Into tribal settlements

So last week I had a chance to go to Mysore for a night. In love with that city, I jumped at the opportunity. I was even MORE enthralled to hear from my hosts in Mysore that I wouldn't be staying in a hotel or even with a host-family. No, even better. Last time I went I suppose they caught on to my deep interest in the forest and "forest-dwellers" in the Nagarhole National Park (also called Rajivgandhi National Park). So they talked with some families, and that night I slept in a tribal settlement in the forest.

After arriving to Mysore in the late morning, we spent some time drinking tea, eating, and just chit-chatting. Then, around 3 or 4 as the sun was beginning to get low in the sky, we got in a car, bags packed, and headed towards the forest.

The drive - even before entering the main gate to the forest - took a good hour, if not more. Over bumpy roads, up hill sides, we got further and further away from civilization. Understandably, I can imagine everyone picturing open fields, open lands with no people. Eh, not quite the case in India. Instead, there are still tiny villages all over the land. Even as we entered the forest there were still small villages on the roads. As we all know - there are a lot of people in this country.

As we rose up one hillside, a man in the vehicle with my tapped my elbow and pointed out the window opposite from where I was sitting. And what a sight. Next to the car the hill rolled down towards small farms, some cows grazing. Raise your eyes a little further and a lake took over the horizon. Probably one or two miles from our view point a huge lake (although I believe it's a reservoir due to the dam that was built there... HUGE problem around Mysore) took over our view. Palm trees hanging over the sides of the lake, leaves reflecting in the water. Hills and small mountains cover the back of the lake, adding some depth to the already stunning view. You can see cows drinking from the lake, some swimming and cleaning themselves - you know, just cows being cows. With wispy clouds that seem to hover above the lake, and a bright sun shining on the water - it was a sight worth gardening at for an extended period of time.

And once again, India throws this in my face. A beautiful site - even Indian's agree that it's a beautiful site. But technically it's not supposed to be a beautiful site if that makes sense. If the dam wasn't there (which everyone hates, but I do not know the details), then the view might not be as pretty.... Again, some beauty, with ugliness underlying it. What a world.

Finally, we arrived in the forest. They wanted to procure some delicacies for the evening in the tribal settlement. Mainly fish and whiskey. The whiskey I didn't care for so much, but the fish... mm - that turned out to be a delicious dinner. But let's get back to chronological order. Driving into the forest, we arrived at a small settlement with the car. After some talking in Kannada, shaking hands and saying "Namaste", talking to leader's of some women's groups in the area, I realized we weren't staying in this settlement. Even better, where we WERE staying could not be reached by a car. This is what I live for, not only forest, but being somewhere that isn't readily accessible.

By now, the light was changing. Colors were quickly disappearing and as we walked off into the bush, everything was turning a light grey. Flashlight still in my back, I reveled in following the trail only using starlight and a quarter of the moon. "Becareful Norm sir" "Norm take torch" "Are you okay Norm?". The questions from my hosts - kind, but annoying and overbearing. Again, I LOVE this stuff, so its time like these that I wasn't as little help as possible. I was also carrying all the blankets - out of choice. They were feeling uncomfortable with this, and on multiple occasions tried carrying the blankets for me. Call me a stubborn American - but I continually refused to give them the blankets. The harder they tried, the harder I clutched onto them. My reasoning? "I'm the youngest guy here, I should be carrying more."

They were just trying to be good hosts - but Indian hospitality can be overbearing. Which leads me another interesting point about hospitality. For the most part, the definition of hospitality is being a good host to your guests. However, I have been more and more finding out that the satisfaction that comes from hospitality is two-fold. One part helping your guest and the other part is your guest accepting your form of hospitality. And if I (for instance) were not to accept their form of hospitality, well then I'm sure they would be less inclined to be so hospitable. Part of the relationship is being a good guest too. Hey, it's a two way street.

So we walked for about ten minutes on small trails in single file lines. It was dark, so it was difficult to see the landscape. We arrived at a small house with some women standing on the porch. Two daughters. A wife. And a mother. Typical India. They took some straw and hay and laid it down on the ground outside of the porch and placed a mat on top. It was on that comfortable (i'm not being sarcastic) floor that we sat, chatted, and ate dinner by a combination of moonlight, starlight and a single candle. Sounds romantic I know, but, well being in the forest in general is a romantic feeling.

A single clay house is what I leaned up against. Around the outside edge was a 3 feet wide length where we placed our bags. Up two or three uneven stairs there was the main porch. No more than 7 feet long and 4 feet deep, I had to be careful not to hit my head on the cieling. To the left a small room where everyone would sleep at night. To the right, another tiny room where they kept dishes, cooking supplies etc. Behind that room was the back of the house where there was a fire pit to cook etc. All in all, the house could not have been more than a 12'x12' square. Quite small if you think about it. I would even push that 12 to 14 or 15, but then I might be overestimating.

So what did we eat for dinner? For starters they brought us out Ragi Balls and a Sambar with vegetables.

Sambar:
Ragi: (scroll down to the food section and you'll see a Ragi Ball on the right hand side)

They say Ragi balls upset tourists stomachs - however for the most part I have been fine, it's one of my favorite meals. And apparently it's way way more nutritious than regular flour. It is a delicious meal. I'm on my way to learning how to prepare them, but it's slow progress.

From there we sat for hours. Talking about the tribals, the Jenu Kurba tribe (Honey-gatherers) and Betta Kurba (basket-makers). We talked about their situation, how the government is trying to kick them OUT of the forest, yet the forest department is fighting to keep them in. Right now they are at a comfortable stand-still (so I was told) as many organizations support them and they are not about to get kicked out. Government agencies are constantly coming into the forest to asses the situation. Let's keep our fingers crossed that they get to keep their land, rights, and way of life.

From there we moved to another house with a larger "porch". Basically an open air room with a roof. We laid out mats, pillows and blankets. It was getting chilly and there were almost no mosquitoes which was a beautiful thing. I sat out on the ledge of the house in the dark for some time alone. The forest, away from people, sounds of cars, electricity, refineries, dams and all that - it's those beautiful moments in life you gotta strive for. And it's those times that we're alone that are usually the most enthralling. And hell, you might even learn something about yourself.

I woke up early in the morning (6-7am) chilly and wrapped in my blanket. Surprisingly, the clay floor beneath me (there was no cushioning, just a straw mat) didn't get cold, it kept it's warmth in the night. And if that was done on purpose - it's a stroke of genius. Well done.

We woke up, brushed our teeth, and the sounds of the forest came alive. Cows mooing, birds chirping, dogs barking. After a small breakfast, we headed out and thus ended my short time in the forest.

But oh how I want to go back. I am going to try and speak with a family and see if I can organize staying there for a week - now that would be an experience. Get a real experience of how tribal settlements work on a day to day basis. Keep your fingers crossed for that as well.

For now though, in about a week I leave again. There's this rule with Indian visa's that everyone 180 days you have to leave the country and re-enter. Well my 180 days is up on Jan 11th, so this month, for a week I'm going to Sri Lanka. I leave on the night of the 10th, so I'll try and get another blog post up before that, but no promises. More soon!

