A story for the grandkids...

While you were out listening to canned musak doing some christmas shopping, I was a million miles away... in the jungle of India, the place that Rudyard Kipling surely wrote about. I was in Corbett Tiger Reserve in Northern India, at the foothills at the himalayas.




This jeep-only accessible park is only open a few months a year, to let you test your chances to glimpse wild elephants (seen), leopards, antelope (seen), crocodiles (seen), thousands of species of birds, and of course -- the royal bengal tiger, king of the jungle.

Imagine - its 6am and you've just slept under a mountain blankets in a old (unheated) house on the banks of the river, in the dead center of the reserve, more than 50 km for any sort of 'civilization.' You hear the rapping on the door - 'come now - the elephants are ready.'


Wrapped in a wool blanket, still pushing sleepies from my eyes, I climb the elephant mount and on to the carriage of a majestic animal, with JP and two Australian college students. Its quiet, brisk... we set off slowly across the grassland and soon reach the edge of the forest. It seems enchanted, the morning light just breaking a few rays through the trees. The only noise is crunch of each gigantic step, the distant sound of birds, and the sound husky whisper of our driver, leaning down to tell secrets to his best friend, his elephant.

Soon, a lovely piney scent fills our nostrils and I see our driver reach out to grab some of the plants -- taller than the elephants -- and start to chew on it. And I realize, oh my GOD -- I have entered a forest entirely filled with giant cannabis plants!! REALLY? ARE YOU SERIOUS? Yes, quite.

But soon, the novelty is far surpassed and completely forgotten as we freeze in our seats (and nearly pee myself in my case) from the most terrifying sound I've ever heard -- The ROAR of the tiger!! Just meters from us!! Covered by the dense undergrowth of the jungle we don't see her, but the elephant knows where she is and TRUMPETS while charging forward, stomping down trees in his path... I look down and I am completely COVERED with marijuana from brushing up against all the plants in our charge. But the tiger has alludes us... we continue to pace slowly, trying to corner the animal. Again, I find myself with severe mixed feelings about whether this is actually a good idea. We hear the roar again, SO CLOSE, SO TERRIFYING. Again twice more. But alas, of the four elephants in circling the tiger (and her cubs) only two of the groups see her face as she retreats under the brush. All we see are the fresh, bloody remains of the antelope she has eaten for breakfast earlier that morning. Next time, next time.

You know you're in India when...

... you're trying to decide between a McCurry Pan Shahi Paneer or a Chicken Maharaja Mac

...you approach a man at a farmer's market, ask him 101 questions about how he buys, sells, at what prices, and terms, and at the end he gives YOU a gift and tells you you have "given him great happiness" (!)

... they actually want you to honk - and boy do they

... you're thrilled to have a solid poo

... children crowd around you, wanting so badly to shake your hand, asking "from what country?" and "school pen?"


... you think - not another camel

... you realize there's a thriving business in sticks (and that child labor is happy labor)

... you order a waffle for breakfast and they bring you a bowl of potato chips (wafers)

... you realize, wow, a salwar kameez is really the perfect outfit (but the pants .... not so much)

... you receive a dinner invitation within 30 seconds of meeting someone

... you appreciate how much you, really and truly, love toilet paper

... you glance out the window during a meeting to see a parade of elephants go by

... you can easily identify Ganesh, Krishna, and Shiva













... clean sheets totally is not a given

... the per capita consumption of wine is less than half a teaspoon (and no wonder, Indian wine I've discovered is undrinkable)
... they sell anything by the side of the road

... there's a different airport check-in procedure every time, involving about 16x the number of people it should


... and just, well, the irony, everywhere, all the time

Eating my way to the top

You may not know it, or believe it, but I am actually here working.

I know many of you picture me in a sari bent over a 2X4 on cinder blocks in a grass and mud hut, so I thought maybe I'd post something more mundane: real life in India.

Real life is a wide, wide range of existences. Soon I'll be traveling to meet with farmers -- who are most likely illiterate, plow their lands with a camel, and think I'm a monkey.

But jokes aside, I have to express what a wonderful experience I'm having working with Oxfam. They are the most organized client ever. They are also the kindest, having taken every measure to ensure that I'm comfortable. I have my own desk in an air conditioned office, a wireless internet card, and someone who brings me coffee in the morning, tea in the afternoon - just how I like it.

