Getting Runny, Getting Ready

So with less than a week left in India, I am going to focus this post on the most important part of our cultural experience in India- food. Yesterday after class, Stephanie, Katie, Eddie and I hit up the food court at the local mall- to mixed results.  I ordered this delicious paneer- veggie sizzler plate that quite literally rocked my world- and by rocked, I mean halfway through the next rickshaw ride I thought the world was going to end.  I ended up using this incredibly shitty pay toilet by the side of the rode, presided over by a tiny yoda-like attendant who thrust her gnarled paw into to my face to demand five ruppies before I could have my wicked way with her facilities.  She charged the Indian woman in front of me two, but considering the acts I did to her toilet, I figured the normally racist extra cover was pretty fair.

After lunch and the realignment of my digestive system, Eddie and I headed home for a quiet afternoon of laundry(together) and napping( separately) before crawling out of our respective holes to join others for dinner.  My tummy was still pretty wrathful, so we enjoyed some nice Americanish food at 898, the restaurant we went to our first night here with all the Norweigans.  I cannot believe that was three weeks ago.  After dinner we headed home for an evening of bollywood and cookie making.  Niana has a special talent for scrambling all foods, especially cookies, so out Nuttella flavored delights were yummy, but had the consistency of the aftermath of my paneer lunch.

Today, also after school, Eddie Stephanie and I headed over to Sbar mall for some vegetables and nail polish.  We got the idea last night after the nuttella incident to make out own masala spaghetti for dinner, and because the tropical heat makes EVERYTHING grow faster we all( minus Eddie) wanted to paint out pretty nails.  After the mall we headed out to Brigade to buy some last minute souvenirs.  I have actually gotten pretty good at bargaining.  They show you something, and you laugh politely and show only a flippant interest.

"Scarves, why would I want scarves, it's so hot outside!"
"Salt shakers, oh dear, I'm afraid I don't cook, that's why I need a good husband to do it for me!"
"If I am so beautiful, why don't you give it to me for less?"
"Elephants!  What would I do with a carved elephant, much less three?"

You also have to be willing to genuinely walk away. I flat out left the store and the shop keeper chased me out to agree to my price, which was about half of what he originally asked.  a lot of the shops carry similar goods, so if I have seen the 50th wooden Ganesha, I have no problem telling the shop keeper they are charging me too much.

Stephanie had a  very handsome shop attendant offer to lower the price of a scarf from 1200 to 200 if only she would give him a kiss.  She has a boyfriend so she refused, but I don't and was wildly offend she didn't throw him my way.  I love scarfs, especially ones with that kind of a service charge:)

Eddie Stephanie and I just very successfully made our masala spaghetti, and am looking forward to another quiet evening.  I still love India, but with all the big events behind me, everything else is kind of just school and shopping.  I am enjoying being here and most of the people, but I am also starting to look forward to coming home and sharing my experiences with everyone there.  Listening to Eddie discuss his evil and hilarious plans for hazing the girl replacing me makes me a little jealous, but I know the time is approaching where the thrill of my own bed and country will feel just right. 

The Story of How I DIDN'T Ride an Elephant

So yesterday and today and Friday were a blur of that special hot sweaty fun I have come to love and expect from India.  After my religion midterm and cooking class on Friday, I had the unique and amazing opportunity to visit a local Jain temple.  Jainism is a really beautiful religion.  The primary distinguishing point of Jainism is ahimsa- radical non violence.  All major religions preach against harming your fellow man, but Jains take it to a whole new level.  Ahimsa means no violence, against anything- people and animals, so general pacifist and vegetarians, but also bugs and micro organisms.  A true Jain wont boil water, and wears a mask over their face to prevent from breathing in and killing some tiny creature.  Some sweep the path in front of them to gently move anything out of the way from being trod on, and some really extreme sects live alone or in small groups in the forest naked, spending their time praying and eating only what they can gather.

For all that, their temple was surprisingly typical of many I have seen here.  Again, no pictures were allowed inside, but the building itself was white marble and very ornate and beautiful.  I was surprised by the number of female deities depicted, as well as the number of women and children present, since I had always heard of Jainism a being a very masculine religion.  We had the chance to experience the hourly offerings, and that was definitely something I wouldn’t get this side of the pacific.  After the temple my friends and I made a collective decision about what the Indian food was doing to out digestive tracts, and decided to slow our role with some good old all American Papa Johns.  Granted, most of the pizzas had paneer and capsicum, but the conversation was great and we were able to go home and pack to get up nice and early for Coorg.