Falling into a new routine

Well, work officially started and I have a lot on my plate already. But at least I can wake up each morning with some sense of purpose as opposed to "what do I want to do today?"

Before I talk about work, I'll briefly explain a couple things that have been going on. If you think about it, if I were to get up every morning and be able to choose what I want to do for the day... well I would say that sounds like freedom. Nothing impinges on your decisions, you can freely make a choice about what YOU want to do, not what others want you to do, or not what you need to do.

Being free sounds pretty nice, right?

Well I think we need to better define "free". Yeah, it was nice for sometime to be able to have that choice. But it can only take you so far.... Eventually you run out of things to do, or you begin to repeat things you've already done - but having to get up and choose everyday the tasks you want to accomplish; it takes a lot more out of you than people may realize. Well maybe just more out of me, but while I might be more "free" in doing exactly what I want to do, it doesn't always leave me happier, or in a better state of mind.

That is one thing I have been wrestling with. For most of our lives (hell, the life of America) we've been taught that freedom = happiness. Fight for your freedom so that you can be happy. What about those born into freedom... shouldn't they automatically be happy? Is that why so many American kids and teenagers (I'll use it again, but hell, most of America) are on anti-depressants?

Let's change that - fight oppression? That might make you happier, no one likes being oppressed. Fight for what you feel is right? Sure, we all try to be understood from time to time. But let's say you are fighting for your freedom. You'll never be free if that's the course you choose to take.

Let me explain... You fight for your freedom. You finally, after struggle, and hard-ship, obtain it. That deserves congratulations and some good ol' R&R. Now that you are free, to choose whatever you want to choose to do... that's it? That's the end? You can now lounge all day and wallow in freedom until you die?

Forgive my beating around the bush, I'll get to the point. You will never be free, because you've found something purposeful. To fight for something, to fight for a better way of life. Once you are free, you will surely be bored, and I would argue that many that begin such a task, could never divorce themselves from it. Once you obtain your own freedom, it almost seems inevitable that you are so used to fighting for what you think is right, it won't end there, and you will continue to fight.

So I argue a new way of thinking (if I can even do that) and that is the importance of finding purpose. Scratch that, finding purpose isn't new at all. But it doesn't have to be the grand purpose of the universe that burnt out traveling hippies are looking for. It doesn't even need to be biological as in what you do as a human that will best perpetuate our species - theres enough of us as it is. But find a purpose that YOU have chosen, and that you find some meaning from. Getting up everyday and having to think about what you want to do is just as impriosning as any other oppression (I feel thats a bit too strong of a word to use here, but I couldn't think of a better one). Instead, choose something that is purposeful, that gives you something to do everyday.

Going full circle and tying this back to work - what I am doing now for GCSD is by no means my life's dream. Nor is it going to be a life long career. But after going from a month and a half of solo travel, where I truly had the "freedom" of choosing what I want to do without anyone telling me otherwise, to getting up in the morning and knowing I have some tasks to complete.... it's a powerful feeling. And an important one at that. I feel more free in completing my tasks as a group than in choosing what I want to do on my lonesome.

And now that I DO have tasks, I'm falling into routine. And what a splendid routine it is! Here are how my days have been going.

Up at 6am for something small to eat. By 6:30 I meet up with some people from the local church and Living Hope Children's Home, just some ways down the road. We get together every morning and play soccer for an hour or two. Mostly it's John's brothers and some other people from the church that play. Either way it's a great way to get excercise in the morning, and wake up with the sun. After playing soccer (which I ride a cycle to get to), I cycle back home, picking up some milk along the way.

Then my day at home/the office begins. I heat up the milk, make some coffee and some breakfast, and relax on the balcony for some time. Shower, all that jazz and then work. Technically, the office time starts at 11am, but it is by no means strict. Since I am up early anyways, I usually begin working before that, while the house is still quiet. It's nice to be alone and work, listen to music, and complete smaller tasks without distractions.

Like I said, office time begins at 11 and usually goes until 6 or so. Since there are only three of us working though, those times are always shifting. It's not strange if we're still at our computers at 8 or 9 o'clock. And not cursing the work, or saying "Damn, I wish I was doing this." But just because things need to get done, so we do them. No huffing or puffing, no angry words... if you don't feel like working anymore, than stop.

But, (back to freedom), given that freedom that if you really can't take it, or it's just one of those days you are allowed to stop - I would say promotes us to work harder and longer. When you know you have that kind of freedom, it's like some weight is lifted off your shoulders, and strangely, through whatever reason, we work harder.

Take Apple for an example. Despite being retail, it was one of the best jobs I have ever worked. The people were great, the company was as understanding as possible for a huge corporation to be, and I was overall happy in the job. But when you have to push yourself to work sometimes, and you have to take your lunch at a certain hour (whether you are hungry or not) and things are strict and regulated, it takes a toll. It made me overall more lethargic towards my job.

Apple however, would not be able to operate as the three of us here at GCSD would be able to operate. And this is the part (for me) that requires a little foresight. This mentality of working here is a great way to work. However, it is very easy to say "I'll do it later" or "Right after this"... always one more excuse and things never get done. So as long as I keep my wits about me and get things done when they are presented to me, the three of us working here will all be a lot happier.

But enough of the stuff that's going on in my mind... let's get down to the meat of it.

What the heck am I doing anyways??

Here are a couple of my tasks - Writing grant proposals for our WE BUILD Program next summer. Although even if it doesn't get started up next summer, we are constantly building on materials and different avenues for when we're ready to get it rolling. I am also redesigning one of the websites as a test run - and if that's adequate, will hopefully be able to redesign the maine GCSD website. That's my biggest qualm - for serious awareness from other people, we're going to need a much more informative, interactive website.

Quick homework for you guys - click this link for our website: www.globalcitizens.org.in . Here's the question - what would you want to see on this website? What would keep you interested and clicking on our links?

You can either post the answer in the comments below, or e-mail me. All comments are appreciated.

Other than proposals and writing things, I am doing a lot of research as to how we can register GCSD in America or Europe. So a lot of writing, editing, research, a whole mess of things. And in a couple weeks we are co-organizing the 4th International Student Peace Festival in Chandigarh. Which is in the state of Punjab. We're specifically organizing Water Conservation day, which includes a bunch of films, open discussions, and lectures from some famous guest speakers. There will be people from all over the world at this festival so it will be good to connect with many different NGOs.

Before that though, I am pleased to announce my first solo business trip that I will be going on next week. Just to be safe, I can't describe the specifics of it, but my job is this: I'm going to Mysore on Friday, specifically H.D. Kote to observe a new program that a foundation is trying to get underway. They have just hired someone new to work with village children - and since children is a concern of ours, GCSD wants to partner with them.

However, we've never seen what they're doing, only been given their plan on paper. So I have to go an observe what they are doing, how they are doing, how well they are doing it etc. This new hire of theirs is also important, because if GCSD is going to partner with them, we want to make sure that he is good enough for the job. Especially in how he interacts with the children.

