May 4, 2008

May 4^th, 2008

Hello, family and friends,

Ethnography is "a genre of writing that uses fieldwork to provide a descriptive study of human societies". Many ethnographic studies require the researcher to be fully immersed in the target community for an extended period of time—at least two years—to observe the community. Essentially s/he becomes part of the community, participating in the rituals and daily life of the people. Within these two or more years, it is easy to form close relationships with the locals. During our time in the Kumaon, we are reminded that we should carry the mindset of an ethnographer. However, we are also reminded that within our short three month stay, it is unlikely that we will form any close relationships with the locals. I can already say that this is not true with me. Once I leave, I will definitely miss the relationships that I have forged here.

There are certain qualities that a talented doctor would possess. And Dr. Asha Uphadyay possesses all these qualities and more. I owe her part of my life, because she cured my painful GI infection. After leaving the clinic that day with a feeble thank you, I didn't think that I would ever visit the doctor as a friend. While being so wrapped in my suffering, I didn't think twice about the incisive yet compassionate way she questioned the three ill students who went to see her. When I began to regain my strength, I started to wonder how she was able to quickly and accurately diagnose one of the students with hepatitis A, when he was only displaying pre-jaundice symptoms. The natural cynic within me bluntly reasoned that with the high incidence of hepatitis A in rural India, it must've been a simple diagnosis. However, a part of me still remained very impressed.

After a week, our group traveled to the Binsar Wildlife Sanctuary and Jageshwar, a small pilgrimage town with several thousand-year-old Hindu temples. For some unknown reason, the doctor decided to join us. Of course, her presence brought a comforting reassurance over the group. You never know what kind of shit can get in your lunch. The doc will come in handy, someone joked. Literally. Shit can really land in your lunch. This is India.

I got to know Doctor Asha pretty well, since we were roommates throughout the trip in Binsar and Jageshwar. She was raised in Ajmer, a town in the state of Rajasthan located two hours south of Jaipur. Her specialist training was in surgery. She has been practicing medicine for more than twenty years, ten years as a civil servant and another ten years in the army. She also taught for two years in a medical college in Pune, a large city in the state of Maharashtra. There is no question that she is extremely brilliant. Of the five or six women in her class of one hundred, she is the only woman who chose to specialize in surgery—a field that is traditionally dominated by men—while the rest chose the path of pediatrics.

We became fast friends during the trip, partially because I found it incredibly easy to consult her about anything—from the Indian medical school system to practicing yoga. I think she also developed a motherly fondness towards me as well, because I made it very obvious that I respected her. Indians—I have discovered—are a people of the heart. Once you prove your loyalty to them, they will return their loyalty in the form of friendship. Not a superficial friendship, but a meaningful one. Soon after getting acquainted, we would accompany each other on excursions into Jageshwar and Almora. Her company proved to be very endearing. She would point certain things our on our walks—a religious symbol or an overheard conversation—and give me a detailed description of its meaning and context. After seeing me pathetically trying to communicate with a shopkeeper, she managed to save me twenty-five rupees by haggling mercilessly with him. It's this exchange of small gestures that define our friendship. We are both people who show loyalty through performing small actions. At the present, I am honored to call her mataji—a respectful term for mother—even though she is neither married nor a mother.

With this said, after two months in India, I can say that I've fallen in love with this country. I love the people. I love the culture. I love the cows on the street. I love the intonations and sounds of Hindi. I love the colourful sarees of the women. I love how in one breath of air, you can discern the smell of fried samosas, sweat, spiced chai, newly woven wool, and cow fodder. I love the smell of freshly prepared chapattis. When I told my friends that I will be studying abroad in India, the first question they always ask is why India? My response has always been just because. There was an inexplicable attraction towards India. After wandering the metros and rural Himalayas for two months, I can finally put to words why I love India: India is a land of contradictions and stark opposites. It can fascinate you, anger you, enlighten you, and sadden you—all within a period of ten minutes. India wears her heart on her sleeve, and I find this honesty to be incredibly refreshing.