Coorg is a very peaceful mountain town about five hours outside of Bangalore.  Saturday, we left at about 5am and were supposed to get their at ten, but due to both divine intervention and the general quality of Indian transportation, my bus broke down for a few hours and we didn’t arrive until after one.  On the plus side, we did get a coerced tour of a quaint one room schoolhouse that ended with us running back to the bus as the schoolteacher pursued, demanding writing utensils and money.  Once we actually arrived,  our “resort” was really  great, very sprawling with lots of little cabins and a central area for dinning and entertainment.  Dinner that night was a wonderful buffet, followed by a traditional Indian dance performance.  After the show, some USAC kids and myself jumped up on stage with a few of the families with small children that were there and engaged in some very high spirited non sexual booty shaking.

This morning, we woke up to rain and a rather unorthodox take on the concept of an omelet before hitting the road to the elephant camp.  In order to actually get to the camp, we had to pile into narrow old boats on crocodile infested waters(seriously) before put putting across to the side of the river with the elephants. When we arrived, and elephant was actually in the water with us being bathed, and I eagerly ran up to pet it before being blasted in the face with a trunkful of water.  The elephants are kept at the top of a very muddy, very slippery hill, next to the edge of one of the biggest jungles in India.  When not being cared for, most of them are released daily back into the forest.   Because of the rain the ground was wet enough that some of the elephants were actually sliding, so ridding them sadly wasn’t an option.  We did get to do lots of touching, photobombing, and feeding though!

After the elephants, we wandered around in another old park, this one prominently featuring huge bamboo plants and dear, before I really got to experience the joy of India during monsoon season.  Lunch was delicious, and I ate it soaking wet.

The Tibetan monastery we visited last in Coorg was one of my favorite religious sites I have seen on this trip.  For starters, I could actually take pictures, so for reference, this is about as ornate as any of the places I have visited, sixty foot tall gold statues and all. I also got to see the monk’s study room, which was actually how you would imagine a room full of monks would study.  Overall, Coorg was pretty great.

However, in Coorg, I came to the revelation that I have less than a week left here, and how sad that makes me.  A lot of my good friends here are staying for the second session, and hearing about all of their future adventures makes me pretty jealous.  As much as I love everyone at home, I love traveling, and all the new experiences I am having here. When I am back at Knoxville, I know exactly what my life will be- cabin parties, Dollywood, Market Square, First Friday, Golden Roast, and the occasional outdoor adventure.  And as much as I enjoy that life, I am really, really going to miss the actual adventures I am having here.  

Trust.

So at this point, I have been in India for a little bit over half of my total trip.  I have done/eaten/ pooped some very memorable experiences, and I have made some great friends whose wanderlust matches my own.   The past few days I have spent volunteering at an after school program in one of the biggest slums in India, helping kids with their English.  I have worked with kids before, and I have worked with lots of poor children, but their is something about being here that gives this experience such a different flavor.  Instead of the cat and the hat, I am reading them books about little boys who visit buddhist temples and get their shoes stolen by monkeys, or picky eater little girls who wont touch the delicious masala dosa their mother's made. Lots of the girls in my class are muslim, and to watch them be so happy and normal with their classmates, would really be an eye opening experience for some people in the states. India is amazing   The power goes out occasionally, the shower never has hot water, and yes, I have seen my lifetime supply of dead dogs, but all in all, I am very, very blessed to be here.

So why am I so anxious?

Ever since I have been here, I have experienced the occasional muscle pain in my hands.  A variety of symptoms from blurred vision to general lethargy have bothered me all of my trip.  When this started, my brain skipped the ignore and it will go away phase, and went strait to the bane of all sane living, Web MD.  I think there was one night where I  had myself convinced that I had multiple scholorosis and a brain tumor, all tied together by a neat little case of diabetes.  Last week, I went to a neurologist. Indian doctors have a fantastic reputation as a whole, because it is about a hundred times harder to be a doctor here than at home.  Also, again, he is a neurologist which means he specializes in exactly the kind of problems that have been bothering me.  I was terrified the night before my appointment, so I addedd sleeplessness and irritability to my growing list of symptoms.  When I walked into his office, I was l waiting for the axe to fall.  He did a through physical and mental examination of me, then asked when my symptoms started, which was about two days before I left for India.  He did a few more test, than sat me down, looked me in the eye and explained that the cause of all my symptoms was me- I was literally stressing and worrying myself into being sick.  He gave me a few pills to help with my circulation, then sent me on my way.

For anyone familar with my family medical tree, it doesn't take a genius to see why my brain is so worse case scenario.  Instead of the normal youth reaction of, "it never will happen to me," my subconscious is quietly marking every scrape cough and shake down to some horrible ailment.  Add to my higher than normal level of anxiety another country that, however amazing it is, still doesn't quite grasp the concept of toilet paper, and it's pretty clear how I psyched myself into a box.

