We are not going down there." But, I listened anyway, and heard all about how they're certified by the same people who license theme park attractions; and how, even if all the bungee cords break except for one (people typically have at least three, if not more, bungee cords on a jump) you'll still be just fine and won't hit the rocks below; and how, in over 13 years, they've never had an injury. Well, all those things sounded pretty reasonable to me. It began to seem like a fairly safe thing to do, actually, jumping off this bridge. In fact, it was probably safer than the hike we just went on, where we were crossing rocky ledges with no safety ropes. And heck, it had to be way safer than driving on the freeways everyday in Los Angeles. But, the thought of actually committing to this jump still did not seem appealing to me.

Then people started making their jumps. One after another, people were flinging themselves off the bridge. And you know the strangest thing? After awhile, it began to seem normal to be doing this. Just like when people watch hundreds of slasher movies and become numb to the violence, so I was becoming numb to the insanity of plunging off the side of a bridge. I again began to toy with the idea of doing it myself, but through the "numbness," I could still feel the fear battling with my determination to be adventurous and take this opportunity while I had it. Who knew when I would have the time to do another two hour hike out to this bridge just to jump off of it? Now I was torn and unable to commit to a decision one way or the other.

In the end, what "pushed me over the edge," so to speak, was something Thea said. As we stood on the bridge, watching person after person hurl themselves off and proceed to bounce like human yo-yos over the rocks below, she looked up and said, "There is just nothing in me that wants to do that." I stopped, as the logical side of my brain finally acknowledged the apparent facts of the situation: there was a part of me that wanted to do that. Every person I watched I was trying to imagine myself in his or her place, trying to imagine what it would feel like to soar off the side of a bridge and fly over the river below, floating in midair, then freefalling towards the earth until being snapped back up by a giant rubber band. Something about it sounded so... free. I mean, there aren't many chances in life to see what something like that feels like.

The next thing I knew I was asking Ron, the owner of the company, if I could still decide to make a jump that day. And of course, they're no dummies: they always let people decide last-minute to jump, even if they don't sign up ahead of time. So then I was stepping into the harness, having someone check and double check all the straps and buckles. And then, the scariest part of the whole experience: they latched the bungee cord onto me. There was no turning back now. I could feel its weight pulling me towards the edge of the bridge. Only one possibility lay ahead of me, and that was to jump.

Michael, one of the "jump masters," explained to everyone earlier that there is an invisible wall of fear that exists running along the railing of the bridge. Once you cross it, all the thoughts you had of looking cool, of impressing your friends, of showing off, all disappear and are replaced by one thought: get me back on the other side of that railing! But, as I stepped over the railing onto the tiny red metal jump platform, what I felt most was an overwhelming sense of determination. I may have decided to do this at the last minute, but once I made up my mind, there was no possibility of turning back. So, I jumped.

I never really got that soaring sensation, though. You see, what they tell you is to dive out and then somewhere along the way reach for your toes and you'll naturally turn upward so the bungee (that's attached to your stomach) will snap you back up. What they didn't know was that I did gymnastics for 10 years. And what I didn't know was they were right on about one thing: after crossing that invisible wall at the top of the bridge, all your thoughts and plans do vanish, and pure instinct takes over. So, when I jumped, rather than freefalling and doing a half turn at the last minute onto my back, I immediately reached for my toes and did a forward double-pike off the dive platform.

Afterward, everyone would tell me it was really impressive, and I'd love to be able to say it was intentional, but it was purely instinct. They had been talking before about the confusion your brain feels when there's no ground beneath your feet and your body is falling in a way it never has before. The trouble, though, is my brain knows what to do when my feet aren't on the ground and I'm flying through the air: flip. I remember thinking, "This isn't what I expected to do." But it was too late, and before I knew it, I had done two forward flips off the bridge, was at the bottom of my cord, and I was being snapped back up towards the bridge with 3Gs of force. It was awesome!

I honestly don't remember much about the next part, either. I continued to bounce up and down, back and forth under the bridge, stretching my arms and legs out as if I was a flying squirrel soaring between treetops, partly because I didn't know what else to do with my limbs as I bounced around on this giant bungee, and partly because I felt like, if I could extend myself as far as possible in every direction, I could somehow experience everything more fully.

I came to a rest all too quickly, and they lowered down the retrieval cord and hauled me back up. It all happened so fast: I was up and over the railing of the bridge before I even had a chance to fully absorb what I had just experienced. I guess that's why people do more than one jump.

