Bobbleheads & Sweet Jesus.

I've just been kindly informed by the internet cafe owner that uploading pictures is not allowed here. Which is good, because even if I'd tried, all the USB ports on this particular computer are bashed in.. what?!

Time for some bits of Indian randomness we've noticed. For instance, 3 roadside shops called, respectively, Kidney Stone Centre, Hoome Appliances, and Handwriting Improvement Centre. It may be a 3rd world country but you can't say India doesn't have selection.

All the vehicles here have SOUND HORN written on the bumper, because this is how everyone communicates while driving (which is always done completely recklessly). Whenever you're approaching or passing a car, you honk at least 10 times so they know where you are. Meaning big city traffic jams can be defeaning. There are also the cliche religious or friendly slogans on the back windows of cars -- two I found particularly amusing were Sweet JESUS and Gracious CHRIST, which I can just hear someone yelling to themselves in the middle of traffic. I even saw a How am I driving? sticker here, which is so completely pointless and hilarious.

In Chennai, we saw a girl, in a sari, on a motorcycle, in afternoon traffic, wearing a welding mask.

One of the oddest things here is that people don't nod or shake their heads -- they bobble them, from side to side. It might mean yes, or maybe no.. you'll only really know if they answer you verbally. You can walk up to someone and start speaking, and before even 3 words are out, you'll see their head start bobbling. It's so bizarre, and gets old quite fast.

In Goa we are enjoying the semi-civilized treatment from men, but are trying to get used to walking down the road without stepping on some stray dog or a huge crow that's been hit by a car and has its eyes eaten out by flies. On the way to brekkie we passed a 2-year old girl sitting in the sand, ripping the head off a small fish so she could eat it.

During brekkie, I witnessed a Mum slapping her baby to make it cry before she went to beg from fat, red sunbathers on the beach. A crying baby gets more money than a happy one, and ones with obvious wounds or missing limbs get even more. Sometimes it's really difficult to see the 'good' side of India; it feels like humanity at its worst. On the flip side, it's also the sad effects of tourism that are so rampant in any poor country.

I guess I will be posting pictures tomorrow, from a different cafe.

India + Sinusitus = The Trip of a Lifetime.

I'm pretty sure travel magazines make lists of the worst places in the world to get sick, and I'm pretty sure India is 100% slam bam #1 on that list. But we just HAD to verify that for ourselves. I'm also pretty sure that when people hear you're sick in India, they insantly think "food poisoning". Ooooh no. No no, that would be too simple, too quick, too low-maitenance. Let's have a plateful of the worst throat/head/sinus infection you've ever had in your LIFE. It began Monday and the haze is just now beginning to clear, thanks to antibiotics. There really is nothing comparable to feeling like death warmed over when it's 90 degrees outside, you're being eaten up by mosquitos, you've run out of bottled water, and Sudafed has ceased to have any affect on you whatsoever. Nat remains unscathed while Matilda battles through the thick of it.

According to my extremely hazy memory, we left the orphanage Wednesday, after meeting the lovely group of British boys volunteering there and watching a fireworks show with the kids for India's Republic Day. We took the train to Bangalore (aka, all 3 of us sat on one seat with 3 Indian men opposite us, boring holes into our brains with their zombie eyes), stayed the night with our friend Shanthi, and took a flight to Goa the next morning. Considering tickets were $31 US, we couldn't complain, but during the descent my sinuses felt like I was getting knives through my eye sockets..

Whining aside, Goa is a pretty ideal place to be sick. The Arabian Sea is shockingly clean in comparison to the rest of India, and the amount of Westerners here helps us feel a bit more at home. Yesterday we stayed at a place populated strictly by pudgy, elderly British couples in their 70's , most of whom live here for the winter. Today, Nat and I scoured 7km of beach and found us a cleaner place closer to the water and a slightly younger, more diverse population.

Hope to get some pictures up tomorrow.

Did I mention Goa is the malaria capital of India?

Observations.

The Kids.
Every single one calls you Aunty and wants to hold your hand. They'll ask what your name is, tell you theirs, then come back 5 minutes later after you've met 4938 other kids and ask you if you remember their name (which is something simple like Gotanimaderpradeshia). In Africa, I went by Andy a lot because it was easier for the kids to pronounce. They all think it is very funny here that my name is basically the same as Aunty. Common questions include, what is your fathers name, what is your village name (America usually suffices), how old are you, why aren't you married yet, and is Natalie really your sister?

The Women.
Always stunningly gorgeous, draped in bright colours with gold bangles and nose rings and earrings and hair pieces. Always composed, even wrapped in 3 yards of sari fabric, in 90-degree weather, walking barefoot, with 20 pounds of corn balanced on their head, 3 kids running in circles around them, horns sounding everywhere, and motorcycles flying past at 65mph. We are put to shame every time we walk outside.