For the week that I took the pills, I had virtually no problems- yet I kept expecting to.  Every movement of my hands was accompanied by the fear that there would be a painful tingle, even though there never was. I was fearful of fear,and I worried so much that I feel like I haven't enjoyed parts of this experience as much as I could of.

Today I went for my checkup, and even though everything was going well, I just started to cry.  He was going to look at me and see something he had missed, some new symptom that would ruin my life. I just started thinking about everything I have worked for, all my amazing friends both here and home, and all the relationships and opportunities I can't even dream of- all being taken away.
Mrs.Florence, who I can only describe as my USAC Indian mommy, took me to lay down in one of the rooms of the clinic  and gently stoked my hair as I started blubbering about all of my fears.

"You need to trust in Jesus, child. He loves you."

When she first said that, I nodded, but inwardly I cringed.  I am a Christian, as is my family and most of my friends, but that's not how I have ever felt comfortable talking about God. It reminds me too much of all the people who would talk about how great and merciful God's plan was, when my sister and not theirs was dying.   I am a religious studies scholar, which means I can tell you what Jews or Hindus or Muslims thinks about God's will, but I can get very uncomfortable when confronted with a real life real God situation.

But their was something about how Mrs. Florence said this, that for once, spoke to me.  Talking to her about her struggles in life and faith actually touched rather than pissed me off, and she gently made me see how silly I was being.  It's not that nothing bad will ever happen to me ever again in my entire life- but I can't spend that life worrying about things that might not even happen.  I am too young to worry so much, and if I could tap into even the smallest part of her faith, what a difference that would be. I tend to see myself as being really wise, and worldly and mature- with my five year plan and huffington post subscription.  But in the grand scheme of things, I am not, and at some point my academic God needs to be given the room needed for faith.  I can't know everything, and without trust a million second opinions from a hundred doctors is never going to take away my stress.  I need to, honestly, have some faith and quit being scared.  God did not create me to be afraid, so I need to stop harming myself with my own doubts.

I need to trust in Jesus. I am a child.  And, I am loved.


(P.S, the doctor said I am doing just fine:)

Mysore

So I didn't get a chance to write about our trip to Mysore yesterday, simply because I came home and fell into bed, sweat, funk, and all.  Our day started at a brisk 5am, where we then traveled for three hours by extra small and steamy bus to Mysore, a great cultural center down the road from Bangalore. Over the centuries, Mysore has been home to sultans, maharajahs, and enough hindu temples to make a roomful of Evangelist scurry for their bibles, but because we only had a day, there were just a few greatest hits to our trip.

The first temple we visited was at least 900 years old, and apparently didn;t allow photography inside.  I didn't realize this, nor delete my pictures afterwards, so please don't step on me when I am reborn as a dung beetle.  When we got out of the van, we were swarmed by youths leading beautiful painted and flowered horses, promising us "bootiful women" a ride up the treacherous steps of the temple.  Halfway up we realized the price was actually 600 rupees, and once we refused to pay we suddenly got less beautiful and considerably more suitable for schlepping.  The temple itself was huge though, and it was a fun Indiana Jones moment to wander around in the dim stone walls for a while.

Our next stop was the summer Palace of the Tippu Sultan.  This time, the no camera rule was enforced with a security checkpoint, so alll my memories of the place are not easily shareable.  It was big and ornate and painted, with lots of beautifully carved everything topped off by a gorgeous celling dipping with lots.  The balconies were my favorite.  It's so easy to imagine some beautiful princess being serenaded to by her lover there, in the middle of the (seriously) Peacock Garden.  Ah.

The next temple that we saw that day was located at an elevation of 3,000 ft, on top of one of seven sacred hills of southern India.  The temple itself was crowded, but the view over the side was spectacular.  I paid a few rupees for a blessing, then spent a little while wandering around with some fresh nice coconut.

Of course, the guilt and gold MacDaddy of India was next, also known as the Mysore palace.  Google Image Mysore palace.  It is gigantic, and beautiful, and the most decadent place I have ever been in my life, coming from a girl who has spent some time in Eastern Orthodox Monastaries.  Wow.  I also got to ride a camel there, which isn't the exotic beast that most Indians are hoping American girls come abroad to experience.

 The honeymoon period is defiantly over for me as of yesterday in regards to being a novelty.  Yesterday was the first time we were at a lot of really really touristy places, and myself and the girls I were with were just harassed.  Men kept making kiss faces when we walked by, or would "rub" past in the most inappropriate way.  My friend Katie had a man literally grab her face and try to kiss her, in front of his buddies.  Even if it isn't sexually, we are still targeted.  Vendors and peddlers kept pushing us, literally, and some actually followed us out to our van, where they would walk around the outside and tap on the glass, trying to get us to buy something.  I never felt physically threatened,  but it was still pretty draining, and was kind of a dammper on a really great day.