Anyway, to end the long saga of our adventure-filled day, I will simply say that I'm glad I did it. The Angeles National Forest and the hike are amazing, and I will certainly be back to enjoy them. But there is something about jumping off of a bridge and experiencing that total freedom of falling that is invigorating, inspiring and hopeful. I hope you have the chance to experience that as well.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-jig

2008-11-17T00:55:00.000-08:00

Home to Dallas that is. For those of you wondering, I'll be back in L.A. on December 2.

Now that I've had a few days to recuperate, I felt I should write one final post, if for no other reason than to assure you that, despite my semi-threats on facebook, I did not end up staying in India.

I might have been more inclined to stay. But, Charlie and I had to leave the orphanage on Thursday because some paperwork was not filed correctly. (Phil, could you maybe just skip this paragraph entirely? I can only imagine the reaction to this explanation from someone who works in international law... and it's not good.) Anyway, it's not exactly anyone's fault: it just is what it is. Apparently, we weren't registered to be at an orphanage (at least, this is what I gathered from having it explained several times in very broken English). Anyway, the man who ran the orphanage (understandably) didn't want the orphanage or the school that's attached to it to get caught up in any controversy, so he asked for us to be placed somewhere else.

I can understand his point of view, and his duty to all of the kids at the orphanage, and therefore why he should make that decision. But all that logic didn't keep my heart from breaking when I had to leave. I would have been leaving in two days anyway, but I would have been more prepared by then... ah well... like I said, it is what it is.

So, Charlie and I left on Thursday to stay at Dr. Bandhu's house - he's the local coordinator, and he always has volunteers stay at his house, so there was no problem. In fact, we were joining three people who had already been there several weeks: Christian, a 19-year-old from Norway; Isabella, also 19 and from Germany; and Amber, a 28-year-old from Colorado. So, we got to meet cool new people and have a second life of sorts in India. We went to another girls' orphanage on Thursday, and to a school on Friday. We saw James Bond (there was an English showing!), we watched Friends and Tarzan on TV... it was quite different than being in the first orphanage, but it was fun.

Saturday was my last day, and since my flight was out of Delhi, we decided to rent a car for the day to take us sightseeing in Delhi. Then they could drop me off at the airport before they went back to the house. There are two quick stories worth sharing from that day:

First was our trip to the police station. Okay, calm down: we only went because Christian had his camera stolen earlier, and we went to file a report. Anyway, after talking to some officers downstairs, they told us to go upstairs to see someone else. But, when we got to the stairs, Isabelle and I had a little moment: a paper sign was posted that read, "No ladies on these stairs." We asked one of the officers, and she pointed to another set of (seemingly) identical stairs on the opposite side of the lobby. So we took those - right up to the same floor - and met Christian. How weird! I felt like I was an African-American in 1950s America who had just been pointed towards the "colored" water fountain. Weird. So, anyway, I started writing some thank-yous by the landing of the afore-mentioned "forbidden" stairs while waiting for Christian, and I heard a racket, like someone had thrown a chair down the flight of stairs and it was hitting every step on its way to the bottom. I instinctively took a step to the side, and none too soon! Three monkeys came crashing down the stairs, rolling, tumbling and skidding over the marble floor - right through where I had been standing - and then jumped up on the balcony and skittered away. I felt like I was in a scene from Jumanji.

The second experience was one of those "be careful what you wish for" kind of things. Whenever we were out in the cities, people were continually trying to sell us stuff. And usually, it was the same stuff. I saw so many little statues of the elephant God, so many
bracelets, even so many wooden chess boards! I started to think, "If only someone had a product that was really different - then people would buy it!" Well, so as we were walking through the park at Connaught Place, we were approached by a man who - are you ready? -
wanted to clean our ears for us. Yup, you heard right. He had his little tool in his hand (to give him credit, it did look clean, but I wasn't going to take any chances), and he had a little journal filled with his credentials - glowing praise from his past customers, all in different languages. The weird thing was, I think the book was legit. I think all of those people from around the world actually had let this man clean the "muck" out of their ears, as he said. So, he definitely wins the prize for the one-of-a-kind product... but I'm still not buying it.

My flight home was long (VERY long) but pleasantly uneventful. So now I'm back in Dallas, sorting through loads of pictures and getting ready for Thanksgiving with family. I'll be sure to let all of you know when the pictures are up, but until then... Thanks for "traveling with me," and have a great end to your week!

Agra, and the attraction of hair

2008-11-08T21:23:00.000-08:00

I'll try to keep this post briefer, and better organized.

So, we (Charlie - the girl who joined me at the orphanage and I) are in Agra now. Yesterday we saw the Taj Mahal, and today I saw Fatehpur Sikri (an abandoned city 39 km away) and the Agra Fort. We also fit in a shopping trip, and I now have a beautiful cobalt blue sari with silver trim - I can't wait to show it off! Maybe it will help me blend in...