This has been a deeply personal update. Friends have been telling me to tell more stories about my travels. The truth is, I have accumulated so many stories—both regarding my research project and my wanderings—that it would take pages and pages to describe in detail. Even though I don't feel like leaving India, I'll be back in the United States in late June.

Finally, I've attached a rare photograph of a woman climbing a tree to lop the branches for fuel. I mentioned this phenomenon in a previous update, when I was discussing women's health issues in the Himalayas. This is pictorial evidence of how amazing women are in India.

Until next time,

--Vania

April 23th, 2008

April 23, 2008

Hello friends and family,

Go to the people

Live among them,

Learn from them,

Love them.

Start with what they know.

Build on what they have.

But of the best leaders,

When their task is accomplished,

Their work is done,

The people will remark,

‘We have done it ourselves’.

--Chinese proverb

After visiting Corbett National Park last week, I came down with a gastrointestinal infection—full with a high fever, body aches, and loose bowel movements. I initially had no idea that it was a GI infection. I was concerned that it may be malaria or dengue fever, although diarrhea is not often a symptom of those two diseases. The sudden onset of the fever was what concerned me most. I went to CHIRAG’s rural health clinic for the doctor and some medicines. Despite the unassuming appearance of the clinic, it was surprisingly well stocked with a variety of antibiotics. They even managed to perform a blood test—with a disposable syringe, of course, from which they squirted the blood into a small vial. Some drops of the blood splashed onto the doctor’s gloveless hands, which left me slightly mortified and amused. But this was another reminder to me that things do get done in India, maybe at the expense of the doctor’s immune system. He did copiously wash his hands afterwards, though.

Despite their unique regulations on hygiene, the doctors at CHIRAG’s clinic are very knowledgeable. In addition to their knowledge, they present an air of unpretentiousness and humility that is distinctly absent from many western doctors that I’ve seen. Madhavanji—the current executive director of CHIRAG—told me that finding doctors who want to work in this rural setting is very difficult. The doctors who do vouch to come, are indeed a rare breed.

I’d like to reevaluate my own aspirations to become a rural doctor. For some time now, I’ve had the dreams to work in rural India as village doctor. I can’t say that these dreams are shattered, but they are definitely placed in a new perspective. From living in rural India for a month where development work is happening, I’ve learned that the term development is unexpectedly loaded with contradiction and complexity. Many NGOs rush into a less-technologically-developed community with the hopes of ‘bringing them out of their darkness’ by improving their technological, social, and medical infrastructures. But what does darkness mean? Similar to the occupation of Tibet, what justifies the Chinese to say that they are bringing the Tibetans out of a period of serfdom? Finally, what does less-developed mean? Does having more technological gadgets make a community more developed than one without them? In terms of moral development, I can argue that the morality of the Tibetan community is ages ahead of the Chinese—based on their basis in the peaceful Buddhist religion. These are all things that one must consider when doing development work, like working with an NGO. One who wishes to work in sustainable development needs to not only have the volition to help others, but also a sense of humility and willingness to integrate themselves into the community. The best way to discern the needs of your target community is to listen and understand their situations. And to do this, you must live among the people to get a good understanding of their customs, society, and culture. After all, how can you solve a problem without understanding the problem itself and the context that surrounds it?

To be able to integrate an NGO into a community is so difficult. I had the privilege of meeting the elderly but lively founders of CHIRAG—Kanaiji and Lakshmiji Lall. Kanaiji originally worked in the corporate world. After living for some time in Manhattan, he decided to return to Delhi to form an NGO in the central Himalaya. One key thing that he succinctly said was that he wanted to be economically sound before partaking in any development work. In fact, he had no idea that he wanted to form CHIRAG, but he felt that he no longer had any passion for his work in the corporate world. After all, what is the point of making so much money? As such, CHIRAG was born out of both hard work and coincidence. Kanaiji had many influential friends that headed hospitals etc. and he had their help to set up the two first initiatives of CHIRAG: health care and forestry.

