Quito Week Something

Ok, it’s been a month since I updated. August was a strangely hectic month with a lot going on, but because I have the memory of a goldfish I want to go ahead and write a little bit about what I’ve been up to.

First of all, Neil came. He was here for over a week, and we had a great time. In Quito, we ate out most of the time, and I got to try lots of new restaurants. We went to the historic center, saw a great exhibit on photos from around the world, went to the Ambassador’s house for dinner (there kids were in Neil’s school before coming to Quito), went to museums, played a lot of cards and generally hung out. One day, Neil was waiting for me in the café and randomly a girl that we both noticed from his flight (he noticed her while she was on the flight, I noticed her when she was leaving the airport) came to eat. General chit-chat lead to a few nights of going out and going to dinner together, and through her – her name is Aysha – I met some other cool people. She was traveling through Ecuador for a few weeks, but now she’s back where she was before. Living in D.C. not ten minutes from Neil’s new apartment. Small world, people. One of the last things we did before leaving was to go to the mall here for the release of Harry Potter. Neil was here for his birthday, and I wanted to get him a copy as his gift. We thought it would be at midnight, but it ended up being at 6 p.m., and we got there about an hour early. The woman at the counter assured us that there wouldn’t be a problem and we would for sure be able to get a copy, but when it came to crunch time, I was super nervous. Typical Quito style, there wasn’t really any sort of line or order, and people were just crowding. I don’t like it when people just crowd. My throat closed up and I kept wining and asking questions. Neil swore he would never wait in line with me again because I was a little out of control. But… we got the book, and Neil had entertainment for the many buses we would take in the coming week. He ended up reading it twice before getting back to the states.

After Quito, we took a trip down south. Went to a very small town called Baños that has a least as many tourists as it does locals… it’s definitely smaller than Manteo. It’s a town set in the mountains, right on the cusp of the sierra and the oriente. We rented four wheelers and went to see a lot of small waterfalls and beautiful scenery. At night we went to one of two streets that had restaurants open, and we joined the throngs of people milling about watching the eternally present kids on four wheelers making far too much noise for the town.

After Baños we went to Riobamba. We went with the intention to take a train down a very windy, steep part of the Sierra. It’s called the Devil’s Nose train, and before lots of tourists would ride on top to see the scenery. Then people fell off and died, and now it’s not allowed. We got to this semi-city in the afternoon, and it immediately rubbed me the wrong way. Then we found out that the trains were in strike. We found a dingy hotel that reeked of cigarette smoke covered with a far-too-strong citrus, went to an okay dinner and played cards to round out the night. We left early in the morning.

Next stop, Cuenca. Cuenca is the third-largest city in Ecuador, but it feels much smaller than Quito. Cuenca is known for its old town, and that’s where we stayed. I had to go down there to meet with another school that the Quito school I’m studying with wants to work with. So we stayed in there hostel, which was a great old Colonial house with a kitchen, beautiful courtyard, and hammock. We met some really nice people there. A 5-year-old named Evan who, with his parents, was studying Spanish for a month or so. He would come and watch us play backgammon or Spit and Malice, and he was always on my side. I liked Evan. The staff was super helpful, and we liked Cuenca much more than Riobamba. The city is beautiful. We went on a tour to the old city to see the city’s churches and plazas, and met up with some funny Irish girls and a lady for Italy (I got to attempt to speak Italian again!). We ate at some great places – some fabulous Colombian food, a great café with spicy kebabs and good music and a place that had delicious corn dishes. We also ate a lot of yucca bread. I think if I lived in Cuenca I would be bored, but it was great to visit for a few days.

Neil left, and I was scrambling to get back to reality. I had a month of classes, half discussion and half current events. The students were definitely worn out, so there was a lot more griping and complaining. But I liked the classes because there was a lot of debate. In the current events class, we took some field trips. We went to talk to a social worker who made us draw pictures and then told us how we would be in old age. Apparently no one in our group is going to be happy in old age because no one has a clear plan for what they’re going to do with their life. Oops. Then we were to a public hospital for older people, and a woman told us about how here, because people don’t have the economic resources to support big families, many times families will bring sick older relatives to the hospital to get better, and while the person is healing, the family moves houses, changes numbers and abandons the person so they don’t have to pay to support another person in the family. Yikes.