So Friday I go to Mysore (about a 3.5 hour bus ride) to observe the program, take pictures, ask a lot of questions and then compile a report about my impression of the program. If it feels good and they are doing their job well, then great, and we will more seriously consider parterning with them.

I'm just happy that I have been entrusted with this task alone, being very new to the GCSD culture.

On a final note, and back to doing something that gives you a sense of purpose - I want to make a note of why this NGO in paticular is giving me that feeling. There are many NGOs with hundreds or even a couple thousand employees and volunteers. It's nice to work for an NGO, and helping others, but in larger situations, voices get muffled and lost.

Since there are only three of us working in this office, everyone is heard, evaluated, and every comment considered. Figure it this way - I'm writing a proposal for a grant. Sure we will go back, delete stuff, edit it, re-word it, and in the end it might not even sound like my writing. But when we get the funds from that donor - something I have done inevitably made a difference. Even if it's something small - since it's a small company, every where we put our energy, counts.

And that is a gratifying feeling. To know that you made some sort of difference no matter how small or insignificant it may seem. We're all trying to change the world in someway, but you can't save people by one swing of your hand. It takes small changes over a long period of time.

So get cracking people! Everyone is waiting for you!

Bike Ride Day 2

So Day 2 begins, I leave PWD Guest House tired around 7:15am. Less than 4 hours of sleep and no breakfast yet. My groin hurts from not being used to sitting on a bike for so long. My thighs burn from pushing down on pedals with no gears for 70 km. I've clearly pushed myself entirely too hard, but I gotta keep going. So off I ride. I stop and grab some chai and biscuits because I am not really hungry, and buy 4 liters of water. I am ready. Tired, but I feel I can do this. Hopefully I will reach Kozikhode (Calicut) by night fall. I have twice the amount of time, and only a little more distance than yesterday, so I can take frequent rests to regain my strength. I'll be fine. Let's go. Stop being a baby.

That's what was going on in my head as I was leaving.

Oh, the naivety of youth. How we all think how invincible we are. How at 21, in 60 years things will be so different for myself. In health, in mentality, in family. And that's such a short time in the grand scheme of things. Let me explain how being naïve of this situation got the best of me.

So after purchasing some basic amenities, I rode. At first uncomfortably, but I moved past it. The pain in my groin eventually left, and the pain that was in my thighs became more of a dull, numb, pulsing sensation. The terrain began to change too. I started to encounter slow, gradual inclines. At first, they weren't so bad. And the inclines meant there had to be declines as well, which was great. I could cover a great distance with almost no effort, thanks to gravity, and barring that it wasn't a rough road.

The morning sun beat down on me, and in no time, I was losing fluids. I stopped often and kept hydrated, beginning to feel better and better about the day. At one point I stopped for some morning chai (I believe this was number 3 within an hour and a half), and grabbed my mp3 player to listen to some music. This also began to lighten my mood, and I was enjoying the music, the sun, the weather. Things were looking up.

For the most part of that day what sustained me was Chai, Indian snacks, and ice cream. Strange going from burning hot chai to ice cold ice cream, but oh was it delicious. I figured I should have felt some what hungry by this time, considering I still had had no breakfast.

Slowly, the hills began to get steeper. It made sense, as I was getting closer to the mountains and Wayanad.

So up I climbed. On certain inclines I felt myself getting burned out very quickly. It ended up being easier to just get off the bike and walk it up the hill. Then at the top I could just glide as far as possible. This is going to be great, I'll make it there in no time!

So on my morning went, gliding through towns and villages, and some more spacious country side. On day 1 the country side was quite dense, with trees and bushes hugging the road side. At one point I was going down this hill when I noticed it looked a little different up ahead. Open space.

To my right side, behind a giant billboard were rice paddy fields. Not enormous, but at least half a kilometer off the road, and maybe 100 meters wide. The green fields were surrounded by brown bark with large green palm tree tops. On my left it was similar, albeit a little more space for the rice fields. But what lay beyond the row of trees were hills in the background. A luscious background, with a semi-cloudless sky, the sun bright but not blinding; it all made for a beautiful sight.

It's when things like this happen that you seem to feel as if you regain some of your strength. The sun doesn't burn as much anymore, but instead energizes you. The wind on your face isn't that warm oven air, but instead it works with your sweat and feels like a natural air conditioner. “Float On” came on on my shuffle and away I rode. Strengthened, energized, feeling even better about the day.

At another point the road took a hard right turn, and I zipped around the curve, looking only feet ahead of me and my bike. As the road straightened out I looked up and just muttered under my breath, 'cool'. A long bridge was quickly coming towards me. A metal bridge painted an off color between beige and yellow, coupled with a light red, it stood out from the road. The road itself was still cement, and littered with puddles from the recent rain (which were on the side of the bridge) the water felt cool as it splashed onto my feet. The supports on the side of the road were a series of inter-locking dome shapes, with metal bars along the top of these domes, creating more support. It crossed a slow, lazy moving river that appeared to lead into a lake just a little ways west. I didn't stop, but tried to take in the view as well as I could without crashing. It was quite a sight. And the hills were growing.

The day wore on. By the time 10:30 rolled around the tiredness came back in full force. At 10:45 I had crossed over another simple cement bridge that ran over some sets of railroad tracks. And a small station as well. The large yellow sign, half in Malayalam and half in English said: “Kuttippuram”. Where ever that was. At the end of the bridge, after maybe 200 meters the road curved to the left. It also began to go up. And steeper than before. I stopped and stretched my legs and drank some water.

The map I had also been given by the hotel manager in Ernakulam was being used to write down where I was at certain points in the day. So when I stopped, I took out the map, and sure enough, Kuttippuram was right there along NH-17. I circled it and scribbled 'Day 2 10:43am'. By this time, not wanting to climb that hill with this bike and 20kg bag, and noticing the sudden increase in people slowing down to say Hi (or perhaps 'Get out of the way!'), I was looking for other ways to keep going.

A large truck was slowly passing as I was folding up my map, and I quickly took notice of it's empty bed. “Hi!” the three people in the cab yelled, heads half out of windows.

“Hey! Hey! Can I come!” I yelled back as they drove past me. The man in the passenger seat stuck his head out of the window and looked back at me, half smiling, half confused. I gestured with my hand for him to come here. In the States this might look like a hand at chest level, palm facing yourself, using your wrist and fingers to point towards the other person, moving to point at the sky, and then flicking them towards yourself in a smooth motion. In India, it's a little different. Here a hand above the head, palm faced downwards is more of what it looks like. The flicking of fingers and wrist is exactly the same, only going in the opposite direction. So fingers are pointing towards the person, then down at the ground, again in a smooth motion.

Why am I describing this? Seems like not a big deal. Right, I never thought it was a big deal either. However, when I tried the way I was used to, no one seemed to understand. Ethnocentrically (if I can use the term in this way), I would think, 'it means the same thing, it seems obvious!' But as soon as I used the same gesture in their language, everyone knew what I was talking about. And it worked, because I could see the truck slowing down and pulling off to the side of the road. It just goes to show you that language barriers are more than spoken word.