The introduction of CHIRAG into the Kumaon was initially met with a lot of suspicion, due to the community’s unsatisfactory experiences with previous NGOs. But what CHIRAG did differently was that it recruited locals as employees. It also, unlike previous NGOs, worked with the people instead of working for the people—similar to the ‘show a man to fish’ deal. By establishing a strong rapport with the locals, CHIRAG’s became a 20+ year success in the region. Empowering the people is key.

On this note, I’d like to bring your attention back to the Chinese proverb given at the beginning of this update. It was written in the front cover of the annual report of CHIRAG. It is such a beautiful passage and it envelops all of what sustainable development should be. Here, you should read it again:

Go to the people

Live among them,

Learn from them,

Love them.

Start with what they know.

Build on what they have.

But of the best leaders,

When their task is accomplished,

Their work is done,

The people will remark,

‘We have done it ourselves’.

Did you find a difference between your first and second reading?

And I mailed out most of the requested post cards. Not all. But most. Still, I can’t guarantee that they will arrive at their respective destinations. Mail pilfering is definitely not uncommon. However, have patience. One of the many things that I’ve learned here is that things get done in India, but at their own pace. And even in the darkest of times, India always manages to surprise you, in a positive way.

Regards,

--Vania

Life at Sonapani

April 11, 2008

Hello, friends outside of India!

Life in the Himalayas is going quite well. Things have settled into a regular routine: breakfast at 8:00am, classes at 10:00pm, lunch at 1:30pm... For once, I am getting more than six hours of sleep each night, adequate exercise each day, and eating three square meals each day. Although it sounds like we are living the good life, which we are, there is quite a reading load for the classes. Sustainable development is an interesting subject, and the information will serve to be very useful when I decide to form an NGO. In fact, we are so fortunate to be living in a region where sustainable development and NGOs are relevant. It isn't just something that you read from textbooks, development is actually happening, and I am participating in this amazing process!

We are living in what geologists call the "lesser Himalayas". The elevation range is roughly 2000 to 2500 meters (6500 to 8200 ft). In the past week, the climate has ranged from extremely cold to extremely hot. Although accommodations in our cottages are very comfortable, they are not heated or air conditioned—which makes taking a bucket bath very interesting. If there is one thing that I miss more than my family and friends—namely, you people—it is taking a shower (the kind that comes down in a regular spray) without having to pray for a functioning hot-water heater. I've taken a bucket bath in cold water, which I have sworn I would never do again. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and you would do the same thing if you haven't taken a bath in five days, with the grime of Delhi still clinging to your skin.

I'd like to make a short comment on the food here. The food is prepared by a 22-year-old chef named Vinod from a nearby village called Bhimtal. He was trained in Delhi and has worked in several five-star hotels. This guy is so talented and if he opened a restaurant in the states, he would become a sensation. Just to give you an idea of how amazing this guy is: Keith only had to show him how to make apple pie once, and he could independently produce the best apple pie I've ever tasted. Now you know—the best-tasting apple pie is found in India. The humility of this guy is admirable. It is not uncommon that a person with talent like his would be extremely arrogant. But Vinod started crying when he saw how much we were enjoying his apple pie. Crying. The spontaneous eruption of tears was so cute that I almost exploded.

In terms of academics, my research project will on women's health. Specifically, I will be researching how health-seeking behaviors of women differ by specific factors such as age and literacy levels. The women of the Himalayas are amazing. In fact, the women of India are amazing. In the Kumaon region of Uttarakhand, women do most of the household chores and agricultural work. Life in the Himalayas is strongly tied with the land and the forest. So quite understandably, life is agrarian. Fodder, fertilizer, and fuel all come from the forest. There isn't a logging industry here, so these timber products must be collected individually for each household. Fodder comes from fallen oak leaves and pine needles—the two main tree species in the Kumaon region of Uttarakhand. Oftentimes, you see women on roads carrying huge loads of leaves on their heads, after gathering them from the forest. You also see women climbing trees to lop the branches. This is really quite amazing, considering how un-climbable the trees are. Even more amazing is that these women climb these trees in sarees. How this is accomplished, I will never understand.