A few days later, as the last field trip, we went to a retirement home. This class was a group of five people and the teacher. And Alexandra, the teacher, wanted us to do something as a presentation – sing, dance, a play, something. Mind you, this is a group of students that doesn’t really know how to speak Spanish. At all. There is a girl in the class who speaks in infinitives and always ignores prepositions. So no one wanted to go. The two days before we went, the griping level was ridiculously high. But we went. And I think we had someone looking out for us. We were on the bus, and about ten minutes into the ride, three young people got on the bus… two guys with guitars, and one girl with pink hair. They explained they were going to play some music, and gave us a small concert on the bus. We all looked at each other with the same idea, and within two minutes Alexandra was asking them if, by chance, they wanted to accompany us to the retirement home. And for whatever reason, they said yes. They were all young, my age more or less, and they came to Quito from Bogotá to play in bars here and try to make money with the stronger dollar. We went to the retirement home, played some songs that we all sort of knew – Hotel California, La Bamba and others. We were all laughing at ourselves, trying to dance, trying to make everyone laugh and having a good time. We ended the visit by helping serve lunch, and we left them with a serenade. Everybody had a really good time, and I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if our band friends hadn’t been there.

What else happened that was fun? My friend Arvin was in town, and we went to a dance class. Neither one of us knew anything about Salsa, so I was comfortable making a fool out of myself. And that is exactly what I did. Then we went out with a big group of people and ended up staying out until sunrise because Arvin had a really early flight in the morning. It is probably the only time I will do that while I’m here.

Since then, I’ve had a stroke or two of bad luck. Two friends were going to come but ended up not being able to, one because of a hurricane in Mexico and the other because of classes. Then, unfortunately, I got robbed one night leaving work. I was waiting for less than five minutes for a cab, and some came behind me, grabbed my purse, pulled me to the ground and went off on a motorcycle. I didn’t get hurt, and I didn’t loose my passport or anything – just a lot of cash, ipod shuffle, sunglasses and debit card. But it could have been much worse, and I’m trying to get back to not feeling terrified about being out at night. Then I realized that I totally messed up my visa, and I have to pay a lot of money… but again, it’s better than it could be, and I’ll get it taken care of. I’m going to start teaching English classes to make some extra cash.

So for now, I’m just working and hanging out. Work has kept me pretty busy, and I think the next two months are going to go by quickly. I’m planning a trip to the beach soon, and we’re getting another trip together for Colombia. So we will see how it all works out…

Quito Week Something

A few interesting things from the past week.

One, I have had some good food in Quito outside of the house recently. I had some major cravings for Indian food, so I went out one night with a girl who is studying here. We went to a restaurant where the waiters definitely knew more Indian English than Spanish. I got some delicious samosas, and I was very contented. I got some vindalu as well, and I left feeling very full and very happy.

Later in the week, I finally got some of the shawarma that is all over the city, always tempting me. We were all sitting around talking about how good it is one night, and bam we were in the car and headed to a restaurant. And the shawarma was declicious. I think I finished mine in under five minutes, and I had to restrain myself from licking the plate.

So to change the topic completely, the other interesting thing that happened to me this weekend had nothing whatsoever to do with food. I got a call from a girl who sounded super-sedated during the week, and she explained that she was a friend of my professor and wanted to invite me to a concert on Sunday. Super chevere, I’d love to go.

So on Sunday, I met up with Magali at the mall, and we headed to the concert. Which was in a religious worship center. I immediately thought, what have I gotten myself into? Yep, I was invited to a Christian rap concert. Oh, how funny. Complete with singers in pants entirely too large for them, backwards baseball hats with tags still on and oversized crosses hung on big, gold chains. There was also a dance troop of girls suited in black tank tops and camouflage fatigues. No instruments… just rapping about Jesus Cristo. Magali was dancing… almost everyone was dancing. I was not dancing. I was looking around, amazed, wondering how to get out before the end. I did escape, simply by saying that I had to be somewhere… and I got away from the raised hands and stopping feet as soon as I could.