Two Great Days

So I was I didn’t write this weekend, but for once it wasn’t because I had some terrible illness sucking away my joy and happiness- I was busy!

Friday was my first Indian cooking class, and I learned the dirrernce between South and North Indian food, as well how to make some tasty basics like naan and chicken curry.  I am thinking a dinner party will be in order for all my Knoxville friends when I am back in town, so you may have the privledge of marveling at my talentsJ  Our cooking class got out pretty late, and since we had planned such a busy day Saturday, we ecided to cool our heels and go see the new snow white movie.  Indian movie theaters are cleaner, comfier, and all aroud better than ours.  Also, it doesn’t hurt that Chris Hmsworth is hot on every continent.

Saturday we toured the communtities that our university in Bangalore sponsors as part of it’s service learviing initiative, including a leoprosy facility, shelter for battered women, and a school for children with HIV.  This was not a charity system- everyone who was able(except kids)  worked at producing some kind of skill or craft tha could be sold and used to sustain the community.  Leoporsy seems like such an old fashioned thing to me, and t was really shocking to see people missing limbs and fingers from it, working to make candles or sew purses.  The coordinator was very strict on pointing out that these people were not disabled- they were differently abled, and in fact quite capable of being productive.

After the communities visit, Niana, Eddie and I hoped off the bus “literally” in the middle of down tow, in order to visit the Bull Temple, a great landmark of Bangalore.  The temple itself was handsome, but nothing like the gold and silver fantatsies seen elsewhere.  It’s primary focus was a giant statue of a black bull.  We were the only parisoners there at that time, so we had a moment to chat with the priest. The temple and statue were 500 years old, and his family had served as the priest their the entire time.  Americans really have no sense of scale for something like that- I am proud to be at least three generations Lutheran on my father’s side of the family, the odea of a dynasty that goes ack five times longer is mind- blowing.  The gardens around the temple were huge and lush, with lots of water formation, flowers, and yes, monkeys.

That night for dinner one of my friends here, Amanda, had a friend who was actually playing jazz in the city that night.  The show was really great, and the bar itself was very new and tasty, the perfect end to a very, very long day.  

The Great Indian Stimulus Package.

Today was an awesome day.  So good, that I could literally end the blog here, with no further justification, and go to bed quite content.  However,some of you inquiring minds(hi, mom) may actually want details.  Class was great this morning.  I am really starting to get into my religion and violence class.  Ivory Lyons is really fantastic at disscussion-based learning, and since our class is so tiny and opinionated, it really makes for some nerdy fun time.  He has a real talent for making you reexamine what you already know.  He discussed the way in which hymn and songs can play into the idea of religion as a military body, but I was surprised when one of the hymns he chose as an example was "A Mighty Fortress is our God"- basically, the Lutheran national anthem.  I have heard this song since I was baby, and always thought of it as comforting, not violent, but, after that class I cant help but notice it's innately militaristic qualities. I guess part of learning isn't just digesting new material, but also rethinking what you already know.

After class a group of us went over to lalvagh park, one of the most beautiful places I have been here.  The park is a lush, tropical forest/ garden that surrounds a very austere stone hill which has an amazing view of the city.  Such a unique, but tranquil place.  

Some of the girls in our group decided to do henna the temple at the top of the hill, and while we were waiting we met some Russian tourist.  There is something about being a minority in another country that gives you an instant right to conversation with anyone white.  After getting some ice cream and wandering for a few hours, all five of us piled in a ricksaw to hit Mahatma Gandhi- MG road, on of the premier crafts places in the city.

 Bartering with a shop owner is like talking to a creeper at a dive bar. Upon seeing you, he has a pretty good idea of how far you are willing to go, but then proceeds to spend the next twenty minutes trying to talk you into something a little further. I had so many silk scarves shoved into my face today it was a wonder someone wasn't strangled with one.  Regardless though, Indian craft stores are wonderful things to browse in, and I did find some really beautiful deals for myself and friends.  We even went into a swanky, swanky ass gold store.

You have never been in a jewelry store until you have been in an Indian one.  The solution to America's debt crisis literally is wrapped around the throat ears and fingers of any wealthy Indian bride.   Everything was beautiful, but a lot of it was just a lot.  I spent a ton of money today on knick nacks, but even still there are really, really poor people sitting on the front steps. It's hard to see such poverty directly next to such decadence, and while it is a contrast I am obviously uncomfortable with, I am at even more of a loss about what to actually do about it.  

Don't Angry Me!

Today was the first day I actually felt like I live in India.  I can't really explain it, but before now, it kind of felt like I was in some janky Disney theme park.  Like, "Oooo look at the people! Oooo lets buy things!"- cultural exposer, but only to the point that you can still leave the park and be back in Florida.