Unfortunately, men don't do much here. That's why all the roads and chai stands are occupied with meandering men—smoking, drinking, and gossiping. Even though the women do all the herding, lopping, child caring, cooking, leaf collecting, work management, the Kumaon is still very much a patriarchal society. One of the main initiatives of CHIRAG (Central Himalayan Rural Action Group)—the NGO I'm working with—is women's empowerment. Among many other things, they hold monthly meetings for the local women to get together and talk about their problems. Hopefully, I will be able to attend one of these meetings next week.

It is also said that the women compose songs about the hardships in their lives while doing their work. I find this so endearing. The women of the Himalayas have so little free time in their daily lives, yet they still find the opportunity to insert small artistic opportunities into their busy days. Art is so universal, and it extends from a Manhattan gallery to the Kumaoni woman.

Common health problems in the Kumaon include diabetes, TB, hypertension. Rabies is also a common problem. Physical injuries are also frequent, especially with women—since they do most of the tree climbing etc. What initially surprised me was the low incidence of HIV/AIDS, given how it is a major problem in India. Then after thinking about it a little, it makes sense. Consider the main methods through which HIV is transmitted: unprotected sex, drug use, and blood transfusions. Many of the people here live below the poverty line…so people are too poor to buy drugs. Anyways, most of the existing intoxicants are inhaled. Blood transfusions are rare. Unprotected sex is less of a problem in rural regions than in the cities. We see more pro-condom ads in these parts than in Delhi! Besides, sleeping around is just not something that I see people here doing.

Nainital was quite fun. I had an opportunity to practice my very broken Hindi. At the moment, the only phrases I can utter are mera nam Vania hai (My name is Vania), ap kaise hai (How are you), kitne rupiye (how many rupees for this), me thik hu (I am good). With this very basic knowledge of Hindi, I entered a shop in Nainital with the intention of bartering only in Hindi, with the hope of getting a fair price on the merchandise. After asking kitne rupiye for a shirt, the shopkeeper got really excited and started speaking rapidly in Hindi. At this time, I stupidly reminded myself that I can't understand any numbers above 10. This lost me my bartering edge, and I left the shop feeling a bit foolish—without the shirt, of course.

In any case, I see that this update is getting a tad long. Next week, I will be heading out towards Jim Corbett National Park/Wildlife Reserve to study forest ecology and to do some tiger hunting on elephants. When I say "tiger hunting", I mean that in a figurative sense, of course. And to everyone who has requested postcards, I have them with me. I just haven't had the opportunity to mail them yet.

I miss you all,

--Vania

From the Himalayas

March 30, 2008

Greetings from Sonapani (Uttaranchal State, India),

The pictures I've promised will need more time to upload. So stay tuned for those. Also, I'm going to start dating my entries, since they will not be sent the day that they are written.

We arrived at our final destination in the Himalayas earlier this morning. We left the Old Delhi train station last night around 11:00pm. The train ride was seven hours long. The beds were comfortable and I slept relatively okay. Our study abroad program director (Keith) reminded us to be very careful about of belongings, because of the high incidence of theft on Indian trains. He told us a story about a friend of his who was traveling by train to Dehradun (capital of Uttaranchal state). The friend fell asleep holding onto the handle of his backpack. He woke up holding the handle of the seat railing, backpack completely gone. Luckily, that did not happen to me, and I emerged from the train—seven hours later—with all my belongings.