I stuffed the map back into my pack, and not even worrying if it was fully zipped up, or covered by the rain fly I kicked up the kick stand and ran towards the truck.

Panting, I asked where they were going. They motioned their hands down 17, and I asked if I could come. I told them I could just sit in the bed and would tell them when I wanted to get off. Despite how little English they spoke, they seemed to comprehend what I wanted. Some might respond to this statement as, 'Well of course, what else would a foreigner on the side of a road with a bike, a bag, and a map want?' But you never know, I could have just wanted directions for all they knew.

So two of the people from the cab jumped into the bed, and I heaved my bag (with bike still attached) up to them. I told them to just let it fall on it's side, either way in a moving truck, it was not going to stand steadily. I myself began to climb into the bed when they said “No, no” and motioned for me to get in the cab with them. It was nice having a window seat and feel even more fresh air on my face as we climbed the hill.

Like I said, they spoke almost no English. Communication was happening, basics like where they were from, where I was from, where they were going etc. I don't know if I explained Malayalam yet, but let me give you a little synopsis of the language in India. Statistically, the national language is Hindi, and most of the states speak that. However the big four, Karnataka, Andra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, and Kerala all speak their own languages; Kannada, Telugu, Tamil, and Malayalam, respectively. To native Indians from other states, the consensus is that Malayalam is the hardest to understand. It's like Greek to everyone else in India. This was the analogous description I was given of the language: It's like putting a bunch of rocks into a jug and shaking them up. I couldn't create a closer analogy.

They said they were heading to a beautiful (in their words) town of Koppam. They were all from that town, I suppose on an errand from work, or just heading home from work. I asked if it was on 17, and they kept saying 'yes, yes 17' but there was a good chance they would veer off the road at some point. Not all towns can be on this highway....

As we drove up the hill, I had the wonderful opportunities to see some sights. Hills and large escapes of palm tree rain forests covered the landscape. It went on for miles. There is not much I can describe beyond that, it was beautiful.

Some kilometers down the road we passed not one, but two accidents. One was a private bus had it's front completely torn off. As we passed, I was staring at the bus, when we passed the other side of the equation. Apparently it was another bus, but we passed two fast and I was not able to see the damage. A little further along a jeep was stuck in a ditch, with it's back and side windows all broken and cracked.

I'm judging, and a bad judge of distance, but I would say we must have driven around 5 kilometers, when they pointed down a side dirt road and said “Koppam.” This small dirt road was barely the width of the truck, was muddied and bumpy. It's amazing it's a road at all. They asked me, “You come to Koppam? Two hours this way.”

'This road went on for two hours??' I thought to myself. I forgot how deceiving roads can be in India. I'm sure the quality would change, would widen out, become paved – after all, the national highway was just as unpredictable as a side road – but still, it seemed almost incomprehensible at the time. They started to turn onto the road, and I had to think quickly. I kind of wanted to go with the flow, I mean I had no plan, but going into the country side meant even less lodging. And at two hours... that's at least 4 or 5, maybe more on the bike. I decided against it.

They stopped, helped me with getting my bike off the bed, and just like that we shook hands and they were gone. Being a foreigner, I was waiting for them to ask for money, but they smiled, waved, and went on their way. I drank some water, at some Tiger Cookie treats, and went on my way, back down 17.

Or should I say back up. They dropped me in this town near 'Valanchery'. I rode until it became too much to bear the up hill. Then I glided the downward slopes. Like a virus, the tiredness was spreading around my body, I could without a doubt feel it in my legs, but it was moving into my arms, chest and head. My arms grew tired from having to push the bike up hill. My stops became more frequent. I drank more water until I was basically out. With less than half a liter left I was walking up this one hill that had more and more stores on it's sides as I climbed higher. Where it flattened out, I stopped for one more minute, took a swig of water, and was climbing, or by this state it was more of clamoring onto my bike.

“Hello! Hi!” someone called out to me. Looking down with one arm raised, sweat fell from my brow to the floor in slow motion. I saw the single drop of water detach from my skin and hair as I blinked, and watched it morph and bounce against itself as it fell towards the earth. And like the crash of a thousand cars, it exploded on the arid rocks and sand below, it's little pieces of water shrapnel evaporating after only a brief kiss with the Earth.

“Hello” I muttered somewhat sarcastically. As I looked up and was getting back on the bike a man was coming towards me, waving his arm, not running, but not walking leisurely either. He arrived at my bike and said “Your good name, sir?” For some reason a lot of Indians say sir to me, as if I were still a British imperialist, or if I even deserved such a superficial title. This had been getting under my skin, so since then I have been saying sir to the Indians I meet as well. Most look at me kind of strangely when they hear it. To say that I hope it empowers them is quite a reach, but, well, that's hope I guess.

“Norm.” I responded.

“Please, come sit.”

“I should really be going.”

“Please sit, hot.”

After a pause, I figured that “Yeah, I could use a rest.”

The man owned a plastic furniture shop. There were many chairs and benches and stools and small tables. “Your shop?” I asked. He replied saying, “Yes, plastic selling, wholesale.”

He offered me a chair in the shade, and it was like sitting on a cloud. That is, until I put my back against the chair. It was then that I realized how the increase in altitude, the all day sun; I realized what it was doing to my back. I must have looked as red as a lobster. The metaphoric cloud I was sitting on quickly went away and it felt like the sun itself was on my back. No matter, I had a placed to relax for a minute.

Again, like most conversations, we went through the rigamarole of where everyone is from, what they do, where they are going, etc etc. We took some pictures, and complained of the sun. They, however, despite the heat, had not one drop of sweat on them. After some time, I told them I really had to go, especially if I wanted to make it to Calicut by night fall.

I took the empty water bottle off my pack and asked if he had a trash can. It's been difficult to find refuse bins in India, besides in Sikkim. He looked at me quizzically, and I motioned the gesture I thought would be most obvious for throwing it away, and his composure changed. He seemed to understand. And then, he printed across the street. I supposed he had no trash in his office and only in his home. As I awaited his return, I took out my other bottle and began drinking. As he returned, I was finishing it off. Only he didn't come back empty handed. He still had my bottle in his hand, but filled with water.

“This one too?” He asked. I looked at him for a minute, not confused, but just surprised and overjoyed with the random act of kindness by this man. “Filter water” he added.

“Um, yeah sure, please. Thank you very much!” I said enthusiastically. He told me to just wait here. And returned a couple minutes later with the bottle filled. 4 more liters of water to keep me alive. Good thing he stopped me and I took a rest. He was a savior for me on my journey.

He told me the next town wasn't far, maybe 3 kilometers away. As I began to ride, I was gliding down a small hill when I saw a sign for a hotel with lodging. I had remembered seeing an advertisement for it some kilometers back. Tired, no, exhausted, my knees were starting to really burn. It was no more a matter of time or distance, or regaining strength, bodies can only physically take so much.