Today I went grocery shopping with my flatmate, Eddie.  Eddie is from Vegas, and is one of those people you carelessly describe as quiet until he says something unbelievably witty that literally knock you on your ass.  We braved the three mile trek to the grocery store, and for the first time since I've been here, I had a really mundane conversation.
"What are you getting?"
"Eggs.  Maybe some mango juice if it looks good.  Oh! And crackers for my nutela stash."
"I have crackers if you want to share, but since they wont be refrigerated, I don't think eggs are the best idea."
"fair point."

For all the exoticness of being here, there is something really comforting about making your guyfriend uncomfortable while you buy pads (no tampons in India! :C) and yogurt.  I really enjoy the non- touristy part of Bangaleur surrounding our apartment, especially now that I can actually navigate it.  The city here has a really beautiful, haphazard layout.  There are KFCs (fact: most popular American chain in India, God help us all) and restaurants without any semblance of english, back up to high end fabric shops, and nature reserves.  You can literally see camels next to the grocery store behind my apartment.  How the city moves seems really random and scary, but once you get a little bit used to it, you can see all the big intricate threads of communication, and every suddenly becomes a lot less "foreign."

Afterwards, Eddie and I went out for a lovely and non exotic dinner at au bau pain, where I dinned on a very non spiced and digest friendly tomato and mozzarella sandwich.  We took a rickshaw over to the theater, where all of our friends were waiting to go see a movie. I am in the USAC program with sixteen other people- fourteen girls, and two boys.  Most of us didn't know each other before coming, and today was the first night I felt a real sense of group bonding.  We all come from different backgrounds, and very different places in the country.  Some people are living it up here, and others are quietly (or less so) waiting to leave.  But there is something about sitting through a two hour "dramedy" in another language, and missing about ninety percent of the cultural cues that just makes for a really great shared bonding experience.  I like India, but I am really starting to love the people I am fortunate enough to share this trip with.

That Time You Shit Your Pants...

So I have been AWOL blog wise, and sadly it's not because I have run off with a handsome Maharajah and am making passionate love all over his flying carpet.  Sunday I was sick, with something a little tingly, a little fluey, and probably very related to my malaria medication.  I spent Sunday clinging to sanity in my tiny Disney Princess bed, intermittently sleeping like a dead person and watching lots of Bollywood.  BTW I love Bollywood, and anyone who doesn't lacks either the ability or the skill to smile.  It's so... cute.  The people, the clothes, the places, all is adorable.  The storylines are cheesey, trite, and wonderful, with love stories so innocently flavored they make UP look like Fifty Shades of Grey.  Perfect sick day fare.

Monday I felt less like the world was ending, and considerably more like getting off my pale butt and enjoying it.  Unfortunately, it was also the first day of classes, so enjoyment was a very loose term.  My Religion and Violence class is interesting, but  not for the reasons I was looking forward to.  It's so... Christian.  One of the first questions out of my professors mouth was, "What do you think God thinks when people commit violence for the sake of religion?" I just about fell out of my chair. I am a Christian, but I am also a scholar of religion, and so far in my education I have been taught to keep those two things very, very separate.   Talking about what I think about what God thinks in a classroom seems kind of silly and counterproductive to me.  I think God thinks this.  You think that God thinks that.  Now grade me.  The other people in the class come from more of a theological background, so it wasn't as strange for them, and in fact quite normal to discuss everything in terms of their beliefs.  I think I will still enjoy the readings for this class, but I am going to have to learn a new way to write.

Monday night my quiet study comma was broken when my flatmate frantically burst into my apartment, announcing that she had, quite literally, shit her pants.  Food poisoning hits fast and hard here, and apparently within ten minutes of enjoying a very tasty north indian dinner, it decided to make an explosive mess all over the south end of her trousers.  Naturally, we were all laughing like fools for the next three hours.

Today was a very similar affair to yesterday, plus a bit of an almost fistfight at the sari shop.  We had ordered our custom blouses last week and would told they would be ready tuesday, but due to the facts that a) this is India, and b) their tailor is one old man on one older sewing machine, we were informed they were not quite ready.  One of the girls in our group pitched a fit, and proceeded to lie and say that we ALL needed our saris by tomorrow, because we were leaving the country forever friday.  It was a big dramatic mess, and I could tell the sells people didn't believe a word of it.  On another note, my same beautiful, shit-producing flatmate also got very much hit on by an eager sari shop worker.  He kept bringing her bridal saris, demanding she try them on, then complimenting incessantly her many lovely and unique features-  "You a Christian? I A CHRISTIAN!!!" (*plans wedding) .It was pretty cute.  I will say, that is one really different thing about India is their perception of masculinity. Indian men are all about getting married.  Really.  They want their own chaste Bollywood romance, not some back of the Valarium bad-decision grindfest. They are more affectionate with everyone- especially each other. It is very normal to see Indian Bros holding hands with or putting their arm around the shoulders of their BFFS as they walk down the street.
 I just finished my first RV paper, and am pretty unimpressed out by the results.  I am going to bed now, and hope to spend a lovely morning with my editing pen trying to fish this writing from the bowls of my half working toilet. 