Following the train ride, we had a three-hour car journey to our final destination in the little townlet called Sonapani ("Gold Water"). The journey was terrifying, to say the least. The ride was 80 km/hr sprint up a steeply switchbacked mountain road. In fact, I think the driver was absolutely crazy to be driving so quickly on the perilous roads. He was driving completely nonchalantly, one hand on the wheel and weaving perilously around trucks that seem to pummel down the slopes. After an hour of gripping the front seats with white-knuckled hands—we didn't have any seat belts, by the way—I miraculously fell asleep. I decided that if I had to die in the mountains of India, I might as well do it in a non-conscious state.

We arrived at Sonapani around 8:30 am. A delicious breakfast was waiting for us. After a week of eating nothing but dosas and samosas, I nearly cried with joy when I saw fresh fruits and vegetables. I can totally get used to living here. All the vegetables are grown in a local garden; and all the food is freshly prepared and absolutely delicious. So here we are, drinking the best chai ever and watching distant clouds travel along the sharp outline of the majestic Himilayas.

I am quite happy to have left Delhi. After spending a week in the capital of India, I have decided that it is the most polluted and physically uncomfortable city I have ever visited. After a week in Delhi, the interior of my nose was clogged with a disgusting layer of black gook. That is why you should always breathe through your nose in Delhi. I'm sure that anyone who stays in Delhi for more than a month would develop respiratory disorders. However, if the climate of Delhi wasn't so uncomfortable, I'd think it would be a cool place to live. The city is widely diverse. It offers incredible culture and history, as well as impressive array modern amenities. I've also acclimated well to the Indian metro lifestyle. I didn't experience the culture shock that many of my friends have mentioned. Riding an auto-rickshaw is definitely not as terrifying as I've expected. Yes, the driving is crazy but I've experienced worse in Taiwan. Even being approached by sleazy men didn't really concern me. You simply ignore the guy or tell him to leave you alone. You accept it as a reality of the situation and environment and move on. What can you do?

I've experienced as much as Delhi has to offer. I've seen all the major landmarks, some more than once. I've taken every form of transportation Delhi has: taxis, personalized chauffeurs, autos (auto rickshaws), bicycle rickshaws, and buses. I've successfully bartered with tricky storeowners and rickshaw drivers. I'm still a horrible haggler, but I've managed to cut some costs from ridiculous prices from merchants who want to fool foreigners. I've eaten potentially hazardous street food that comes from shabby looking restaurants—and remarkably, I still haven't gotten sick. I've wandered Delhi alone at night, against all my good intentions and plans (it's a long story). I've seen a Bollywood film at a Delhi cinema. And finally, I've experienced most or all of the socioeconomic gradients of Delhi: from living with wealthy Indians in Defense Colony to meandering in the smelly streets of Old Delhi.

My journey in India has just started. Next weekend, a group of us will be traveling to Nainital, a beautiful hill station in Uttaranchal state. Hopefully, I can also get started on my research project with rural medicine. And thanks to everyone who sent emails. Your blessings and kind words are very well appreciated. Until then, namaste.

--Vania

Delhi - Old and New Part 2

Hello from Delhi,

I've been staying with some of my mother's friends in the Defence Colony neighborhood of New Delhi. Defence Colony is an upscale community of Delhi, housing many doctors, retired military personel, etc. Make no mistake that Defence Colony is still in India, so it's outward apperances will not seem particularly upscale to the American eye. Poverty is still evident, but less so than other regions of Delhi.

My hosts, Rajesh and Poonam, have been extremely kind to me. In fact, I've been very impressed by the hospitality of the Indians I have met. I came to India very paranoid. For the first day of or so, I expected every person I met to have a secret agenda to steal my money, or to trick me into a scam. After speaking to many Indians, I found that the majority are extremely helpful. I still walk around with my hands stuck in my pockets as a preventive measure against pickpockets, but I'm much more willing to engage with Indians. After all, I came to India to experience India. And the only way to do this is the engage with the people, who represent the spirit and core of the country.