It started yesterday at the Taj Mahal. First, let me say that it is exquisite. Absolutely gorgeous. No picture could have prepared me for the first glimpse I caught of it as I passed through the gate before it. Surrounded by darkness, I saw part of the giant white structure, peeking through the doorway, framed by the beautiful scalloped edges of the traditional archways. As I emerged through the doorway and it came into full view, I think my jaw actually dropped just a little.

It's graceful and powerful at the same time. In person you can see the
slight texture of the beautiful white marble. It's awe-inspiring.
Anyway, as I was still staring at the monument (constructed by Shah
Jahan for his favorite wife after she died giving birth to her 14th
child), a boy of about 12 came up to me and said, "One photo?" He was Indian, and I think that was pretty much the extent of his English. Assuming he wanted me to take a picture of him and his Dad in front of the Taj Mahal, I reached for the camera. He pulled it away from me,and repeated his question, pointing to me. It still took me a minute to figure out he wanted a picture of me... so, fairly confused, I consented and awkwardly posed by myself while he snapped the picture. Later, a woman of about 35 asked me the same question. I caught on a little faster that time, and ended up posing for a picture with her and then for another with her husband. It's strange to think that I'm the one who looks so different that it merits a photographic record. Is it the light hair? The freckles?

The hair must be part of it, because as I was walking to the red sandstone mosque at Fatehpur Sikri, a group of girls - probably about 14 years old - almost swarmed me, asking me where I was from and trying to touch my hair. I was glad to have a group of people next to me motion for me to come walk with them, and they formed a sort of semi-circle around me to keep the curious girls beyond reach of my hair.

Interesting cultural experiences and crowds aside, seeing the monuments has been magnificent. The red sandstone of the Agra Fort and the mosque is striking, particularly when set against the vivid green of the gardens as it is at the Fort. I was the first person in this morning, trying to catch a glimpse of the Taj Mahal at sunrise from the walls (though the fog made this impossible). The architecture was still beautiful, though, and very similar to the mosque. Both look important and massive, but then have beautiful and tiny details carved into every doorway and column. That, along with the mist and the monkeys at the Fort, made me feel like I was in a lost ruin.

Well, I suppose that's it for now. Tomorrow we leave for Jaipur, and hopefully I will be able to write again soon!

Namaste!

India - Part "do"

2008-11-07T00:54:00.000-08:00

As I was saying, I defied all laws of physics and probability and made it to the orphanage. And I love it. (I don't think I mentioned that in the last email, but I should have - right away.) I have fallen in love with the kids there. They are all so sweet, and eager to learn and play.

But back to my arrival. I was greeted outside by the "father" of the orphanage (not any sort of religious father, as they are all Hindu there, but I think of him as the father of all of the children there).

He's a kind-faced, round sort of man, maybe about 65 years old. I was told to sit (in a chair that was brought for me), and brought Chai tea and "biscuits" (i.e., cookies). First, let me say, this chai tea is like nothing I've ever had before. It's a delicious blend of spices and creamy milk, and there's definitely some sugar in there, too. It's a daily necessity - at least four times daily.

Anyway, I tell of this only to begin to exemplify their hospitality. He speaks very little English, but he has told me more than once that I am his guest, like a daughter to him, and he is very happy to have me there. I came here to help with the kids, but I have ended up becoming royalty. They serve me every meal - literally bring it out on a tray, bringing in hot roti and puri off the skillet when mine has disappeared from my plate. And when I'm done, the dishes are silently taken away before I have a chance to say "Dhanywad" ("Thank you" in Hindi). Now I know what you're thinking: she's supposed to be there working, helping, she should do other people's dishes! Trust me, the attempt was made. I've tried several times, even just to do my own dishes. My sneakiness worked on about two occasions (when people left the kitchen after bringing me chai), but I was foiled every other time, and honestly, they seem mostly offended if I try to take in my own dishes, or serve my own plate. It disrupts the order of things more than it helps. They are the hosts, I am their guest. That is how they see it, and they have certainly fulfilled that role to its utmost.

And, I feel like part of the family as well. I have learned several words in Hindi, from the girls as well as the adults and my guidebooks. The constant game is pointing at something and exchanging the Hindi and English word for the given object. Or, simply trying to have a conversation - that's a game in itself. But, I've played tag, soccer, duck-duck-goose, and danced with them, too. And yesterday, I learned to make parathas on the stove, and the day before, roti (can't make the dough, just roll them and fry them).