God and Gross

So today was our Bangalore-tour, and after this morning, I feel considerably more orientated within the city. 

Because Christ University is (surprise!) a Christian school, Jacob started off our tour by taking us to a big catholic church in the town.  The church looked like any big mega catholic or episcopal church in the US, with a few bright exceptions.  New neon LED lights were all over everything, and I didn’t know quite how to handle an experience that made me think simultaneously of both the Cathedral and the Carousel, all in one breath. The juxtaposition of a big familiar building, crowded by brightly colored and bindi wearing Indians was really striking.   Previously on this trip I had been kind of offended by most of the depictions of Christ I had seen here, because they all featured a pretty cheesy looking, pale-blue eyed Jesus staring piously off into heaven. They bothered me because I didn’t see how that version of Jesus could have anything to do with the local people, and was probably just an example of cultural arrogance on the part of some well-intentioned Europeans or Americans.  But at the church they did have a statue of extra-white Mary- wrapped in a gloriously colored sari.  It hit me that even my understanding of Indian understanding  of Christianity was wrong- they didn’t need the Indian-flavor Jesus, they had no trouble worshiping ultra-white Jesus, but within the confines of Indian culture. I’ll be honest, the church this morning, watching people a hundred times more devote than myself light candles and sing hymns was the first time on this trip that I really felt some deeper connection to any of the people here. 

After the church, we went a little more traditionally Indian by visiting Iskon, a huge Hindu temple celebrating Lord Krishna on the outskirts of the city.  Before going on, we were asked to remove our shoes.  I know the official reason was because of cleanliness, but in Bangalore, shoes are the biggest way that I am able to tell someone’s social standing, because otherwise most people dress very similar.  For my appreciation at least, it was a good social equalizer to all enter barefoot.  Inside and outside the temple, there was more gold than I have probably ever seen in my life, all of it intricately carved and decorated.  The inside was absolutely incredible.  Huge, huge celling’s with elaborate and bright depictions of Krishna, smiling in his blue-skinned serenity.  There was even a life like/sized statues of one of the original founders of the temple containing his bones, seated on a gorgeously carved wooden pedestal.  Women in yellow saris sang chants to Krishna, and vendors were everywhere with offerings of fruit and candy.  On the way out of the temple, some of our group got pretty pissed that there were so many souvenir vendors, but really, it’s the same thing at any historic megachurch.  At least here, all the money goes directly back to the temples various programs, which seek to educate and feed the community. 

After the temple and unfortunately before lunch, we went to the farmers market, which was both educational and terrifying.  The market was stretched along either side of an overcroweded and hot dusty street.  Cars would try to run you over while you were looking at mangoes, and may actually have succeeded should you have been dumb enough to stop for the fish.  

The fruit and vegetable carts were pretty typical of what you would expect overseas, but the meat market was something else.  Live chickens were beaten and kicked into cages, in a way that makes the infamous chicken prank at my highschool seem like an advertisement for PETA.  Dead chickens, goats, and whatever else hung from hooks skinned and dripping with flies.  The visual was terrible, but the smell was even worse and the odds of my ever consuming meat again have dropped drastically. 

Ironically, at the end of the meat section of the market, Jacob also showed us what a pet store is like in India.  I used to think Puppy Zone was the highest form of depression, but that was until I saw crowded cages, in direct sunlight of howling animals.  I think a good percentage of the kittens I saw were actually dead, their bodies used as footholds by their breather to press their tiny noses to the cage and howl in discomfort.  I am not normally an animal person, but I couldn’t stay in that place very long. 

The market was followed by a brief interlude at a local craft fair, which was amazing.  I got some gorgeous handmade jewelry and beautifully embroidered shirts, all totally about twenty bucks.  After the fair, we had dinner at a traditional Rajistant restaurant.  Most of the food here is served family style, and almost all is supposed to be eaten with fingers and dosa, which leaves one with a very sticky yet satisfying dinning experience. 

Tommorow we are visiting a huge local waterfall, that has some great temples is the surrounding area.  I am excited to see India outside of the big city, which as of yet is all I have experienced.  

