Off to Southeast Asia!

"SURPRISE! You have 7 days leave that expire at the end of 2010!"

This is what happened to me last week. I had been saving up my leave days for a longer trip in the spring; I assumed leave days could carry over (also, it should be noted that I still think of years in academic terms. September is the new year for me, not January! so it didn't occur to me that this might be a problem). One might ask why HR did not tell me this during orientation. The answer would be that HR never gave me an orientation. So basically I don't know any of the policies of my organization.

Anyway, 7 days leave + 2 Sundays + Christmas holiday = 10 day vacation. And I had exactly one week to figure out where to go. I looked up flights to everywhere warm (hey, it's cold here in the mountains without central heating!) within and near India, and Bangkok was the cheapest flight (cheaper than Goa). So, there ya go. I'm going to Thailand, mostly to some islands for beach time and scuba diving. And Cambodia to see Angkor Wat, because, you know, I'll be in the neighborhood.

I leave tonight on an overnight bus from Shimla to Delhi, and my flight to Bangkok is tomorrow. Weeee vacation!!

Don't let them fool you.

Monkeys. As a young lass in the US, I thought monkeys were cute and playful and pretty much the best land animals ever (but my favorite overall animals were, naturally, whales). At age 6, I had a plush monkey with exaggerated arms and velcro on the hands so that it could hug things (and me) that I bought at the Baltimore Zoo. I loved that toy. I even went through a phase in middle school when I only wore Paul Frank, the monkey-lover's answer to Hello Kitty (it was an awkward time in my life, ok?). Seriously, just ask my mom, Jessie S., and Mayan, and they will tell you: 12-year-old Emily loved monkeys (by the way, Jessie S. and Mayan were totally guilty of going through a monkey phase too! And I was totally jealous of Jessie's Aeropostale monkey pajama pants, even though I had the Paul Frank version. Her monkey design was just cuter).

This was all before I came to India, a place that has shattered my dreams of adorable monkeys playfully swinging through trees and not threatening human life. My earliest evil monkey encounter occurred in Gingee (pronounced Sinjee), Tamil Nadu. A bunch of us in my study abroad program decided to take a fun weekend away from campus to visit the fort in Gingee and the temples in Tiruvannamalai. Fun, we thought. Until we were attacked by monkeys.

Gingee Fort

view from the fort

When we finally reached the uppermost section of the fort, we decided to stop and eat lunch. As we were eating, we slowly realized that more and more monkeys were approaching. Soon, we were surrounded by monkeys on all sides, with nowhere to go. One monkey even snatched Fred's bag of dates right out of his backpack! They clearly intended to steal more food from us. They hissed, bared their teeth, and crouched in about-to-pounce position--very intimidating. So we did the only thing we could: we ran. I remember jumping off the structure because monkeys were blocking the stairs. And I ran all the way down the hill. I then refused to climb up to the second area of the fort, because I had had enough of these monkeys (Zeliha would later tell me how the monkeys at the second section tried to steal her juice box right out of her hands, and I was happy with my decision to stay put).

evil monkeys who stole our food

Unfortunately for me, Shimla is the epicenter of monkey madness. Shimla's monkeys are infamous all over India. If I tell an Indian I'm living in Shimla, one of the first things they ask is "how do you handle the monkeys?" Indians often mention monkeys before the beautiful mountain scenery, the colonial architecture, and the (relatively) pleasant climate. These notorious monkeys steal ice cream out of children's hands at the Mall and glasses off of faces at the Jakhoo Temple.

Jakhoo Temple is appropriately dedicated to Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god. This temple surely must be Hanuman's Lair, as thousands of monkeys--every single one of them evil--populate the area. In fact, these monkeys are particularly evil. A neighbor once told me that she saw a monkey pry a 4-month-old baby out of his mother's arms and then bring the baby up a tree. The monkey only released his hostage after banana negotiations. In my opinion, it was terrible parenting to bring such a young child to Hanuman's Lair. Needless to say, I will NEVER step foot in these glasses- and baby-stealing monkey-infested temple grounds.

monkeys on the Mall plotting their next attack. as you can see, I tried to keep my distance.

The state of Himachal Pradesh has tried numerous measures to control the monkey population, but to no avail. The most recent desperate attempt? The state has declared open hunting season on the monkeys; farmers can shoot to kill these monkeys if they feel their farms are threatened.

