India, Part I

As promised, here is my account of my two weeks in India, well chapter one of it anyway. I've struggled with how to organize the thing…do it in a logical, chronological, journal-like fashion? In a wacked-out-write-whatever-comes-to-mind way? In a set of themes, a la third grade textbook "History" "Culture" "Traditions" headings? In relation to my senses (for the place truly affected each and every one)?
After spending several days pondering this, I decided just to stop thinking and dive in. The cold – of which I wrote in my last email – has forced most of the schools in Kyrgyzstan to close their doors til February 5. So I've been curled up in my room, drinking hot beverages and reading books. Delicious hibernation. But I'm starting to go a little stir-crazy, so need to produce something of my own. Thus, the following…
As we were driving over the steppe of Kazakhstan to the airport in Almaty, one of my traveling companions mentioned that he wouldn't mind at all if we didn't see a single Russian in the coming weeks. This hope, unfortunately, turned out to be a silly one, as the entire population of Russia seems to have decided to travel southward for an Indian holiday. Forced by awkward flight schedules to spend our first night in India in the Delhi airport, we found sleeping to be next to impossible due to the presence of a boisterous (and intoxicated) group of Russians who not only were speaking their native tongue in levels inappropriate even for a fairly crowded airport…but had brought a book of Russian folk songs with them to pass the time. I felt like I was having some sort of very bad dream as I attempted sleep in the chilly, grey, halogen-lit room, balancing atop two cushion-less chairs, arms stuffed in my sweatshirt, and ears assaulted by the strains of Russian merry-making. Luckily, this gloomy state soon lifted with my plane to Mumbai, where our adventure begins.
The airport is approximately 20 kilometers from the tourist center of Mumbai. Thus, you might imagine that a mid-morning taxi might take you an hour or so. This would be a faulty assumption in this particular place, however. No stranger to aggressive taxi drivers, we groggily found our way into a fairly-enough-priced cab, our noses assaulted by the smells of diesel, flowers, and smog. Joyfully, we shrugged off our sweatshirts and jackets – the weather was miraculously warm. As our taxi driver pulled into the highway – a thoroughfare clogged with motorbikes, shiny new BMWS, old rusty cabs, three-wheeled rickshaws, and buses – one of my traveling partners leaned over and said, "Guys! We're about to enter some of the most dangerous traffic in the world!" Happy to be freed from our Peace Corps Kyrgyzstan chains, though, we all grinned mischievously and leaned back, ready to get our vacation started.
We checked into a cheap, clean hotel and decided to grab some lunch and take a walk round before the exhaustion from 30 sleepless hours set in. As we strolled down the street, all of our gazes were quickly averted. But not to the beautifully be-sari-ed women nor to the piles of fresh fruit nor to the architectural relics of the British imperialists. No, these Americans only had eyes for the Golden Arches. Kyrgyzstan, you see, lacks any sort of Western chain restaurant and, for the most part, all of its attempts at burgers and the like are woefully inadequate. So into McDonalds we strolled. But this was not your ordinary Mickey D's. Not a single beef product on the menu (Hindus, after all, regard our bovine friends as sacred and, thus, do not eat them). They did, to my delight, have Diet Coke and veggie burgers (a staple of mine from my days as a Wahoo) and, for the boys, many varieties of chicken burgers (including something called a Maharaja Mac). Not to mention the soft serve French fries and ketchup (which was in a self-serve pump with little cups). We all had seconds.

Ok, my writing energy has been expended for the time being. And, holy crap, I've only made it to lunchtime on Day 1. Promise more stories later...which will include, among others, our run-in with an eager Japanese tourist, riding in the krunkest rickshaw in Hampi and the bumpiest bus on the planet, and descriptions of food so delicious that it may be painful to write about it (seeing as I'll likely be going back to another potato-based meal right after).

Love, Terri

PS Temperatures are going up and the sun is shining. Woohoo! Oh, and the weather got so bad there for a while that most of the schools in Kstan CLOSED for 10 days! Getting lots of reading and hot-chocolate-drinking in.
PPS Another awkward Kstan moment: Went to the public banya (you rent it out for an hour) the other day...and somehow the wily proprietor circumvented the doorlock, came into the banya, and told my friend and me (in all our naked glory) not to use all the water. Water, I might add, that we were frigging PAYING FOR. Arghhh...but at least I'm clean!