I stopped at the hotel, the deserted hotel, and found the reception office. I asked how much a room was, and he asked me how long I would be staying. After some back and forth on how long and why it mattered, he told me “Well I just don't have the staff for two days. No one is here.” I told him not to worry, and asked how far the town was. He said probably 3 or 4 kilometers. Was I going backwards?

By this point, beyond my physical being quickly losing fortitude and low on endurance, my mental state was changing too. The sun was trying to close my eyes. Because of the lack of sleep, my body had not fully, or functionally repaired itself from the first night. It was becoming more and more difficult to balance the bike. My mind took note of this and said, 'oh people have suffered more than you, this is nothing' yet my thoughts also turned darker. If I wasn't thinking about where was a good place to be cool and find sleep, I was thinking about worse case scenarios. What would happen if I just passed out in this dry arid road? What would happen if I accidentally veered into a truck, car, or motorcycle. Not even music was saving me at this point. I began to think that even for me this was becoming a bit extreme. Who knows what would happen if I had to go to a local hospital.

I pressed on.

A little further I saw a hotel to eat lunch at. Maybe some food will regain my strength. Biscuits and tea can only sustain you for so long. So I sat and had a meal. Some Rice. Some Fish. Some Veggies. And finished it off with a nice cup of tea and an Indian baked sweet. I felt better. My thoughts would relapse into 'I can do this', disregarding my state right before I sat down to eat lunch. Still three kilometers to the town. While I thought everyone just didn't know, I realized it was my own change in thinking. I was so tired that the frequent stops I was taking were in actuality a lot closer together than they appeared. I had sworn I had traveled at least ¾ of a kilometer before stopping again. I could have very well been wrong. And apparently I was.

Either way, I had to keep going. I carefully straddled the bike, because if I did it quickly, I would without a doubt have hit my foot on the frame, fell over, knocked over the bike, made a scene, and all that jazz. So I carefully, put one foot on one pedal, stood straight, and began to ride. Almost immediately my knees felt like they were going to give way. One jerked, as if trying to tell me it was done with whatever I was trying to do, while my calf my muscle burned as it threatened to seize up and cramp on me. As it began to do this, I did whatever I could while still moving to stretch it out and get it to stop. Luckily it did, but at that same time my other knee was feeling the pressure too. They both felt like they were going to pop. Like two big kernels of popcorn baking in the dry heat, I was just waiting to hear two loud snaps and pops as the disc in my knees would not be able to take anymore and simply break away from the ligaments and tendons. For those of you that have seen the South Park episode where Kyle wants to play basketball and gets all that plastic surgery. Remember what happens to his knees at the end? Yeah, that's how I felt.

But I was still in the middle of no where.

I rode on. I was looking for the town called “Kottakal”. Specifically, I was just looking for bus stands at this point. I found one, on the opposite side of the road, and swung over and asked “Bus to Calicut?” A bunch of people motioned for me to just go back the next intersection and on the other side of the road would be the bus stand. I wearily got back on my pedals, and waiting for traffic to die down a bit, crossed over and rode up the slight hill past the intersection. Outside some small stores, a bunch of people were standing around and I asked the same question. One man who spoke better English stepped ahead and stood out from the rest saying “yes, wait here for the bus to Calicut.”

Fantastic, I thought, almost there. “Cycle okay?”

“No, no cycles on the bus” he plainly responded.

I was about ready to just sit on the ground and wait until sleep came, or until the Police came to see what I was doing. Then another man approached and said “no, no it's okay, cycle is okay.” With him were two men in lunghies and matching shirts. They were porters that helped people get packages on the bus.

Actually it's a pretty good method.

People come to the bus stand and drop off whatever packages they have. Some times medical supplies, sometimes news papers, anything. One man in a small van stopped at the bus stand and unloaded two large car batteries. What happens is you put a box of whatever it is you want to ship with an address on it and unload it at the bus stand. The porters then throw the packages on the bus, and they go to the big city. There, at the main bus terminal, I'm not exactly sure what happens, but I know they unload the packages, and I suppose the recipient better be at the bus stand to pick up his or her packages.

So this man and the two porters said that it wasn't a problem and when the right bus arrives, they would help me with the bike.

One, two, three buses later it was still not the “right” bus. By this time I had met quite a few people, including one man who everyone said was the head of a private bus company in Calicut. He assured me that we could put the bike on and it was not a problem. Eventually, the bus came, I saw my bike go up, and I put my bag in the back corner of the bus on a seat and sat down next to it.

The next hour and a half, I barely remember. Zooming by villages, in between rice paddies, I drifted in and out of sleep. Almost delusional, I felt at times, that I was awake, but my eyes would only open half way. I could barely acknowledge people at this point, and had no knowledge of how fast time was passing. I was not unfamiliar to this feeling, I had been this tired before, but in the heat, and considering once I arrive in Calicut, I still had the task of searching out a (cheap) hotel, this was not good.

What seemed like five minutes later, the buildings were all of a sudden taller and I shot up, asking the man next to me “Calicut? Last stop?” He appeared annoyed, way more annoyed than most people might seem and unhappily muttered, “yes.” I had arrived. Here goes nothing.

I got off the bus with my bike asking for Kallai Road. Three people told me the same direction, and I went that way. This is where things got hairy. Since at this point I was looking for any hotel, I stopped where ever I saw lodging. Place one – a mansion. And way too expensive. It was one of those hotels that big business people stay at that can afford all the luxury that the hotel offers. I figured most places would have rooms, so I said thank you for the information, and went onto the next place.

This place was busy. It was an afternoon, and Calicut houses a lot of domestic tourists. A big hub for that sort of thing, the streets were littered with shops. The same types of shops you might see in very touristy towns, only without the hassle and calling you to come to their shop. In fact, being a foreign tourist in this city was a strange thing... I was the only one. It felt kind of good to be in with the throngs of people, and not foreign tourists like me, native Indians being tourists in their own countries. It was sort of uplifting.

But this didn't make me less tired. 3 Hotels, all full. As I went from hotel to hotel I started to learn why there were so many people. There's a festival on September 2^nd called Onam. Apparently business men from all over the country, but especially Mumbai come to Calicut and sell things. Everyone was pretty vague in helping me to decipher what they sell, but apparently its a festival and it's important. Too bad I'm going to miss it.

Dragging my bike, lugging my pack on my sunburned back, I shuffled my feet on uneven pavement towards my next destination. Where ever that may be. Anywhere at this point. I went to another lodge that seemed somewhat quiet and went to the reception desk. “Rooms?” I quietly mumbled.

“Sorry sir, all full.”

My head hit the counter. Not because of anything bad, but I was getting to the point where I couldn't take it. I put my arms on the counter and down my head went. I closed my eyes for a minute and thought. What could I possibly do, I've exhausted a good chunk of the hotels in my book, and I've been walking around for the past 40 min trying to find a hotel. My legs were about to collapse.

“Can I at least use your phone to call another hotel to see if they have rooms?” At first, for some reason, he thought I wanted to call the police.