The monkeys in my neighborhood are no exception. They are just as menacing. My landlord installed grills on my windows so that monkeys would not break into my apartment (yes, it happens, usually through the kitchen). I hang my newly-washed clothes to dry on the terrace, despite the risks (I have heard stories of monkeys ripping up expensive saris left out to dry), and I have paid the consequences. One time, a monkey unclipped a kurta from the line and threw it over the terrace onto the street below. Luckily, a shopkeeper picked up the now-filthy garment and returned it to me. Another time, I found all my underwear missing; clearly, monkeys stole my underwear. From time to time, monkeys leave me gifts: their feces. I'm afraid to go out onto a my terrace at night, because sometimes I hear monkeys fighting and shrieking out there. Or even if they're not fighting, they are hanging out there and G-d only knows what they'd do to me. Every morning I'm woken up by the monkeys and dogs having an all-out epic battle, and there is no question in my mind that the monkeys win every time.

The monkeys in my neighborhood gave birth recently. There are tiny--and I mean tiny--baby monkeys stumbling around everywhere or clinging to their mothers' undersides. Adorable? One might be fooled into thinking so, but let's not forget that these monkeys' mothers will train them to become monsters. So another generation of devils has been brought into this world, and I am not happy about it.

spawn of Satan

In conclusion, don't let these monkeys fool you: they are not cute, they are evil menaces to be shot by angry farmers.

My new favorite blog

Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like, a variation on the popular Stuff White People Like, could also be called Stuff Expat Development Workers Like, because I can relate to many of the posts.

What stuff do Expat Aid/Development Workers like? Well, according to this blog, Blending In, Pictures of Burqas, and Tropical Diseases and Parasites, among others. Um, yeah, guilty as charged on all counts. (I wear a salwar kameez or at least kurta every day in an attempt to fit in with Indians; I tried to sneak pictures of women in burqas in Hyderabad; I once had dengue fever and yes, have brought it up in conversation.)

I am ashamed. And laughing really hard at this blog--and at myself.

Credit goes to Molly for directing me toward this genius source of entertainment. Thanks!

On Migration, Part 1: Things I learned about buffaloes

Two months ago (yup, I'm real late on this one) I went on a field visit that involved me traveling with the migratory Gujjar tribe. They travel with their buffaloes, so I got to know these creatures fairly intimately. These are the things I learned (as told to me by Gujjars or as I witnessed):
  • Buffaloes walk damn slowly.
  • Buffalo eyes glow in the dark. Or at least they appeared to at times, and it totally creeped me out.
  • A group of 27 buffaloes ate approximately 200 kg of grass twice a day = one buffalo eats approximately 15 kg a day.
  • A single buffalo can poop up to 10 kg of dung a day.
  • This poop can be collected by women's bare hands and turned into dung patties for future use, "just like making chapatis." But the women cannot possibly collect all the poop, as there is just way too much of it.
  • Buffalo placenta can come out 9 hours after the newborn baby buffalo (calf?), and I thought it was the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen. Until the mother buffalo ate the placenta. Then that was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen.
  • Although newborn baby buffaloes can stand and even wobble/attempt to walk within hours of being born, they cannot walk completely properly until they are 10 days old. So, naturally, someone has to carry it:

Re: The Roads of My Life

Tonight I was telling some neighbors about the Ice Road Truckers: Deadliest Roads TV show and how they featured our beloved NH-22. Their response? "Oh yeah, we saw them filming. Right here. We weren't entirely sure why those trucks had cameras surrounding them and thought it was अजीब/ajib [strange]."

So there you have it. My neighborhood was filmed in IRT. Sweet!

The Roads of My Life (Mom: please do not read this post.)

This is why my mother cannot sleep at night:



(Mom: for the love of G-d and your sanity, do NOT watch this trailer. Or even read the rest of my post. Please.)

I take a short section of that road, National Highway 22, a.k.a. the Hindustan-Tibet Road, to and from my office every day; my office is actually located on this road. And I have taken that road between Chandigarh and Shimla 6 times (so far), and the road past Shimla to some villages for field work several other times. And to Kalpa for a fun mini-vacation weekend with Helene. In fact, I've gone the full length of the NH-22, all 459 km of it, from Ambala (Haryana) to Khab (Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh), over various trips. So yeah, pretty familiar with the good ol' NH-22, and yes I recognize sections of the road from the trailer. The crumbling piece of road at 0:53, for example, drove within inches of that just 2 days ago (yes it's still there; maintenance on this road is difficult due to the rough terrain).



