My host family in Mcleod Ganj

My Tibetan home stay family is fabulous. My mom (Ama La) is cute as can be: she speaks great English but cannot read or write; she learned entirely from hosting students over the years. My dad (Pa La) is older and speaks no English. He just paces or sits there cutely with his prayer beads. He is chubby with a big, round Tibetan face, small, friendly eyes and life-well-lived wrinkles. He has short, white stubble on his head and face and a pouted, contented expression. I cannot exchange a word with him, but I love him anyway! Ama La came here when she was five so she has been here most of her life, but her husband did not escape to India in exile until he was 19 (I wish I could ask him more about it!) There are some pretty harrowing stories of escapes out of Tibet; in the Conversational English classes, one of the students said he trekked through Tibet's snowy mountains for 21 days in hiding to make it over the Nepalese border before coming to Mcleod Ganj. This story is not an anomaly; this is the norm, I have learned.

My parents have six grown children all living away from home: among them a monk, a doctor, and a son studying in England right now on one of two scholarships given to Tibetan students jointly from the English and Tibetan governments. They are such proud parents! Their house seems very, very nice. I imagine that their children take very good care of them. It is cement with real glass windows, painted walls, and even wood-patterned sticky focus paper on the floor. They have a mini wooden elk head on the wall (which cracks me up) and a bathroom with tile floors, a western toilet, a mirror, even a shelf with a variety of toiletries! They have toilet paper, for Christ's sake! I assure you, this is well off. They have a shiny Trinton Sony tv that is at least 16"x20" that they sit and watch world news on constantly. I have realized that the tv is the center of life of many of our Tibetan host families, and with good reason. For the past half century, these poor people have been clinging onto hope, waiting for help. What a way to live—constantly waiting, in an in-between state. They have their own local Tibetan station with constant information on the Dali Lama and the latest influx of refugees (roughly 6,000 exiles leave Tibet each year, and today Tibetans are outnumbered by Chinese on their own land.) Within ten minutes of talking, my host mom and I were already commemorating and congratulating each other on Obama's win. For them, it is seen as one more small window of hope that the world will become better! It is quite disheartening that these people must pay such close attention to what is happening around the world now when only sixty years ago they were living literally in the dark ages in the Tibet plateaus with no electricity, real roads, or even the use of the wheel. They went from complete seclusion to full emersion; what would world issues have interested them?! I hate politics-->I wish that I could sleep at night and ignore them altogether. But since my country's decisions and my culture so profoundly affect the entire world, I am obliged to care. The Tibetans, though, did not affect anyone.

The group at the Taj Mahal

Email to mom

Here is latest description of what I am doing from email to mom:

I am fabulous. Still not [pooping] solid after sickness, but better than the girl from new brunswick who hasn't [pooped}] for 17 days. i am now volunteering here in a cafe (ROGPA Cafe; all money goes to ROGPA childrens center that watches tibetan children for free while their parents work) and i am working on a mural for their store front with a kid from Cambridge. I am meeting amazing people here; last night i had dinner with a man from spain, a guy from D.C, and another guy from frankfurt. Oh, and a kid from Nova Scotia, a girl from Israel, and two girls from my group. The man from spain bought a motorcycle in nepal and is now travelling throughout india. He is probably 40, but really really good looking. those spanish. There is another guy--closer to my age--from australia who i may have developed a love crush on. He's traveling the world right now and will be in NYC in march--woohoo! Then there is ludvig from sweden who made [amazing] swedish balls at the shop yesterday. I asked if he would come back to the states with me. but i only want him for his balls. In about 30 minutes we are meeting to go with our Tibetan families, with whom we will stay for about 8 days. Then I will be working on constructing a garden at a kindergarden, volunteering a few days at ROGPA in afternoons, doing yoga when I can, and going to Conversational English in the evenings. It is a place for tourists to come who speak English and converse with Tibetans. It is for them to get practical practice and application with English, forge a bond with them and the tourist community, and teach us about Tibetan culture. A pretty groovy concept, right?
The Dali Lama returned yesterday, so he is back in town. Maybe I'll run into him in line at a coffee shop. I will take picture of completed mural for all to see. Today I am getting lunch with group from last night and then going to Tibetan museum. I will probably return to work on mural and then go to conversational English.