Protest, Hospitals, and Poorly Controlled Anger

So the plan for yesterday was for my USAC group to go to the police registration offices, so we could obtain permits to live as student in the country.  However, when we met at the gate of our apartments at eight am, we were met by Jacob on his scooter, explaining that there was a strike going on and that the transportation needed to get to the registers office was pretty much a no go, and that we now had a free day to ourselves.  I have been feeling pretty woozy ever since I started taking my malaria medication, so I decided to walk to Christ University in order to meet up with “mrs.florence”- our sweet Indian general wellness person, and go to the hospital for a checkup.

My apartment is about 45 minutes away from the University on foot, so I had lots of time to talk with Natalie, who, as I understand it,  servers as a study abroad advisor, occasionally for USAC, through the university of Maryland.  She has a degree in American Studies, and is the first person I have met to have actually used it in a way I would want to.  She leads trips to places such as Egypt through her job in her study abroad office, and received a Fulbright  to teach English for a year in Morocco.  How baddass!

On the way to University, we got a little bit lost because all of the buildings we normally use as landmarks were shut down for the strike.  The streets were almost entirely empty without the busses and most of the ricksaws.  On the way the streets emptied, and we saw some of he protestors drive by, probably around 200 cars and busses, honking their horns and waving signs.  I am not entirely sure what the strike accomplished, but it’s interesting to think how effective a similar action would be in America. 

When I got to Christ, I road on the back of Mrs. Florences scooter to the clinic.  Bangalore traffic is still a little scary, even without all of the buses but it was interesting to see the more residential, less touristy part of the city.  Mrs.Florence explained that she takes USAC students to a hospital  nearer to her because the one closet to campus is pretty racist.  It will automatically treat and white person before any Indian, and also charge them triple the amount for things they don’t need.  The clinic was very  typical of anywhere in America, minus the fact that all the nurses wore sky blue saris.  The doctor was very nice, and after I talked about my symptoms, explained that I was having a poor reaction to my malaria meds, and gave me some pills to counteract their effects.  Today I have been feeling much better. 

After the Dr. I took a rickshaw to corgen park, a very beautiful and historical reserve located next to parliament. The rickshaw driver was nice, right up until he started ripping me off by driving around and around the park in order to jack up his rate.  I finally had to put my ingrained southern courtesy aside and shout at him to pull the fuck over, pretty please.  My fare was five times what he had told me it would be.  Not all ricksaw drivers are like this, but in my experience so far maybe a third will do stuff like that if you aren’t insistent.  I was thirty minutes late meeting my friends because of  him, but once I actually arrived I found them almost at once.

 After we toured the park a little we went to lunch at a really nice restaurant down the street.  Some people were a little more adventurous with their food than others, and I ended up getting a drink that tasted like a peppered egg with lemon…:S

After a four hour nap on my part, we went to a delicious Chinese/ Northern Indian restaurant, where I got a peanut chicken that literally rocked the hell out of my life…. So good.

Today virtually nothing particularly Indian happened we went to the registration place today and spent about seven hours waiting in line in order to not get kicked out of our apartments/ the country.  A group of us went out exploring and found the Hard Rock café, Bangalore, and celebrated our air-conditioned discovery with delicious tandoori burgers.  Afterwards we found a beautiful handmade jewelry/ craft place where I picked up a few souvenirs, before hoping back on the ricksaws to pick up our printed residency forms. Unfortunately, the two ricksaws had no idea where they were going, and proceeded to drive around in a circle while they figured it out, much to the dismay of our meters.  My car just didn’t argue, but the other was really angry and almost didn’t pay them at all.  After the registration, yet another nap time, followed up by an excursion to a local “Jimi Hendrix” themed bar.  I didn’t drink because of my meds, but all the liquor prices here are crazy-cheap, and something about being able to just sit at the table with beer in public was kind of a cheap thrill.  Tomorrow is our Bangalore tour! I am really excited about being able to find out where stuff in the city actually is, as well as see some of the big sights we haven’t quite had access to yet.

Welcome to the Jungle

So, after the first two days in the city, there are a few things I have picked up on:

The natural state of man is murder.  Police officers are a rare and whimsical breed of men.  Because of this, they are never around, and as such, never enforce any type of traffic law.  Without the fear of speeding tickets, pedestrian crosswalk violations, and prosecution from murder, the natural state of man is to drive as fast and as dangerously as possible over their follow man.  Crossing a street in India is like playing  a real-life game of sudden-death Frogger. 

It’s weird to be white.  Yesterday we stopped by a roadside stand for a freshly sliced coconut when an excited chattering family surrounded our group, and shoved their daughter at us.  Our translator explained that they wanted to take pictures with all the white people.  The novelty of our paleness was not limited to that one occasion- on the contrary, people stared at us all day, wherever we went. I was not expecting to be the most exotic and exciting thing in India.