I think it is unfair to call these Ice Road Truckers "today's toughest truckers." I mean, there are Indian truckers and bus drivers who take these roads EVERY DAY, and I bet they aren't nearly as afraid as these North American truckers. I, perhaps naively, have full confidence in my bus drivers. I'll admit there have been moments in which I've thought "OMG WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE EDGE OF THE CLIFF OMG THAT TRUCK IS MILLIMETERS AWAY FROM MY BUS OMG WHY DO WE HAVE TO BE THE ONES BACKING UP AROUND A HAIRPIN TURN OMG WE ALMOST HIT THAT HERD OF GOATS OMG THIS BRIDGE HAS HOLES IN IT OMG WE ARE GOING TO DIE OMG" but those moments are not that common. Because you know what? These Indian drivers DO know what they're doing. They have experience. They know the unwritten, unspoken rules of the Himalayan roads. So I trust the bus drivers. I trust them because I have to trust them. If I didn't trust them, I'd probably live my life in fear and never leave my apartment. ...which my mother would probably consider a good thing, because then she'd have much less to worry about. (Mom, I wish you would have as much faith in these drivers as I do! Seriously, it will make your life so much less stressful.)

PS: That trailer, and probably the TV show (I've never seen it), dramatizes how dangerous/scary the Himalayan roads are. I swear, they're not nearly as bad as this trailer makes them out to be.

Contrary to popular belief, I am not English.

I have encountered something in Himachal Pradesh that I have encountered nowhere else in India, even after spending approximately 1.5 years here and traveling all over the country: people calling me "अंग्रेज़"/"angrez," or "English."

I have been called many things in India (usually "गोरी"/"gori," or "white"), but never "English." And I haven't just been called angrez once or twice in Himachal Pradesh. No no no, I've been called angrez more times than I can count, all over the state from the Punjab border to the Tibet border and on a near-daily basis in Shimla. I don't know why Himachalis call all fair-skinned people English, but it drives me पागल (mad). Whenever I hear someone say "angrez"--whether to my face or talking about me right in front of me as if I don't understand a word of Hindi--I automatically get all defensive and yell "मैं अंग्रेज़ नहीं हूँ! मैं अमेरिकन हूँ!!" ("I am not English! I am American!!") Honestly, it has never annoyed me when people call me gori. Because I am gori. But boy do I hate when Himachalis call me English. Why? Well, mostly the following reasons:

  • There is a lot of negative colonial baggage associated with angrez people. Because, you know, they ruled over India for a few hundred years, and in a pretty brutal manner. But hey, wait a minute, my people never ruled over you! Don't think of me as one of your former imperial overlords! I don't want the baggage of angrez associated with me.
  • Indians generally like Americans. Yes, you may think there would be negative baggage associated with some American foreign policy actions, but there really isn't much (though people express curiosity as to why the US supports Pakistan so much). The vast majority of people's reactions to hearing I'm American are very positive and excited. I actually think it's one of the best foreign nationalities you can be in this country.
  • I'm proud to be American. There, I said it. And don't think I won't start singing the song, because I can. I can and I will.

So, my dear Himachalis, despite what you may deduce from my white skin, I am not, have never been, and never will be English. Please stop calling me अंग्रेज़. If you're not going to recognize my American citizenship (...or my status as an Indian resident, like you'd ever recognize that! HA!), I much prefer being called गोरी or even the semi-derogatory फिरंगी. Thanks!

I'm baaaack! But leaving again soon--help me choose where!