As far as logistics, there are probably 25 girls, and 15 boys (they stay upstairs, so I don't see them as much) at the orphanage. The girls range from I think 4 years old to 15. The older ones cook and clean every day, and go to class part of the day. The younger ones go to school, then play the rest of the afternoon til TV watching time in the evening, just before bed. (TV is either an Indian TV show or Tom and Jerry). There is a man (the "father" mentioned before) and a woman (the "mother" as I think of her, about 55 or 60) who play those roles, and Vivek, who is 22 and manages the business side of things. He speaks the most English, but it is still very "weak" according to him (and although it's much stronger than my Hindi, I'd say that's still
an accurate description).

There is (as you may have guessed) no internet there, so I am forced to cram my lifetime's worth of experiences from the last week into these two emails now that I am traveling.

So, quickly (I will try to write again sooner this time), I am now in Agra with Charlie, a girl (it's short for Charlene) who is from England. She came on Thursday, which I was very glad of since it meant I had a traveling buddy. We saw the Taj Mahal, but I will try to save that for another post, as I feel I'm starting to ramble and my fingers are tired of this old keyboard. For now, just know that it is completely and totally amazing, completely and totally different, and
I completely and totally love every minute.

p.s. "do" is Hindi for "two" ;)

India - The Arrival

2008-11-06T00:51:00.000-08:00

India. I don't really know where to start. How about at the beginning?

I arrived at the airport at 4:50am Sunday morning. My luggage came at 6am. It wasn't lost - everyone's bags had to go through "security" first. I never thought I'd be one of the people searching for their name in the sea of hand-written signs held by drivers at airport arrival terminals, but that's exactly what I found myself doing. To my relief, I found my name amongst the rest, and let the driver help me outside with my bags.

That's when it hit me: both the realization that I was in a completely different country, and the wall of air. Or maybe the realization was due to the way the air hit me when I stepped outside: it was smoky, or smoggy, or something that made the air gray and heavy. To me, it smelled like there had just been a fire. Or perhaps everyone in the entire city was burning those Citronella candles that keep mosquitoes away. But as we continued walking (and in the days that followed), I realized that's just how the air is.

Driving from the airport to the project (which is south of Delhi), I saw lots of cows, dogs, a horse or two, some monkeys, and even a peacock in the road or walking alongside it. And, perhaps what surprised me most in the animal category was looking up from my Hindi/English phrase book (I was trying to strike up a conversation with the driver, who only spoke Hindi) to see a camel pulling a giant cart outside the window. (Quite a common occurrence, as it turns out.)

But obviously the most striking thing was the people. And the houses. I use that term because it's more well-known, but tent might be a better description. Everywhere there were people living on the side of the roads, in plastic tents or other constructed shelters. There are
houses more like what we're used to in the city (i.e., an actual building with a foundation and walls), but still completely different from our Western standards. It's like nowhere else I've every been. The closest I can come is Juarez, Mexico.

And, while driving, it is necessary to continually swerve back and forth, both in your lane and in any other lane or shoulder of road that is available, in order to avoid the potholes. Giant potholes, that might swallow a car if given the chance. Not to worry, though: honking constantly (or at least when in sight of another vehicle or person or biker) helps them to keep tabs on your whereabouts so that, no matter whose lane you're in (or how many vehicles are in one lane at once), it all works out somehow. And you always have the right of way, even if you are on the wrong side of the street. Just keep driving straight, and honk at the oncoming traffic. It works.

Anyhow, defying all odds I made it to the orphanage, and...

*This post is far to long for one sitting already. To be continued in a second one, soon!

Tartans & Tea

2008-10-30T00:49:00.000-07:00

Hard to believe my time in Edinburgh is almost up. I've learned a lot while I've been here. For one thing, different patterns of plaid (or "tartan") are used to represent the different clans in Scotland. (Perhaps those who have seen Braveheart already picked up on this.) There's a different tartan for every clan, as well as the city of Edinburgh itself, and even for the University of Edinburgh! And, as long as I'm going to mention Braveheart, I also learned from Leanne's fiance - a native of Edinburgh - that the Scottish accents in that movie are apparently nowhere close to accurate. Ah well... Hollywood can only go so far.

I've also learned to always carry an umbrella. Or, at least wear a raincoat. Apparently, the saying goes that if you can see Fife - the land on the other side of the estuary from Edinburgh - clearly, then it's going to rain. If you can't see it, then it's already raining.