People really do wear traditional clothing.  Clothing has a really weird gender line in India: Men all wear western clothing- a button down and slacks is pretty much the national uniform. By contrast however,  women on the street very rarely wear anything but traditional clothing .  With a very few exceptions, the biggest indicator of western influence on Indian fashion is skinny jeans, worn with the traditional butt-covering Kurta.  I kinda mocked my university for requesting us to dress in traditional clothing, but n ow that I am here, I really see the wisdom. During orientation, our guide Jacob John explained that  most Indian people are not familiar with white women beyond those they see in TV and movies.  Because of this, there is a concept of American women all being raging slutbags, and in many cases are treated as such.   Wearing traditional clothing here isn’t just a novelty, it really is a way for foreign women to attempt to blend in, and keep much of the slutbag treatment in check. 

I will never be as cool as anyone from Norway.  So far I have met graduate students from France, England, and Norway, and I must say, globe-trotting Europeans are really quite a swell bunch of humanity.  On the first night, Niana and I were trying to find some people in our group to go for dinner, when we ran into a group of Norweigans who invited us out for dinner.  On the way, there cool and well travled young people talked to us about their lives as social working students in Bangalore.  It was neat to hear not only about their lives back home, but also some of their tips and tricks for navigating the city.  Sitting at a table with four different nationalities in another country, sharing stories was really an amazing experience. 

On that note, India itself is really an amazing experience.  It’s hotter than hell, I can’t show my ankles, and the odds of being killed by a moped are high- it’s completely different from anything that I have ever experienced.  But that is what makes it s wonderful. I am in a great country, with a great group of people who are just as excited and nervous to be here as I am, and the freedom of that is really beautiful.   Without a cultural frame of reference, I am really interested to see how I will develop-character wise over the course of the next several weeks.  At home I am known and shaped by all the things I've done and  am associated with- I am an ambitious Lutheran, who likes loud jewelry and Dr.Who- with out access to any of that, I wonder what that means for my identity?

Plane Pain

(Wrote this above Hong Kong Monday Morning)

So during my thirty plus hours of journeying today, I have had a lot of time to think, and have come to the conclusion that international travel is really an earthly form of purgatory.  You literally sit in a box for 15 hours, and let nothing happen to you., then get on another plain, and do it again . It’s so frustrating. Hours of driving to the airport, waiting to get on the plane, waiting to get off the plane…  My conspiracy theory of the day is that the airlines invented  teleportation years ago, and  sit us in rocking, video screen window boxes and laugh at our futility while they take all our money. 

Granted, that thought was born entirely of 24 hours of sleep deprivation, combined with my unrequited fetish for Mr. Spock.

So I am doing all this traveling, sitting in this teleportation box so that I can somehow or another get to India, and spend a month admiring  the culture in the idealistically “gritty” manner of a white middle class college student. 

I Am Excited. About:

  History. India is such a historic, mystic place., home to religions three times as old a hundred times more unfamiliar to me than that particular brand of Baptist brainwashing that I have grown up with living in the south.

Native People.   I  think it will be a good experience for me to be a minority.  Even on this plane, I feel like a pale  awkward giant surrounded in a sea of  petite dark heads and velvety brown eyes.

Adventure:  Most of all, I am excited about doing something four continents outside of my comfort zones. 

I Am Nervous About:

 Flying: I hate air travel.  I have all these old testament inspired fears of God striking down the unworthy. I can think of several descriptive and colorful phrases that have left my mouth in the last week, and I hope that my climbing in a little metal tube and shoving myself under His nose doesn’t make Someone’s smiting finger a little twitchy. .  (Kidding about this kind of, but in all seriousness I don’t really  feel comfortable riding anything farther off the ground than  Michel Phelps;)

The food.  While delicious, I am growing ever more worried that  a prolonged diet of highly spiced and exotic food is  going to anger my already disgruntle digestive system into producing something  that will rival the Ganghes in consistency and force.

So here I sit, cards on the folding airline table, recording the ravings of a greasy  sleep deprived mad woman.  I really don’t knw what the hell I am doing for the next four weeks, and while I am excited to find out, there is definitely a little bitt of trepidation in with the excitement  We get our schedules tomorrow, and judging buy the fact we wont be back at our rooms until four  tonight, yet they  schedule our first meeting at ten in the morning, USAC is run by a bunch of meany-pants sadists.

But I will deal with their  wicked ways later.   Right now I am going to take my leopard print travel pillow, and see if I can “accidently”  curl up on the shoulder of  the man next to me, thereby making him uncomfortable enough to surrender  the armrest to my innocently dreaming self., for the last hour of my last flight.

Ready or not  India,  here I come.