Many people ask if I have come from China, and I have formed the habit of not correcting them. I found that it is advantageous to appear non-American or European. We all know that America and Europe are racially and ethnically diverse. But the common Indian conception of 'American' and 'European' is white-skinned with a hair color that isn't black. 'American' and 'European' is also associated with the dollar sign, which makes sense--because if you can afford the plane ticket to fly to India, you are richer than a large percentage of her people. That is why they charge Indian nationals 10 rupees to see Humayun's Tomb, and 250 rupees for foreigners. Although I still paid 250 rupees to see Humayun's Tomb, I find that I've avoided many scams and overcharged services just by looking Eastern Asian. So temporarily, while I'm still in India, I am born and raised in China with a remarkably good American accent. I haven't even bothered to explain that I'm actually Taiwanese, since many of the people believe that it is a region in Japan. Shhh. Don't spill my secret.

So here are some general advice for those who are thinking about traveling to Delhi or India in general:
1) Dress comfortably. Cottons are good in Delhi ANY time of the year. Currently, the peak temperature in Delhi is around 37 degrees centigrade, and it is only going to get hotter.
2) Dress conservatively--especially if you are female. I cringe everytime a see a foreign traveler wearing short shorts and tank tops. Just look at the Indian women around you. They're all dressed in a saree or a salwar kameez--all of which cover their legs and most of their arms. Keep in mind that the dudes on the streets of Delhi stare. Sometimes, but not always, it's the kind of lecherous stare that really creeps you out. It gets worse if you expose more of your skin.
3) Try to develop a bladder of steel. Delhi toilets are disgusting. If you can't develop a bladder of steel, carry with you coins worth two rupees. You can gain access to nicer loos if you pay two rupees. It sounds stupid to pay for a dump, but it prevents your gag reflex from getting overused.
4) Manage your money wisely. This is the strategy that I have used so far: I always carry a money belt that holds the majority of my cash and travelers cheques--along with my passport. This repository is always concealed underneath my clothes. From that main repository, I would put 1000-1500 rupees in a money pouch. If I only have a 1000 rupee note, I would ask for change. I would then use rubber bands to tie together notes of similar value. For example, I would tie 50 rupee and 10 rupee notes together. This bundle of notes would be used mainly for auto-rickshaw rides (yes, I did ride several auto-rickshaws...just as a means of convenience and to satisfy the curiosity of certain individuals who read this travel blog), because the drivers ask for exact payment. Any notes of higher value--100 rupees, 500 rupees, 1000 rupees, etc--would be tied together, although I would avoid flashing a 1000 rupee note. The point of this is to reveal money suitable for its occasion. You wouldn't want to show an auto-rickshaw driver that you have 500 rupees when you only want to pay 70 rupees for your trip. They will almost always ask for more payment if you do this.
5) Negotiate on a suitable payment with an autorickshaw (aka auto) before you step into the vehicle. If you don't do this, they may take you to your destination on the most indirect route to increase the count on the meter--therefore, more money for them. Unless you know the streets of Delhi very well, always negotiate on a price before your ride with the auto.

After reading the above, you may think that I'm being too tight-assed and precautious to fully enjoy India. I have thoroughly enjoyed my stay in Delhi so far because I have taken the time to think of ways to, for example, manage my money. In fact, within these two days I have seen and visited the entire city, from the cow-ridden streets of Old Delhi to the trendy shops of New Delhi. Hopefully, many of my tips will benefit those who wish to visit India in the future.

Finally, I apologize for this long entry. When I get up into the mountains, you won't hear from me as often as you do now. My last Delhi entry will focus on all the places that I've visited. Hopefully, I will be able to get some photos uploaded, so I can make the next update a photo entry, with minimal text. I'll let you guys Wikipedia the tourist sites yourself.

