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.