I'm back from the field again, back from the sea of graduate school applications (ok not really, still have 2 left), and back to the blog. First order of business: Where should I spend my next vacation? Turns out I have 4 days leave that will expire Jan 1, 2011, and combined with a day off for Christmas (remember I normally work Saturdays) and a Sunday, that gives me a 6-day vacation! I want to go somewhere warm/hot and preferably with a large body of water like a sea or ocean (basically somewhere that is the opposite of the cold mountains I live in). And I'd like to stay in South Asia. Here's what I'm thinking:
  • Mumbai (to see Stanford friend(s) Nandita and/or Nina, depending on timing) and Gujarat (Little Rann, Rann of Kutch, Gir, and/or Diu) (yes I know technically Diu is in a separate Union Territory, but come on that's like saying Pondicherry town is not in Tamil Nadu)
  • Goa (it's hot, it has beaches and delicious food ...but also has rowdy British holidaymakers)
  • Lakshadweep (basically an extension of the Maldives archipelago in India, off the coast of Kerala. read: SCUBA DIVING! but also requires a permit I may or may not be able to get in time. and expensive.)
  • Andaman Islands (already been to Havelock, could explore other islands. but expensive to get there)
  • Bangalore (to visit friends), Hampi (ruins of an ancient city), and Gokarna (beach)
So, which location(s) you vote for? Or do you have other suggestions? Let me know via comment, email, or gchat! Thanks. :)

PS: Here is a taste of where I did field work:

I'm sorry, did I accidentally cross over into Tibet? Nako Village, Kinnaur.

More to come.

Apologies!

I am sorry about my absence from the blog. I have been insanely busy with getting my apartment together, a trip to Delhi, more getting my apartment together, a field trip to some villages in Rampur Tehsil, and graduate school applications. And then there's the fact that I didn't have Internet at home until today, and I felt guilty using work hours to post in my blog. I know I owe you several blog posts, but honestly right now my priority is grad school apps, so it could be a while before I start posting regularly again... Sorry!!

THIS ARTICLE IS MY LIFE.

This article describes my relationship with India perfectly:


I agree with and have experienced every single thing this woman writes. Well, except I've never actually hit a person (though I have wanted to, and certainly have screamed like a mad woman to the point where I didn't recognize myself), nor have I ever had my drink spiked. And replace seeing someone falling under a train with seeing someone on a motorcycle being hit (and killed) by a bus.

India, despite our at-times rocky relationship, I will always love you.

University of Maryland Elephants?

This is a picture of my landlord's living room (taken on my cell phone, hence the poor quality):


I was, of course, nothing less than shocked to see a University of Maryland rug on his floor. Of all the universities in the world and on sports-themed rugs, he chose the one from my home state! That's just crazy. It turns out he did not know what "Maryland" meant (he thought it was a word, not a place or university) and thought the terrapin was actually an elephant. Yes, he thought a turtle was an elephant. Fear the Pachyderm?

Friendship with Mudit and Shatabdi = Destiny

I'm fairly certain that I was destined to become friends with Mudit and Shatabdi. And here's why:

Last week I was showing Mudit and Shatabdi some pictures on my laptop. Shatabdi had mentioned that she worked in Orissa, so I decided to show them my Orissa pictures. When she saw my pictures of the Adivasi Mela, she exclaimed, "oh my god! I worked on the committee that organized that mela! I can't believe you were there! I organized so much of that!" She had something to say about nearly every picture. When I showed a picture of the entrance, she exclaimed "I designed that gate!" Several pictures evoked a "that was my idea!" But the biggest coincidence of all? I have a picture of the organizing committee's work shack, and ALL of Shatabdi's coworkers are in my picture. Shatabdi pointed to every single person in my photo, telling me their names, what their jobs were, and what she thought of them (whether or not she liked them). At this time, she had been inside the shack figuring out some last-minute logistics (and was the only organizer missing in my photo). She apparently emerged from the shack two minutes after the picture was taken. I was literally two minutes off from taking a picture of her. Insane. Clearly, our friendship was destiny. (Or India is just really small for a country of 1.1 billion people.)

You know how else I know our friendship was destiny? Mudit and Shatabdi first met at a work training session held at the Indian Habitat Centre, where the TERI office is located (they were trained in Delhi before being sent off to their respective field offices--Patna, Bihar for Mudit, Bhubaneshwar, Orissa for Shatabdi). Yup, I was in the same office complex as them when they met each other. Probably just a couple hundred feet away.

I wore a scarf I bought in West Bengal the other day, and Shatabdi, who is from West Bengal, said she had the same one. Again, destiny.

Destiny. (To Nadeen and Ellen: Beauty.)

(As a side note, I really need to make more friends than just one married couple.)