Although, working here is not for anyone on a diet. My day goes something like this: breakfast, morning tea (with the entire office), lunch of 5-15 dishes, afternoon tea, late afternoon snack/sweets, then multi-course dinner consisting of mostly cheeses, spices and gravy, and a basket of cookies awaiting me in my room for late night cravings. Basically, the day revolves around food and it is very communal. For lunch, not only is food brought in, but everyone contributes their leftovers - and we all share, eat together, and then we do our own dishes. The thought that someone might eat at their desk ... horrible, horrible manners! And while I'm fond of the welcoming environment, I wonder if the homemade food is bringing out the best in me (Valerie*).


Despite the healthy growth of my "second baby," my entire office has been gossiping about how I don't eat. They are all terribly concerned (perhaps because of my somewhat limited portions of rice and roti) and have now taken to bringing me bananas and apples, also asking if I might like a sandwich?

So, please -- a message to my family: there is really no need to further fatten me up over Christmas! Instead, I will very gladly accept FRESH salad and vegetables NOT smothered in curried gravy and anything MEAT!! Steak is illegal here in all but 2 states. There ain't no license for that...

(*Most of you have been personally introduced to Val, often in the middle of the night. If not... well, Valerie is my digestionally challenged alter-ego. Val LOVES India.)

"Getaway to paradise"

That is the name of the Brahma Kumaris museum in Mt. Abu. And while I'm not sure about the museum -- Mt. Abu was certainly the relief from the city that I desperately needed. Finally, fresh, unpolluted air, blue sky, palm trees, peaceful lake yes yes yes.... and I could even enjoy a beer here across the border in Rajasthan. How novel.

Hardly any western tourists, but very popular with the Indians. And so were we! We were asked countless times to pose in pictures with random people we'd never met before -- as if we dressed up in giant mickey and minnie costumes at Disneyland. Are we really so fascinating?

Apparently so. Our trekking guide, Charles, shared a story about a trek he took to a remote village in the mountains nearby. He brought a German couple with him. When the villagers saw them they got very upseting, thinking the white people were monkeys... he had to explain to them, no, they are HUMAN.

So that brings me to our 16km trek, the highlight of the weekend. No, we weren't content to sit and relax by the lake or leisurely stroll though temples, oh no. We just had to go in search of the sloth bear, for Mt. Abu is an ideal habitat. The last census counted 180 in the area. When we asked our young guide, Charles (a reincarnated Frenchman) what we should do if we meet a bear he says - "Respect the bear. And trust in god." Em, ok. Right. How about a gun? No such luck. Instead I just made a LOT of noise and much to my "dismay" -- no bears were sighted.

Just a crocodile.

Thanks giving to shiva

Although I may look thankful, I am actually asking for a healthy and wealthy husband from Shiva, a god apparently known for taking advantage of unsuspecting virgins. Naturally.

As you might imagine, religion plays an incredible role in Indian daily life.

First, no one eats meat. Except the Muslims who clearly enjoy hiding from their wives and feverishly devouring some tandoori chicken, as if they were coconut doughnuts. Oh... I mean...

Anyway, in addition to the prohibition on meat, Hare Krishnas refrain from onion and garlic - I'm still trying to figure out where's the offense here. Either they 1) secretly worship vampires or 2) they really want to ensure pious fresh breath. Pious fresh body odor, however, still remains to be discovered. And they call all of their restaurants "Govinda's." (Vampire leader perhaps?)

Now the Jains refuse anything grown underground -- no potatoes, carrots, turnips, onions and of course no meat either... basically they eat lettuce and air. They believe in not killing anything (especially those cute potatoes) and traditionally wear a screen over their mouth to avoid accidental inhalation of bugs. Buddha was a Jain who broke away, supposedly because they don't believe in arguing. How can you not believe in arguing? Then again, sitting under a bodhi tree waiting for a stroke of lightening seems like a fine alternative.

The Sikhs, well, I'm not sure about their diet but they seem to enjoy orange.

While the Muslims make it clear that women are not allowed in the most holy places, I appreciate the Hindu approach -- temples for women only! How happy I was to see a crotchety old woman shoo the men away and usher me inside. Ha!




There are many sects of Hinduism but they have one thing in common: the Swastika. I was taken aback at first (I may have slightly glossed over world history in school... Hilter made it to India?), but then I realized that this is the most holy of holy symbols. In fact, one temple informed me that the languages of english, sanskit, hindi, german, spanish, punjabi, urdu, and thai are all descended from this ONE SYMBOL. I can totally see that.

But seriously, religions that we study as anthropological oddities from our perspective are truly alive and well. Please note the Fire Festival, occurring each evening precisely at 6:15. Yes, we all here certainly Vishnu a Happy Thanksgiving.

the animals are simply out of hand

Now, the Taj Mahal looks fairly close to New Delhi - on a map. Oh.... maps I am learning are SO deceiving here. I suppose you have to understand the traffic "patterns" (pattern would imply some sort of order, so I don't want to mislead you). But, I think the subject of traffic deserves its own post and just don't have the strength to really do the topic justice just yet.