--Vania

Delhi - The Old and the New

Greetings from New Delhi,

My journey to Delhi started at the Sea-Tac International Airport. I took a thirteen hour flight to Chiang-Kai Sheck International Airport in Taipei. I had a two hour layover in Taiwan before my seven hour flight to New Delhi. In comparison to my previous experiences with air travel, these flights were relatively enjoyable. I find this slightly ironic, given that I was flying an airline that has a less-than-stellar reputation for safety--China Airlines. However, I was surprised by the excellent service and in-flight entertainment. Every passenger has a personal touch-screen LCD monitor where there are numerous games, "on demand" movies, and television shows to choose from.

Upon landing at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, I quickly passed through customs. The key word is quickly. The customs official barely looked at my passport before rubber-stamping my visa and sending me on my way. Navigating the airport can be a challenge. The aiport is undergoing massive renovations, and every component of the building shows signs of half-completion. Labels and signs are basically meaningless, since they often direct you towards the wrong direction. After wandering aimlessly around the airport, I decided to give up on the signs and attach myself to several Indians who were on my flight. I finally made my way out of the customs area to catch a pre-paid taxi. Pre-paid taxis are government-sponsered taxi services that ensure a fixed rate on the taxi fare. Regular taxis like to trick foreign travelers into paying more than the agreed price. Pre-paid taxis are therefore the way to go if you want a "safe" (my taxi looked as though it came from the 1920's with no seatbelts) and fair taxi ride to your destination in Dehi. This brings me to the topic of Indian driving.

Road travel in India is everything and nothing that I expected it to be. Yes, the previous statement is a oxymoron, but India herself is full of contradictions. I expected Indian driving to be chaotic and anarchic. I didn't actually believe Indian driving to be as chaotic and anarchic as I expected. But it is. Why do they even draw lines to distinguish lanes on the road? Lines carry absolutely no meaning. Traffic is constantly moving and flowing. If there is a traffic accident in the middle of the road or a meandering cow, traffic simply flows around the cow or the accident. Nothing ever stops, except at streetlights--which surprised me. The commonality of streetlights is the only feature that western traffic shares with Indian traffic. The car horn is also used heavily in Indian driving. Since there is a constant flow of entering and departing traffic, the horn is absolutely necessary to warn other drivers of a potential collision. The horn also serves to warn brave pedestrians--who cross haphazardly across pedestrian-unfriendly roads--and bikers of potential collisions.

I have a deep respect for Indians who have mastered the skill of driving in India. The absence of traffic rules force you to think in a completely different way. It forces you to be extremely alert of your surroundings. If only Indians praticed kung fu. They can easily translate their skill behind the wheel into perfecting this martial art. Think about the potential: The Indian National Army consisting of kick-ass taxi drivers with mad kung fu skills. Awesome.

With that said, describing my 40-minute taxi ride to my friend's home in detail could take three more entries. Let's just say that I saw several cows meandering along the side of the road, IIT (Indian Institute of Technology), a bus literally crammed full of Indians, and poverty.

I have three more days in Delhi before my journey towards Uttaranchal. I still have to see the Taj Mahal in Agra, the Lotus Temple, Humayun's Tomb, among many other things. Most of this will be described in detail in my next update, along with tonight's trip to the Dilli Haat--a bazaar that carries goods from regions all over India--and the Loti Gardens.

It's getting late, so I must end this entry here. I miss you all! Please stay in touch.

--Vania

Mailing List

Greetings from Seattle,

As you all know, I will be traveling to India fairly soon. To satisfy your curious minds about my journey, I've subscribed you all to my mailing list hellishmonkeys_in_india2008@u.washington.edu, through which I will be writing regular email updates about my trip. I will also be simultaneously posting these messages to my travel blog hellishmonkeys-in-india2008.blogspot.com. So, if you would rather read the blog than to receive these "in-your-face" email updates, feel free to unsubscribe yourself from this mailing list. However, the blog won't be updated as often, due to the sketchy internet stability of rural India (email is easier to handle). It will contain pictures though--so it may be a good idea to check the blog periodically for your viewing pleasure.

Finally, please send me your mailing address if you wish to receive a postcard from India.

Cheers,
--Vania