The Impossible Apartment Hunt

The office of my NGO is not actually in Shimla, as the title of this blog suggests. It is actually in a cluster of buildings on a truck bypass road in a place called Shanan (but Shanan is located in Shimla District, so I'm not a total liar). People call Shanan a village, but don't be fooled. It is no village. I'm fairly certain it only exists because this bypass road was built here to accommodate the hundreds of trucks that pick up apples from Shimla (apples = Himachal's biggest source of income). Aside from my NGO's office, a couple of houses, and two tiny shops that carry so few items they don't even have bottled water, there is nothing here. A village has history, has traditions, has people who have been rooted there for decades if not centuries, has a real sense of community (and that's why I love villages). Shanan has none of that; it was probably built 3 years ago when the road was.

The closest market is in Sanjauli, 30 minutes away by bus, and Shimla is another 30 minutes away. But the bus from Shanan actually stops on the opposite end of Sanjauli than the bus to Shimla, so it's a 20 minute walk between buses. So without waiting time, that's 1 hour 20 minutes to get to Shimla. But last week I had to wait quite a bit for each bus, and it took me 2 hours to get to Shimla from Shanan!

So obviously this truck stop isn't a place I want to live. I want to live in Sanjauli, the closest town with a market. A 30 minute commute to work wouldn't be terrible, and a 30 minute bus ride to Shimla isn't bad either.

But alas, there are no vacant apartments in Sanjauli. I have been looking for two weeks, and there is nothing. NOTHING. I'm extremely stressed out because (1) living and working in the same building is driving me stir crazy (I'm staying in a guest room here), (2) I can't even get basic groceries here, and I'm getting sick of the cook's diarrhea-inducing food, (3) I can't open a bank account until I have a signed lease to show for proof of address, (4) I can't start volunteering, taking Hindi lessons, taking cooking classes, etc until I know where I'm living and the commute from Shanan takes too long anyway, (5) there is no way to meet people outside of work in Shanan, and (6) there are no laundry facilities here, if I bucket-wash my clothes they'll never dry because of the monsoon humidity* (usually if you take stuff to a "press" (guy who does ironing), the clothes will be dry), and I'm running out of clean underwear. Basically, my entire life is on hold until I find a place to live.

And I don't know what to do. I've tried everything. I've asked my coworkers for help, bothered shopkeepers, even gone door-to-door. I'm at a complete loss. I feel hopeless. SOMEONE PLEASE FIND ME AN APARTMENT IN SANJAULI SO I CAN BE A REAL PERSON AGAIN. Thanks.

*to clarify: it's not hot at all, and this humidity isn't going to make you sweat. In fact, you don't even feel that it's humid. But there is definitely moisture in the air, because everything I own is slightly damp!

Diarrhea Mystery: Actually Solved.

My wonderful friend Alice read my previous post and replied via email with the following:

"Because I like talking about poop too:

Though your new friends' openness about bathroom practices is admirable, there are a lot of different things that can cause bouts of diarrhea, and various reasons people who grew up in a country where the water is safe have a harder time here.

1. Some foods draw water into the bowels. Undigested lactose (in lactose intolerant people) and fructose (in people who just consumed too much fructose) are examples of this.

2. Some people's bowels are irritated by specific foods. In some cases this may be due to an allergy, though it could also just be due to eating more pungent food than usual. Sometimes undercooked spices have a strong bitter taste, so if there really are a lot of undercooked spices being used, this might irritate both your taste buds and your bowels. This should vary from person to person, and also depend on what kind of food you're used to.

3. A number of medicines can mess with your system enough to cause diarrhea.

4. Of course, the water here is often contaminated with pathogens like E. coli. People who've had more exposure to these pathogens throughout their lifetimes are less likely to get sick from a small dose than a person who's grown up with less exposure. However, it's still quite possible for people who are born in developing countries to get diarrhea, especially as children. About 8% of deaths in India are from diarheal diseases, most of which are treatable. Tests of diarrhea patients in Indian hospitals usually find evidence of intestinal pathogens in about 50% of cases, though tests may miss infections in many of the patients whose results come back negative. So, I think the main cause of diarrhea in people of all nationalities here is infection.

Anyway, this seems likely to be correct--everyone I know here (with whom I'm close enough to talk about these things) gets mild diarrhea once in a while. Yet in America, it's somewhat less common. I don't see any reason to think that Americans are more careful about fully cooking their spices, and in fact Americans probably eat more uncooked food and spices... because the water in India is less safe."

Thank you, Alice, for solving this mystery!