[A note from "mom": words seen with these [ ] have been edited to suit the delicate sensibilities of the older generation of potential readers as well as those with a weak heart]

The Taj Mahal in Agra, India

Indian Buses

An experience this intense should not be undergone when one is feeling less than their best. It turns from being sheer awe inspiring and comical to becoming sheer misery. The bus arrived and it was time for all of us to load our bags. But while one person was still securing bags atop the bus, the driver began to pull away. After being informed of the situation, it took a good 15 minutes and probably up to 50 mph on bumpy roads with fast turns befure bag securer was able to climb down (the entire time I had been watching out windows waiting for body to come flying down.) We had entered the bus at a bus station but this is not necessary. Any stop is acceptable. Or any slowed pace enough for you to jump on, as many do. I do not think that on such buses advanced tickets are possible; it seems that they are bought on the bus. Being such, it seemed that the occassional lone passenger would jump on when the bus was slowed and when the ticket collector began moving back, would jump off. Along these lines, the number of passengers can only be regulated by how much passengers can stand, and since Indians have an extremely high tolerance for masses in a country of over a billion, it can become ungodly crowded.
Apparently, Indian buses have no shocks. Even on what appeared to be a well paved road, we bounced around like popcorn. Our driver of course did not help: it was for him as if he were playing a game in which he was racking up points: considered were overall time it takes to execute trip, number of potholes hit, number of cars passed--extra points for buses-- and number of close calls. It seemed an endless game of chicken, driving in other lanes, getting within a foot of vehicle ahead of us, and using the horn as liberally as a teacher uses chalk.

Have you forgotten what I look like?

This is me sitting outside of the Red Fort in Agra (post Taj Mahal but pre horrendous sickness.)

Dear Immune System,

Dear Immune System,

The entire month in Thailand, we did not get sick once. We were a true team! Sure, there were the occasional MSG overdose quakes from that crazy Thai cooking, but that can hardly be blamed on you. I even began to brag about how strong you were to the rest of the group.

"It's a good thing that I rolled around in muck and ate M&M's off the ground when I was little," I said. "I guess I have done enough extended travel already, so my immunity has become dynamite!"

And then came India.

Where have you been? We have been sick three times in two weeks: hardly a "dynamite record."

First, there was Jaipur. I ate only at nice, clean restaurants and all of a sudden I had a temperature of 102.1. I had to miss time with my host family, three lessons, a visit to a temple right before Diwali (a giant Hindu holiday celebration) and a camel trek into a nearby village. And of course everything in-between. But it did not take too many days to feel back to myself and I thought, "Oh, at least look how quickly my immune system bounces back after its only fall."

But then on the last night in Galder, our village home stay, you lost it again. I had to miss our going away party: the full community celebration with food, music and dancing. I couldn't even stay with my host family on the last night to enjoy a proper goodbye.

And now this! Have you gone on vacation?

Perhaps you are out on the town with the immunity of Dianna, John, Emma, Tate and Jordan? On yesterday's 16-hour train ride, I threw up about seven times, ranking me high for that night's tally between myself and about 8 others from my group. Seven. Really?

Not that being sick on an Indian train is not comforting, with the lack of privacy and all the people, bugs and the occasional mouse. Not to mention the bathrooms with no running water or paper. With eight plus of us taking turns spewing in the bathrooms, they were far from neat and sanitary. There is nothing quite like moaning over an Indian
train toilet--which is little more than a sanctioned-off hole in the floor--watching the tracks pass beneath you with the unidentified splatter marks on the walls reminding you of the hundreds of tourists that have been in your very same shoes in the very same bathroom before.

Now, instead of staying as a pilgrim at the Golden Temple in Amritsar, learning about and experiencing the Sikh faith, I have been in a guesthouse bed next to equally-as-miserable Dianna for the past 18 hours with a fever, aches all over and as weak as a mouse after purging myself of all of my liquids and nutrients.

My stomach's recommendation would be to steer clear of Agra and strike "Seeing the Taj Mahal" off your list of 'Things to Do Before I Die.' Perhaps we are just bitter (we being myself and particularly my stomach,) but in a town used to Western tourists like Agra, three quarters of our group getting food poisoning from Agra's restaurants hardly seems defendable.

Ironically, a few years ago in Agra a scam between restaurant and hotel owners and doctors was discovered: tourists were deliberately being poisoned, sent to private clinics and charged hefty fees, and then the restaurant owners received a cut. The scam was discovered...but it is rumored (and from our experience apparently evidenced) that it still continues.