“No, no not the police. This hotel, KTDC on SM Street, I just want to make sure they aren't full. I have to lug my bike there from cycling all day... wouldn't want to walk and they are full.” Seeing how raggedy I was, how sweaty, my white shirt turned brown, I think this manager was ready to kick me off the premises. I probably smelled horrendous, I know I looked like death, hair disheveled, legs covered in mud, grease, and asphalt. I was a walking mess.

“It's half a kilometer, I think you can walk.” replied the manager.

I went back to my bike, sat on the stoop next to it outside his hotel and put my head between my knees. I felt like crying, but being that I was so dehydrated I doubt that even if I tried, would tears form. There was nothing left in me. I felt broken. I sat there for a couple minutes contemplating my fate in that (then) horrible, vile, dirty city. But that came to be just a thought because of my situation. The city turned out to be wonderful.

Regaining any last remnants of strength I had left, I came to the conclusion of what choice did I have? If I stayed on his stoop any longer, the manager was probably going to call the police on me. I slung my pack back on, picked up the kickstand on my bike, and I staggered to the next spot. Asking for SM street and more specifically “Malabar Mansion” (which however, was not a mansion), I eventually found my way to the hotel. Stumbling into the reception office, I asked, “How much is a room here?”

“How many people?”

“Just me.”

“A/C?”

“No A/C please.”

“A double or single room?”

I was about to kill the receptionist. Figuratively of course, but I just wanted a room and he was asking me a series of questions I really didn't want to answer.

“Please a single room with no A/C, how much is that going to be.”

“330”

“And you have rooms?” At this point, I was waiting for the irony to hit. After all those questions I was waiting for him to say 'sorry, we're full.'

“Yes, we have rooms.” GREAT! I'll take it, I thought, and enthusiastically accepted whatever room he had to offer.

Finally, I had a place to rest, a place to sleep, and I could go find dinner a little later on. When I showered, the water going into the drain was a mixture of soap and greyish black water. There were tan lines on my feet from the sandals, and I had to scrub the dirt off my ankles. My skin tone on my legs got three shades light after that shower. I was shocked. My back and arms still burnt, but that was okay, I was somewhere comfortable.

So, according to the distance chart on my map, I traveled approximately 224km in two days. Around 139 miles. Some hitch hiking, some busing, some walking, and a lot of cycling. Day two apparently came to about 83km of cycling. Give or take a couple kilometers, and I did catch that ride. Either way, day two, I also pushed myself way too hard.

Why did I do any of this? It all sounds very extreme, but it was only two days. Almost nothing in the grand scheme, and also comparatively to what some people have really done. I can't say yet what I learned from it. I do know that I did it to learn some lessons that only come the hard way, but only after some time will I realize the true lessons behind it. I did it because it was yet another challenge. Something to push against myself and see how I do when times get tough. And your worst critic is usually yourself. Or your mother. I don't think mine approves of all this, but either way, it was an interesting and worthwhile experience. Enough rambling on that though.

Either way, I still have my bike, my knees feel a lot better, and now that I'm back to normal I can use it on excursions and adventures that aren't as extreme. Try to see the sights and enjoy them.

But once I'm better prepared and better trained, I would like to do a longer walking or biking tour some place.

Who's in?

I'll go anywhere.

48 Hour Train Ride

So I found a USB Thumb drive! 8gb for a little under 20 USD, not bad.And I found (bought) a bicycle! So here is the long train post. Mind you I wrote it while still in Allepey. I leave Cochi today, and will leave the next post when I feel my adventure is complete. (Hope the tension isn't killing everyone) So here it is:

So... how to explain 48 hours in a train. Most say they would die of boredom, or not being able to move, or something of the sort. In the end it was pleasant, entertaining... a very neutral ride. The ride itself, in chronological order would be quite boring. Instead what constituted the interesting parts of this ride were the people and their actions. So don't be surprised if you find that this post is more a description of people than the ride itself. After all, the ride would be nothing if it weren't for the people I met.

When I originally bought the ticket, I was waiting list 14. That was before the trek. When I got back from the trek I was waiting list 5. An improvement, I thought, and with 3 days left, I was bound to geta seat. Two hours before my train ride I checked my status again and I was waiting list one. “Crap”, I thought. No worries, I'll bribe the conductor despite the rumors I heard that bribing the conductor in the AC class is much harder than in the sleeper non A/C.

Anyway, I needed to get to Bangalore.

Being an hour or so late, I jumped on the first Three Tier (Sleeper A/C) car I saw and hoped for the best. The cars inside are divided thus: on one side you have an open-air compartment style seating where six people can sit and sleep (you need to lift up the middle berth bed when you are ready to sleep). On the other side, you have two seats, facing each other. The top half is a bed, and the two seats on the bottom fold down to become a lower tier bed. Since this latter half of the car holds less people,(two there versus six on the opposite side) I sat down in the first available seat I found.

Almost immediately after (as New Jalpaiguri is a crowded station and it seemed like everyone was going to Bangalore), a young man sat across from me on the same side. Little did I know he was going to be one of my companions for the next 48 hours.

Surya Maan (spelling might be incorrect) was his name, and as a native from Gangtok, was going into his third or fourth year of engineering school in Bangalore. At 22 years old, he says he wants to become a software engineer. Surya does not look Indian on first glance. On first appearance he might look like he is from the Philippines or somewhere. I took immediate interest in him because of two things he was carrying.

A guitar and an amp. We began talking about music, what he likes, what he plays, what I like, what I play, and it paved the beginnings of a calm, entertaining, and talkative journey. Due to his love of thrash metal and knowledge of American bands, cinema and the like, (as well as speaking perfect English), something new came out of me as well. For the first time after departing from Jared and Mark, I was acting like I acted at home. He understood my sarcastic remarks, American humor, and things of that nature. It was interesting and relieving at the same time.

Through some shuffling around, and Surya knowing that I was on waiting list one, he told me to follow him to his seat. The whole train was confused because the train numbers on the plaques were in actuality incorrect, and the correct seat numbers were written in blue marker. So I followed him to the next set of seats, and we sat waiting for the conductor. I got my money ready to bribe him, but Surya kept saying don't worry I'll speak for you, don't pay him anything.

Surya more or less became my cultural adviser for the trip. To him I was able to ask questions other might find rude. He explained, from a younger perspective, things about beggars, children, mafia, hijras, conspiracy theories, government, Bangalore, music culture in Bangalore etc etc. He also, like I was meant to meet him, told me where to get good guitars in Bangalore. Birthday present, here I come.

During the trip, he asked if I wanted to see the pantry car. “Sure?” I had said, thinking, like all other trains, its where you can buy snacks and what not. Apparently not. All the breakfasts, lunches and dinners they serve on the train are freshly made in this pantry car. Dividing sleeper non A/C and sleeper A/C this car has grills, broilers, and giant vats of oil where everything is cooked. In small sleeping rooms people were peeling onions and chopping lettuce. It was quite interesting to see all the workers cooking over hot stoves. And apparently their monthly income comes to about Rs. 13,000. 15,000 is USD$300.