Another Indian Mystery: Solved?

Another great Indian mystery:

Why does Indian food (sometimes) give people diarrhea?

I had always assumed this was a Western-stomach-not-used-to-Indian-food thing. But yesterday Mudit and Shatabdi, Mudit's wife and another coworker and friend, were complaining about how the office food gave them diarrhea. I was shocked. Indians were having diarrhea too!

Shatabdi explained why the office food was giving us diarrhea: the spices were not fully cooked. Apparently, in order to stave off diarrhea, spices are supposed to be cooked (according to Shatabdi, usually fried) before being added to the food. But the cook at work was just throwing in raw spices after the rest of the food had been cooking for a while, and with not enough cooking time left to fully cook the spices.

So the next time Indian food gives you diarrhea, it's likely that the spices were thrown in raw. But I'm a bit skeptical that this is the reason every time. After all, if one throws in the spices at the same time as the rest of the food, shouldn't the spices be fully cooked? I'm sure there are other reasons behind Indian food-induced diarrhea. For me, this mystery is not yet completely solved.

India's Greatest Mystery: Solved.

India is a land of mystery, with many great mysteries that bewilder the foreigner. But one mystery is far more mysterious than the rest:

How the hell do Indians go to the bathroom without toilet paper?!

This mystery has plagued foreigners for centuries, since the arrival of the British, probably. Well, after 3 years, 1 month, 1 week, and 3 days (I first landed in India on July 29, 2007) of searching for answers all over the subcontinent, I have finally discovered the secret.

Indians guard this secret very closely. But one Indian, one of 1.1 billion people, let his guard down. Mudit, a coworker and new friend, told me what Prashanth, Angela, Anand, Pooja, and all the others refused to explain (seriously, I've been asking everyone). He described two methods:

1. The Pour-then-Wipe From the Front

Hold the hand you do not use for eating (so if you're right-handed, your left hand) in front of you, slightly below your crotch. Pour water into this hand, which should be cupped, with your other hand (you will find a small plastic pitcher in most Indian bathrooms). Then, wipe between your legs. Repeat as necessary.

2. The Simultaneous Pour-and-Wipe From Behind

Hold your non-eating hand behind you and slightly below your butt. Using your eating hand, pour water down your intergluteal cleft (a.k.a. your butt crack) from behind. Catch this water with your non-eating hand and wipe upwards. Pour continuously and repeat wiping as necessary (the pouring and wiping actions are simultaneous).

Apparently, the preferred method is #1, The Pour-then-Wipe From the Front. It's easier, more comfortable, and less messy (well, less messy in terms of water, I guess; I assume your wiping hand gets just as messy). Now, if you think like me, you would probably ask this next question:

But doesn't that leave your butt wet? How do you not leave the bathroom without a wet stain on your pants?

According to Mudit, yes, this will leave your butt wet. But the amount of water in your hand is minimal, so it's not enough to soak through your pants. Especially if you're wearing underwear between your butt and your pants, as you should be; the underwear will absorb the water so that your pants do not have any visible traces of your bathroom excursion. I of course asked if this was uncomfortable (I wipe my butt raw if that's what it takes to be dry, thank you very much), but it seems Indians are just used to this feeling.

And my last question, which even the all-knowing Mudit could not answer:

If Indians wipe their butts with their hands, then why didn't my TERI coworkers ever wash their hands after using the toilet?!

Mudit was just as grossed out as I was.

(By the way, he's also a bit grossed out about the idea of wiping with only toilet paper, without water. He feels that the water is absolutely necessary for proper cleaning, and to wipe without water just isn't hygienic. So perhaps it is the Westerners who have strange, less sanitary bathroom habits!)

And yes, this post means I'm back in India and back to blogging. More to come from Shimla soon!

PS: I apologize if this was a bit graphic for some. But you can't say I didn't warn you!

India in Bolivia, Parte Dos

at Austria Pass, 5100 m

I've been back from Bolivia for about a week and a half now. Naturally, India continued to follow me around the country.

During my trek near Condoriri in the Cordillera Real, I quickly discovered that my guide Jose is a fan of "películas hindú." Yes, you read that correctly: my Bolivian trekking guide watches Bollywood movies. He knew Shah Rukh Khan, Kajol (whose name he pronounced as if it were Spanish: Kakhol, where kh is throaty; obviously I found this hilarious and kind of adorable), Aamir Khan, Kareena Kapoor, etc.