The Men.
Excell at shameless nose-picking, staring, belching, staring, horking, staring, and having a hand down their pants at any given moment. And staring. I have endured it in a few countries now, but the Indian degree of staring is beyond anything I've ever experienced. You walk by a crowd of 5 grown men and they immediately stop talking, turn around, and just GAPE at you until you are out of sight. You actually start wondering if you forgot to put a shirt on that morning, or if there's a huge hole in your pants. I was so baffled by it yesterday I yelled "HELLOOOOO?" to a group of them and they all started giggling like schoolgirls. It's ridiculous. Wearing a chudidar seems to help a bit, but they still act just as stunned about your choice to actually WALK down the STREET... oh, the scandal.

The overall feel from people here is different than warm South American cultures, or even Africa where they so willingly assume you are superior to them because of skin colour. Here, everyone would still prefer to be white, but they are not as adoring of Western culture, and will not hesitate to give you dirty looks if your knee is showing.

Salem... Not the One in Oregon.

குட் மோர்னிங் ... apparently 'good morning' in Tamil, which we recently discovered has over 250 letters in its alphabet. It's proving slightly more difficult to learn then Spanish, French, or Swahili.

On Wednesday we found Matilda's white face in a sea of dark ones at Chennai's central station; SO good to be around her again. Thursday we took the train 5 hours southwest to ICMC in Salem. We're staying in a huge 6-story cement building with amazing views, smells, and sounds from every direction. ICMC, run by former orphan Dr. Jay, cares for over 1500 orphans; 200 of them live across the street in 2 girls and boys hostels, and the remaining are an hour away at "Promised Land" in the foothills of the Yercaud mountains. We went out last night for a visit and were greeted by 1300 kids, all lined up in the courtyard, sitting cross-legged, clapping for us. It was insane.

Here at the base in town, we are mostly on our own so we've been walking around town getting stared at, playing games with the kids nearby, and visiting the elementary school.

Some pictures to save me a couple thousand words..

Matilda buying bananas.

Note the ravanous monkeys overhead.

Meat on the street.

After studying this for 5 minutes,

we still have no idea what it is. Dog..?

For Isaac and Leah: the local ice cream shop.

Their motto is "Each is one type ya!"

Anyone want a local STD?? (phone shop)

The drains running down each side of the street.

Who knows what horrific bacteria lurks in these murky waters..

For Maren: the enormous base dog, Brownie.

The boys hostel across the street.

Matilda, Nat, and some of the Promised Land kids.

The PL kitchen, where they cook for 1,300 kids..

The rice fields at PL during sunset.

Madras/Chennai.

Some pictures of our 3 days in Chennai:










High-rises next to ruins.










I think this shot speaks for itself..










Nat & I on the Indian Ocean.
A month ago I was on the other side of it..

Yes, the sun in India really is orange.


Anyone for some prowns? Maybe a bread omlet?

Children's masks at the beach.

Near our hotel.

From a rooftop.

Mothballs.

That is what it smells like here. The scent of them is so pungent in our hotel room, Nat and I woke up this morning with mothball breath. That's a first...

As we walked through security at Sea-Tac on Sunday, a guard looked at us, checked our boarding passes and said 'Backpacking in Paris, hey?" (Our first stop was Paris.) I said "No, India" to which he responded ever-so-sweetly: "India?! Ouch. Have fun with THAT. Don't stay in any big hotels!" Some people need sensitivity training.

Our two 10-hour flights were bum-numbing but bearable, thanks to flying Air France and thus feeling like we were in Paris the whole time. With Nat's Euro look and my basic French vocabulary, I think most of the flight attendents actually thought we were French... YES. Merci beacoup.

After an hour at immigration in the Chennai airport, we found Tami in the mob of taxi drivers outside, and she very sweetly got us to our hotel by 3am. We are wandering around the streets near our hotel now, waiting until she gets off work to explore the 'real Chennai'. Tomorrow my friend Matilda arrives here via train (yay!) and the next day we all take off for this place -- www.icmcindia.org -- also via train. Stoked!

People honk their horns here SO much.

Over and out!

Here Goes Nothing!

Those are my general feelings after being told numerous times how inexplicably crowded and dirty India is, and how we will inevitably spend the majority of our visit suffering the effects of severe food poisoning from one bodily orifice or the other.

That said, Natalie and I are still somehow quite enthusiastic about leaving. Having been home from Africa for 3 weeks, I'm ready to get back into a simpler, dustier, warmer culture again. Also, spending a mere 24 hours on Air France planes to get to the other side of the world feels like a small price to pay after nearly 40 hours trying to return from Kenya.

We fly into Chennai, where we meet up with my dear Aussie/Finnish friend Matilda, and hope to travel on to Salem, Bangalore, Goa, Pune, Hyderabad, and Pondicherry within the month.

We have at least one contact and a potential volunteer opportunity in each city.

More from the other side of the world!

Last Days.

Nothing like being home for Christmas when you were a 2-minute gate sprint away from spending the holiday in the Minneapolis airport (nothing against Minneapolis). It is mostly good and a little weird to be home.


The last few days in Kitale..


Beautiful faces at Oasis school..


Eating sugar cane with the ladies..

Goofing off with the the Nema girls..

With Nema's latest addition, Loise, who is

lovely and thriving!

Baby Dan & Patrick dancing and singing..

Snuggling with Stell & Linda.

For obvious reasons, the departure was difficult.