On that day (the 5th of August) it was also Raki, the brother sister festival. What is supposed to happen is the brother is supposed to go visit the sister wherever she is. The brother gives the sister a present. Maybe some money, or a sari, or some gold, anything within your means will do. The sister then puts a small bracelet around the brothers wrist and places a single gulab jamun in his mouth (a pancake type of Indian sweet). Well in the pantry car, they were celebrating this festival, and since not everyone could go visit their sister, in one of the sleeping compartments there were two surrogate sisters with a bunch of bracelets, a bag full of gulab jamun, and a tray full of money.

On the 5th of August, 2009, I became an official brother of India and have the little yellow bracelet to prove it.

Towards the end of the trip, Surya and I shared an interesting moment. He said he wanted, for atleast a week, to live an American life. He said he wanted burgers, and hot dogs, and stuff of that nature. Mostly it was the food. So, I described to him what me and my friends did every night. I told him it was great cause we're with friends, but it gets boring too. Sometimes you want to do new stuff. He then described his life, which he thought boring, with his friends and what they did etc. Turns out, we didn't really have that different of lives. We did similar things, as long as it was with friends. Still, he yearned for an American life, and I have been yearning for an Indian life. In the end, this is the conclusion we came to:

Fight for whatever life you want, but be happy with what you have anyways. Just cause you are happy with one situation doesn't mean you've given up on all alternatives, or situations you want. Being happy with your current situation is your control over life. Not life's control over you.

But, that's not always the way things are. What can you do.

Let's back track a little, back to when I first got on the train. I was sitting where there are two seats, and Surya was on the compartment side, where six people sit (this is after I followed him to his seat). On the bench opposite to Surya were three people. Three people who would quickly also become companions on my journey. Tenzing, Tshering, and Udait.

First, let me explain Udait. He was without a doubt a companion on the journey, despite how much he slept. I would not very quickly call him a “friend” either – though he did draw a picture of me because he said he was a painter. Udait had to be at least 40 years old and was on holiday from the Army. He was sleeping when I arrived on the train. Let me rephrase, he was passed out because of how drunk he was. When the conductor came by and checked tickets, I was relieved (and I think everyone else was too) to find that he and I had to switch seats. So he sat alone (where he didn't bother anyone) and I was able to sit with the other three.

When Udait first got up to switch seats he looked around and asked “Where is this train going?”

Let that be a guide-post into his character.

He carried three to four bottles of the cheapest rum. When we first saw him, he had finished off one bottle. On trains, its technically illegal to drink, so he did not sit around sipping his rum having a good time. He would wake up, fill a large cup half with rum, half with lukewarm water, and down the hatch it went. No hesitation, no pausing to catch his breath, just an open throat and a lot of cheap liquor.

Then he would fall back asleep.

Occasionally he woke up to entertain us with a dance, or shake all our hands as if he were for the fourth time, meeting us for the first time. I swear he had the memory of a gold fish. He was all the talk of other passengers, and they laughed and made jokes of him, some saying, “He's not enjoying the rum, the rum is enjoying him”, and everyone broke out in laughter.

The first night for him was a doozy though. I woke up to another army man (this one in uniform) yelling at him. People were upset. The family in the compartment next to us was upset. The next morning when I passed by them, they urged me to go to the conductor and complain, complain, complain. What happened? I thought nothing of it and went back to my business.

That is, until Surya and Tenzing explained to me what happened. Apparently this drunken ogre had stumbled awake in the night, walked into the next family's compartment, and believing it to be the bathroom, decided to relieve himself in front of everyone. That explains all the screaming and complaining.

Thank God he got off before night fell on the next day.

Anyway, Udait seemed only fueled by the rum. He would get up, eat something small, make jokes, drink, dance, make more jokes, and fall back asleep. It sounds like a funny story, but his demeanor more than anything disgusted me. Later, when the food conductor came by the collect his bill, he claimed he never ordered anything and the conductor was a dirty liar. So it goes.

(Sorry Vonnegut, it just worked.)

But, while he was the bulk of entertainment, I was most enlightened by a 27 year old man from Gangtok that sat with us.

Tenzing was his name, and he was a social worker in Sikkim. A native Lepcha (people native to old, old Sikkim when it was still a country,) he said that I looked familiar, and perhaps he had seen me on Tibet road when I was in Gangtok. Tenzing was bringing his seventeen year old sister Tshering (pronounced Cher-ing) to Bangalore to begin her schooling as a Nurse.

Tenzing had short hair for the most part. I say for the most part because the back of his head, right above the neck, the hair was kept long. I asked him why? Religious? Political? Personal? He simply said “I cannot tell you why I keep my hair like this, but I do have a joke. Usually when I go to the barber my hair cut costs Rs. 20. Then one day, without me knowing they changed the price. When he was almost done with my haircut I asked how much it would be and he said Rs. 22. So I said, 'okay just stop here!'. And so this is why my hair is like this.”

Funny how little things like that, seemingly insignificant, completely changed my respect for that man. As soon as he said that he couldn't tell me why his hair was like this, I thought better of him. Is it right, or wrong? Who knows. In fact, who cares – but that was the feeling that ensued.

We began talking, as most travelers do, about what each other does. He completed his under-grad a couple years back with a degree in Sociology. Currently he said he is working as a social worker for village people in the Gangtok area. On top of that, he is somewhat an activist.

This is where it got interesting.

Him an his team, which I believe go by the name of A.C.T (but I need to confirm this) work against government “development” projects. As with most things, its a double edged sword. Development for the government is building dams, power plants, and other such things, while destroying nature, exploiting the Lepchas and basically forcing them to migrate. He says he understands the importance of such projects, and why the government does them, but global solutions don't always work. He's looking to push for more micro-solutions.

Solutions initiated by the people. Solutions that protect the environment. Solutions that protect culture.

Now it may seem like I am harping on the government a lot. To some, this is not anything new, you've heard my opinions. However, everyone, and I mean every single native Indian that I have asked since being in India the second time around, says “Yes, of course the government is corrupt.”

You saw the post on Pawan and his opinions on the train. Surya, Tenzing, even John thinks the government is corrupt. It's like it is common knowledge. And isn't the government just supposed to be a representation of the people? We can only hope. Therefore, if this is the census of some people of India (who I'm beginning to believe is the majority), how can we trust a government in their “development” projects. Thus why I support Tenzing so much.

I urge everyone to check out, just to see what it's like, his movement's blog – weepingsikkim.blogspot.com . Whether you support them or not, at least see what they are doing. According to Tenzing, they have halted 4 out of the 6 development projects in the area. The pressure from the people is really building in the area and they are making an impact. And all I can think about is what I saw on the trek, and the pictures I took. I would want future generations of tourists and locals to be able to see those sites that I have seen and more. If the government continues their projects, it's all going to be ruined. Sad.