Jose, my Bollywood-loving trekking guide

I decided to share my Hindi music with Jose during dinner. Not only did he recognize the songs, but, to my surprise, he also busted the bhangra shoulder move and asked "do you have any of this kind of music?" Of course I burst into laughter--how does a Bolivian know bhangra?!--and played some of my Punjabi favorites. Jose then informed me that his mother, a cholita, dances bhangra.

A cholita. Dancing bhangra. One word: AMAZING.

Some of you probably don't know what a cholita is. Well, you probably do know what it is but didn't know that "cholita" was the term. A cholita is a traditionally-dressed indigenous Andean (Quechua or Aymara) woman, complete with big skirt, double braids, little hat similar to a bowler hat, and sometimes a fringed shawl and/or a multicolored bundle around her shoulders (called an aguayo). Here's a photo of cholitas from Charazani in Cordillera Apolobamba:


Now imagine a cholita dancing bhangra. Just imagine it. And now you understand why I couldn't stop laughing uncontrollably at the image in my head. A clash of cultures so incredible, so unbelievable. SO AMAZING. I want to make a YouTube video of Jose's traditionally-dressed mother dancing bhangra. I'm sure it'd be a viral hit. (Jose, if you're reading this: I hope I'm not offending you. I just love the meeting of these two very different cultures, and I think your mother is fantastic.)

To keep laughing, check out these Bolivia pictures (none related to India, sorry):

Andrew and I enact the name of Lago Titicaca. Titi. Caca. hehe

Andrew and I are old ladies in a shoe on the Salar de Uyuni (the world's largest salt flat)

For more, check out my photo albums here and here.

In other news, I got my employment visa and I leave for India this afternoon!

India in Bolivia

I'm in Bolivia for a few weeks, and I hadn't been planning to blog at all while here because 1. it's just a vacation and 2. this blog is primarily about India. Well, several India-related things have happened, so I felt it appropriate to post.

1. On my first day in Bolivia, within 30 minutes of leaving the airport, I was waiting for a trufi (shared taxi) to fill up with enough passengers to leave from Santa Cruz de la Sierra for Samaipata. There was a TV on in the waiting room. I wasn't paying attention until I heard bhangra music. I turn around to see men in Punjabi outfits (you know, those baggy pants, long tops, and vests) and turbans dancing with sari-clad women. Then the words "India: una historia de amor" pop up on screen. Bhangra music and dancing continue. What exactly was being advertised remains unclear. A restaurant? A new exhibit at a museum? An Indian dating (matrimonial?) website? No idea.

2. On my second day in Bolivia, in Samaipata, I went on a tour of Chanay/Guaraní/Inca (kept being reconquered) ruins called El Fuerte. I requested an English-speaking guide to the site. The English-speaking guide joked that most Americans who visit Bolivia speak Spanish, so why don't I? Certainly I should speak Spanish too. So I told him that I used to speak some Spanish but recently have been studying "an Indian language called Hindi." He looked confused for a second, and then his face lit up: "I speak an Indian language too! My native is Quechua. Bolivia is 70% Indian, and the two biggest languages are Quechua and Aymara, and there are many Amazon Indians." "Oh, no, that´s not what I mean. Hindi is a language spoken in India." "Yes, Indian, like our Quechua." "No, India is a country in Asia." "Asia? Oh, we have those too. People from Japan and China!" "No... I´m talking about a different country. India." "I don't understand. Indians do not live in Asia, they live in Bolivia, Peru, Chile, and Argentina." "Nevermind." ...I guess he didn't see the commercial from the day before.

3. I randomly found and ate at La Paz's only Indian restaurant, which played hit Bollywood songs from 2007 (I know the year because every single song came out when I was studying abroad in Pondy, such as songs from Om Shanti Om). Turns out it's actually British Indian food, which as some of you know, is actually a slightly different cuisine. The Bolivian-British-Indian feature dish? Llama tikka masala. Of course. I opted for saag paneer (though it wasn't actually paneer, it was some Argentine cheese). And in true Indian restaurant fashion, it gave me explosive diarrhea. That's how I knew it was as close to authentic as you can get in Bolivia.