But, the clouds do create beautiful lighting. Today I stood in the Abbey at Holyrood Palace (Holyrood Palace is the residence of Her Majesty the Queen when she's in Edinburgh) and felt like I was on a movie set. The lighting or setting couldn't have been better if someone had planned it. But it was quite the opposite of planned. The abbey was built in 1128, and after being attacked and partially destroyed by a mob in the 1600s due to Catholic vs. protestant
turmoil, the roof caved in in the 1700s, leaving it in ruin as it is today. Much happened to shape this place, but none of the ruin that has come to it was intended to give me the view of it I had today. This structure, open to the sky, with soft green moss creeping across the old, worn stones and sunlight pouring in and streaming across the crumbling columns... this place captivated me. It's one of the few places I know I will try to hold in my mind's eye, to go back and visit years from now.

I suppose I'll wrap it up here. The "tea" in the title has no specific story attached, except that we continue to drink tea at every opportunity. Also worthy of note, Leanne's mom flew in today, and all three of us went to see Mary Poppins tonight onstage, which was great
fun. I have one more day here tomorrow, during which we plan to attempt to have tea AND SCONES at the teahouse I mentioned in my last post, and then I fly out on Saturday for Delhi!

I hope to write again after a few days in India!

Edinburgh - The Cold Life

2008-10-27T00:45:00.000-07:00

Edinburgh, being further north than London, is also a "wee bit" colder. But, that does offer lots of opportunities for delicious ways to warm up...

Leanne and I arrived late last night to Edinburgh. After her fiance picked us up the airport, we went to her apartment for a nice cup of hot tea. And first thing this morning at breakfast? Hot tea. And, after we climbed the famous Arthur's Seat "hill" (more like a rocky, 60º incline; Karen - think Cortona-grade "hill" here...), hot chocolate at a place called Chocolate Soup. And then, while relaxing after we got home? Tea. And tonight, after we made cranberry-simmered eggplant stuffed falaffel balls for dinner? Hot spiced pear cider. Mmmm. There are definitely upsides to living somewhere cold.

The hot chocolate after the hike would have been yet another count for tea today, but the tea house we stopped in was out of scones to go with it. Out of scones?? It's like a bakery saying they ran out of icing for cakes. Or a deli running out of bread for the sandwiches. As
it would be quite defeating the purpose to have afternoon tea without a scone to accompany it, we opted for the hot chocolate. And it was a delicious choice. It really was like eating a chocolate soup it was so rich. But, still not quite as thick as Italian hot chocolate...

Edinburgh is beautiful. It's another place where time periods clash: there are old stone buildings, and a castle perched atop a hill just on the outskirts of part of the city. But, the new parliament building is quite the modern piece of work... angles at every opportunity,
rocks protruding from cement, and plenty of other oddities. There are several other buildings in the town which have very modern architecture, in addition to the modern businesses, such as restaurants, drug stores and retail locations, that reside in the old stone buildings left from ages past. But it's this strange conglomeration of times and styles that I find I enjoy. It's a way of seeing history as a living thing, that you can interact with in your everyday life. It's something I just haven't seen in America, mostly because we just don't have anything that old.

Anyhow, that's about it for now. I'll look forward to writing more later!

Cheers, London!

2008-10-25T01:04:00.000-07:00

Hello, everyone!
Leanne and I just finished day #2 in London, and we've had a great
time so far. We saw The Sound of Music on stage last night (and
managed to stay awake through the whole thing, too!) Today we took a
nice walk through London, all the way from Buckingham Palace to
Borough Market! (For anyone unfamiliar with the city, walking between
those two points gave us a chance to walk by St. James' Park, through
Trafalgar Square, down The Strand and Fleet Street, past St. Paul's
Cathedral, across the Millenium Bridge, past the Globe Theater, and
into the back alleys of the Market.) That was a nice 'little' walk.

The Borough Market may be one of my favorite London things! Walking
through consists more of wading through the hordes of people, jostling
and pushing from every side. Every inch of space that's not filled
with the shoppers is filled with a mish-mash of stalls, selling
everything from Pecorino or Gruyere to Turkish delights and cakes.
There are some fruit and vegetable stands as well, along with sandiwch
stands and opportunities to taste other such delicacies as white
truffle honey, if you can push your way through the crowds. Every time
we turned another corner, there was another room full of more
delicious offerings to sample and look at. What fun!

And, after refueling with haloumi vegetarian burgers at the Market
(and getting a few Turkish Delights to go, too - they had a kind that
tasted like vegetarian marshmallows!), we walked back to the Tate
Modern.

Finally, though, the day caught up with us, and we barely made it back
to the hostel in time to crawl into our beds for a nap. We woke up in
time for dinner in the Covent Garden area, but are now back, and
bedtime is nearing once again...

What's left to see after all that? Plenty. But tomorrow's plan of
action is to go to Hyde Park, then to Harrod's and maybe Regent Park
before catching our flight to Edinburgh. We'll see what happens...