Funny thing is, on my way down to NJP (before I met Tenzing) I saw the dam being made on the Teesta river. Even then I looked down from the road and thought - “That thing looks so ugly. It's going to make the flow of the river look so different.”

It seems almost like I needed to meet Tenzing.

Halfway through the ride, I decided to probe a little deeper into his thoughts and doings. I inquired - “So you guys are really scrapping the governments projects, that's pretty awesome. But I must ask – have you guys done any physical work against government projects? Like going in and taking out a few cement blocks and stuff?” What I meant was obviously destructive undertakings.

He looked at me for a long moment and a small grin crept up the side of his mouth. “I can't say these things, or tell you what I have personally done.”

But we were on the same level, his eyes were telling me, “Drastic times call for drastic measures.”

And so I hope to see Tenzing and Surya in the future. Either in Gangtok, or in Bangalore. I told Tenzing if I ever go to Gangtok again I will surely call him and support him in their fight.

The majority of the ride was like this, talking and explaining, laughing and joking. A fun ride.

Some cross-cultural things I noticed, and was happy about:

Touching and Eating. Let me explain:

Eating first; never once did any of us eat alone. On the first day, I thought in the morning I wouldn't be very hungry for lunch, and didn't order any. As they began to bring out lunches, my hunger swelled, and I asked for an extra egg curry for seat 53. Since I ordered so late, and in the middle of the lunch rush, its not surprising that mine came late. Quite late. As Tenzing and Surya's lunches were getting cold they patiently waited for mine to arrive. Over the course of 45 minutes I urged them many times to 'eat', 'it's getting cold', 'don't worry about me', but still they waited, repeating to me, “better to eat together.”

That is something I really value about India, or any culture that makes sure even traveling strangers don't eat alone. You don't see that too much in America any more (hint hint thank you family for making us eat together!)

Like wise, once when Tenzing's dinner was quite late, we also waited. I think you'll find that your food is much more rewarding when it's eaten with other people even if it is cold.

Onto touching. As I said in another post about guys naturally holding hands as friends; having a smaller personal space is normal here. On the train, other people often came to sit down and talk with us, or talk with neighbors, and our seats became crowded. I began to explain to Surya and Tenzing how being this close is not as widely accepted in America. How even if we did have enough space, and my leg stretched out to touch another persons (friend or not friend) I would not be surprised if that person would promptly retract their leg so as to stop the contact.

Often times during a joke Tenzing would slap my leg. Or if Surya would turn to me to tell me something a little more personal, I noticed his hand on my knee. After explaining my frame of mind, they said they took no notice of the touching. It was common place. Understandably. Not that I had any problem, in fact I admired the acceptance of smaller personal space. My American mind though registered every time I touched someone else.

Personally what this did for me was reestablish a male camaraderie that had been lost after I left Europe. The slapping of foreign knees, the putting hands on shoulders, leaning on others, or touching to pass between people, strangers, tourists, natives, children, men, women...

It seems more and more that America's ideas of male camaraderie are more backwards than anywhere else. But I am not here to harp on America; I just believe that the closer connection between friends is a positive aspect and can improve lives and relationships.

I'll end it on that. Now I am in Kerala and will post soon the snake boat races. All I can say is that I saw some drills going on, and... wow. The songs, the drum beat, the rowing. I'll save it for another time. Now I am preparing for my next adventure – which may be lengthy. You'll all hear about it soon.

Sikkim & India

A couple notes on Sikkim: It is unlike the India we may have known (cough cough India group '08) and it is unlike what stereotypical views many have of India. It is a whole new India. As I said before, I was at first introduction to Sikkim, disappointed. In fact discouraged because there were so many rules, and regulations, and permits you had to get and on and on of such things.

Then I began to notice intricate details about Sikkim, its literacy rate, its people, its streets. Clean. Almost spotless. Many if not most speak English. Maybe monsoon rains wash trash into the valleys, but there are trash receptacles on the street, many signs saying no spitting or dumping or littering, followed by threats and fines. I don't mean to give a bad name to the rest of India, I mean I vouched to live here for a year, but this is just different. As much as I enjoy rebelling against some rules, more and more I am led to believe that we would trash our home twice as much if it weren't for rules.

Even if the police don't fully enforce them, all the signs and notices change the mental state of someone considering littering. Usually those who speak loudest are heard. My two points being thus: (1) if you get a chance to visit Sikkim do it, (2) if you get a chance to tell someone not to litter, do it. They may litter anyways, but the alternative thought is now in their heads. Sure you sound like a hippie, but would you rather have your children playing in piles of mud or plastic?

Anyways, back to travelling. So today, the day before I leave for the trek, I had to by a train ticket. Through the rain I slouched to the railway booking office (since there is no railway to Gangtok) and filled out forms, and got in line. Well, more like a cluster of people around a tiny window. I got to the front, gave him my form and he said "Waiting list 14." As any normal tourist, and not thinking India, I snatched my form back, scoffing, cursing, rubbing my chin thinking of how I would get to Bangalore.

Maybe I can go to Chennai or Kochin first and then go to Bangalore. Surely those trains are available? No. All trains going south have been booked for the month. I went back to my hotel, got the number for the NJP station, and went to a phone to call. No answer. Asked the clerk at the place and he gave me another number. No luck. Severely discouraged at this point, through that clerk's grace he said,"You know they won't kick anyone off a train with a waiting list ticket."

Why didn't I think of it before? I had seen a man do the same thing (Pawan Gupta) on my way toNew Jalpaiguri. So, with a new heart, a new plan, I (thoughtfully) grabbed my umbrella and headed back to the booking office to buy my ticket. No more slouching or wet ankles, I was walking on water. Got my ticket, AC Sleeper class, and was ready for the 4th. Waiting list 14, there was even a chance that I would get a seat by a weeks time. If not, no worries. I get on, find a seat, wait for the conductor, and slip him a quick Rs. 100-200 and I am on my way to Bangalore.

This sounds horrendous at first. A family life, and society taught that bribes are bad, almost evil (especially depending on the circumstances). Not surprised when I first saw it, (I was very aware of it on my first trip to India, but didn't have to personally apply it) I was somewhat appalled none the less. I asked Pawan, the devout Hindu, why or how he does it. "Because I would not get anywhere if I didn't submit to how it works. You see, the government from the very top is corrupted. Bought out by other governments and companies. Why do you think our infrastructure is still so bad? We get nothing, badly funded schools, poor local doctors, etc. I am not a rich man, and can't afford many things that I would want for my children. The government needs serious reforming."(Which at this point he spoke of some activsts and gurus making head-way in India) "This corruption trickles all the way down, and we, citizens, are left to suffer. If I didn't bribe the conductor,"(which was done in open air, not hiding anything) "how would me and my nephew ever get anywhere? Trains are packed as they are, and if you need to get somewhere, this is your last option." (Note: Not verbatim).

He seems to be right. Not enough money for a flight. There is only one train that travels all the way to Bangalore from NJP. If I went to another city (or two) to transfer it would take me a week to get down there.. what am I to do?

Evaluate it as you will, we all have to try new things sometimes.