So I'll start with: the frickin' animals.

Strays... "Stray" does not equal "cat" as we may be familiar with. In this case we are talking of course about stray cows, pigs, monkeys, and sooooo many dogs. The cows may be holy - but shoes and bags? Not so much.

But rather its the domesticated animals that really have me going. SNAKE CHARMERS. I thought snake charmers were from a long gone romantic past - oh no, in fact they are quite ready to lure out their cobras or boas - at least until you pay them to puh-lease lull it back into its basket.














CAMELS. Yes folks the pack-camels rule here. Forget mules, horses, donkeys and the like, these proud creatures have the run of the place. And often wonderfully painted, like fluorescent neon pink polka dots. Functional and aesthetically... er... pleasing.







And lets not forget the - ELEPHANTS (yes - that one is certainly charging our car - I've never seen a Nepali boy shift a car into gear so fast)!

















Moral of the story? Just watch your step. Them some BIG piles.

Breakfast in bed

Although the Cambay Sapphire (the hotel where I'll be mostly living the next 5 months) reminds me a bit of a used car -- fresh veneer masking deeper issues -- its actually brand new, as the nauseating smell of fresh paint confirms. I'm the first guest to stay in this room, ever. Which means it doesn't yet reek of smoke - but it also means they haven't worked out the kinks... oh the "details" let's say, are just slightly off.

Little things... like the shower curtain ending 6 inches above the lip of shower. Or the facet that doesn't quite reach the basin of the sink or the toilet which either 1) intermittently allows me to flush or 2) runs constantly. No soap dish either... come on, now, soap is something you definitely will be using.

I particularly enjoy the safe that opens directly into the closet door, rendering it unusable, or the beautiful gym full of equipment which upon closer inspection you cannot actually turn on. But my absolute favorite is the number of lightswitches -- at least 25, many doing nothing. The first night I spent an hour trying to find the damn switch to kill the recessed lighting... oh yes, in the corner, behind a chair, next to an outlet by the floor. Of course.

As one of maybe five guests and the only white woman in the hotel, I get certain privileges. Every single employee from the cleaning people to the room service people to the chef and the head manager knows exactly who and I am what room I'm staying in -- and they are all striving to do everything they can for me. However, as there are easily 10 employees for every guest, this type of attention is actually getting quite annoying. Yesterday morning at breakfast I struggled for about half a second to open a thing of butter, suddenly 4 people were there to assist me. I mean really. So now I've taken to having breakfast delivered to my room... which I have discovered is complimentary in my package.

Hmmmmm, breakfast in bed -- I could get used to this.

Anastasia gets dressed

So a funny story -- I went shopping for some indian clothes --- what an experience that was! They bring you tea and sit you down and present you with all the different styles and colors. In the end I bought 3 outfits - the punjabi style with the long tunic and the pants. But then the salesman convinced me to try a saree. Do you know they are 6 meters of fabric?? Its pretty crazy the whole process. Anyway, he finally got me all wrapped up in one only to have the entire room of customers and workers start clapping! What a scene... I'm glad I did it but I could have done without the embarrassment.

Diwali welcomes the kinnars

Nov 9 was Diwali - think of it as New Year’s, Christmas, 4th of July, and Mardi Gras all rolled into one. All the buildings are decorated with flower petals and all variety of Christmas lights, candles and oil lamps. Across the city, you see people with packages clad in metallic wrapping paper strapped to the back of motorbikes (along with a wife sitting side-saddle clutching a baby or two). But what's most endearing are the marigolds… long strings of marigolds adorn every banister and doorway.

But it is not Christmas for everyone – as there are clearly “two Indias.” Families live by the side of the highway in makeshift tents or perched atop irrigation or sewage ditches being constructed. Old women and babies it seemed were the primary residents. It was hard to imagine how or why these nomads had chosen this noisy, dusty spot as their temporary home.

My favorite beggar so far was a tiny, incredibly cute boy who had a flamboyant, French handlebar mustache painted above his lip. He smiled sweetly at me and began doing cartwheels while banging a rather good rhythm on the drums roped around his neck. Well -- either him or the kinnar who reached inside the rickshaw and wouldn't stop incessantly tugging on me with his dirty painted fingernails. Apparently they show up at weddings and annoy people until they are paid to leave! Oh the days of being attacked by lady-boys are back.