4. Today I was walking around Calle Sagárnaga, the main tourist street in La Paz, when all of a sudden I heard the theme music from Dilwale Dulhania La Jayenge. First thought: omg, I (or someone else) is about to meet my (or her) Raj. Seriously, I thought that. I don't know why. Anyway, I turned around to see a huge sign for a restaurant called "Tailandia" (Thailand??) featuring food from Asia. Then the song switched to another Hindi song.

...Apparently, I cannot escape India; it follows me literally everywhere. I can't believe India followed me to Bolivia, of all places.

To (Try To) Do List

Many of you know that my last year in Delhi was less than ideal. Some of the problems I experienced will no longer exist for me in my second year, simply because of the new location (goodbye pollution and heat!). I'm sure there will be new problems (cold, oh so very cold, and no indoor heating), but I really want to do a better job at making the most out of my time in India the second time around. Therefore, I have devised a list of tasks that will hopefully help me make this year a great one:

1. Make a bigger effort to meet people. This was my biggest struggle in Delhi. I just didn't know how to meet people! I don't think this necessarily has to do with Delhi; I think this is just a problem that many people have when they transition from student to working life or move to a new city. So how am I going to do this? Well, um, I actually still don't know how to meet new people, but I'm going to try the following things:
  • Take a hobby class.The YWCA in Shimla offers several classes, including cooking and Bollywood dancing. Because who says I can't spontaneously break out into an extended song-and-dance while cooking up some palak paneer?
  • Join a club or team. Maybe there is a hiking or book club that I can join. Or, since Shimla has an ice rink in the winter, it could be fun to join a women's ice hockey team. Apparently "ex pats [sic] from the Canadian and Russian consulates in Mumbai and Delhi have been playing the game in Ladakh,"according to the Ice Hockey Association of India, so I don't see why this American expat can't play the game in Shimla! Because who says I can't compete with a bunch of Canadians and Russians who picked up their first hockey stick 30 seconds out of the womb?
  • Volunteer. I actually need some help coming up with volunteering ideas (I'm admittedly fairly terrible with this), but maybe I could do something with environmental cleanup or helping slum kids or something equally cheesy. Or I could do what I do best: teach geography and basketball to monks at the local Buddhist monastery. Because who says monks can't be taught about the inability to drive between South Asia and North America due to the existence of oceans while acquiring the ability to drive to the hoop?
  • Or, if all of the above fails: put an ad in the Matrimonials. Because what Indian man doesn't want a "23-year-old girl with fair complexion, American citizenship, and a degree from a prestigious foreign university, caste no bar"?
So why didn't I do any of those things in Delhi? Well, honestly, I had tried. I spent hours looking for a hobby class with times that worked, for a club or volunteering opportunity I would be interested in. Unfortunately, everything (clubs, classes, volunteer activities) usually met/occurred during work hours or on weekends--and I was unwilling to make any commitments on weekends so that I could use them to travel. Well, this year I'm working 6-day weeks and having only Sunday off doesn't give me enough time to make weekend trips. Thus this year I have no qualms about making commitments! (Yes, you could say I had the wrong priorities last year. You could say that. But remember how much Delhi's pollution sucks, and then you'll remember why I felt the need to escape.)

2. Actually study Hindi. Sure, I took Hindi lessons. Sure, I even (occasionally) did my homework. But honestly? I was a slacker. And in Delhi, it's fairly easy to rely on English. So this year, I want to make sure I put aside a little bit of time every evening to study Hindi. No, really. I'm serious. I want to be approaching proficient by the end of my year.

3. Take a hike. I am going to be in the mountains, so why not take advantage of this? I'm hoping to do hikes as often as possible (dare I say every Sunday? no, I probably shouldn't dare).

You know what's great about these kinds of lists? They make me feel good about myself--when I make them. But you know what isn't so great about these kinds of lists? They make me feel crappy about myself--when I fail to actually follow through with them. And, of course, that's inevitable. This list is a classic example of productive-things-I-intend-to-do-but-then-never-end-up-doing-because-a-rerun-of-Friends-is-on-TV-or-an-actual-friend-is-on-Gchat. I could try to adopt Sareeta's life point system, but I don't think I really want to keep track of my "points" on a daily basis (plus we all know I'd forget anyway).

So, do you have any ideas for how I can make the most out of my time in Shimla? Let me know in the comments or through email (though I can't promise that Friends won't be playing on Star World or Zee Cafe). Thanks!