The other fun stuff for the week had nothing to do with God, thank goodness. On Thursday I went to see Max’s defense of his undergraduate thesis. Every undergraduate has to defend a thesis in order to graduate, and from everything I’ve seen it is an intense process. It was at 5 o’clock in the afternoon, and Max was super nervous. He studied business management, so he and his co-defender (you can work in pairs) presented a business model for an internet flower business. For the most part, I understood the conversation. Sometimes there were jokes among the three stodgy professors and the two students, and other times there were admonishments and berating. It was an intense hour and a half, with Max reaching for his water often. Max’s family and his co-defenders family were there, and there were times when Max’s mom or dad would try to speak up in protest when the professors were being excessively combative. Max had to look over a few times and shake his head at them. In the end, after the grilling and fumbling and talking ended, the professors granted the students their diplomas. There was a capping and gowning ceremony complete with an oath for each student at the end, and after the official end we toasted with champaign and snacked on appetizers. For someone who didn’t even go to her college graduation, this was quite a big deal. Not everyone is the same way – Rudolf Jr. defended his thesis in the same week, and he didn’t want anyone as an audience, and he said the only thing he wanted was to be finished. But I was glad I got to see a pretty typical ceremony.

Later in the week, I got together with Rudolf and his friends to play a fierce game of Texas Hold ‘Em, a game that I learned to play here. We antied $2 each, and I was in the game for about three hours. Then I got bored and sold my chips to Fabian, who had already lost $3 worth of chips. But there was a lot of swearing, drinking of whiskey and cigarettes came out for nerves. I enjoyed myself, especially when I came out of nowhere with a full house or flush… but betting games wear on me after a while. It takes too long to get to the end…

So that was my week. Next week, Neil comes… and we’re going to do a lot of Quito exploring before heading down south to Banos, Riobamba and Cuenca. I’ve posted some pictures, so check out www.picasaweb.google.com/winnab .

Quito Week Something

So, Quito is moving and shaking these days. Classes are going quickly but well. In a week, I’ve learned about four different verb tenses, and I have no idea how to use any of them… but I’m learning.

However, the most eventful stuff that has happened to me recently didn’t happen in Quito. I had talked to Ana about shopping and my complete lack of clothing, and she said that the best shopping is in Colombia. So, what started as a conversation one night on one of our walks turned into a weekend trip that involved me crossing the border without papers and with the utmost hope that the kind Colombian officials would not detain me. Or better yet, that the guerrilla wouldn’t get me and ask for ransom…

My worries were unfounded. Nothing but good stuff happened, and we had a great time. Unfortunately, Rudolf Sr. couldn’t go, and he was missed. But upon return, I assured him that he picked up a few kilos for him, and he kidded that he was fine at the moment but would let me know when he needed more.

So the four of us – Ana, Rudolf, Jose Luis and I – left Friday afternoon and set off for the drive north. All-in-all it was not a bad drive. The main roads throughout the sierra in Ecuador and Colombia are mostly two lanes and curvy, so I did feel periodically like it was going to wretch all of the car. But the feeling was minor, and it passed pretty quickly. We were on the road in Colombia with mostly trucks, so passing the vehicle in front of us was always an adventure, and Rudolf and Jose would yell “déle déle déle!” to indicate to Ana to get the hell up the road, and when we made it there was communal sigh of relief. Anyway, after 7 hours of passing and stopping and turning, we made it to Pasto for the weekend.

Pasto is the closest big city to the border between Ecuador and Colombia, and Ana’s sister and family live there. So we got in late Friday night, gave our salutations, and I passed out. I knew I was ready for sleep when, at one point in the car, I woke up from half sleep and couldn’t remember where I was or who I was with. So Friday night I slept well and readjusted, which prepared me for a day of shopping and eating on Saturday.

Starting in the morning, we headed out to a street full of discount shops. Every shop had a large speaker system and an employee devoted exclusively to yelling sales and enticing people to come inside. And most of the stores had the same stuff. So after little luck, we left the noisiness of the street and headed to a huge Sam’s-Club like store full of everything – kitchen appliances, food, office supplies and clothes. I found some fun, very 80s shirts, and some desperately-needed jeans… and I felt like a millionaire paying with a ton of pesos. Afterwards, we headed back to the house for lunch. Lots of tasty, roasted chicken with boiled potatoes and these compact rice cakes that we ate with spicy aji.

To help with digestion, I made Rudolf go to the park outside the house, and we spent the better part of an hour swinging, climbing monkey bars and see-sawing. It was pretty great, but everyone was afraid that I was going to do exactly the same thing I did in the MegaMaxi – fall and crack some part of my body open. The closest I came was going down a slide that was designed poorly – very narrow and steep with a base that didn’t connect well with the rest – so I landed hard on my tale bone, but there wasn’t much damage.

After the swings, we headed to the street of shoes. I really wanted to find something, but I didn’t have any luck. We looked in probably fifteen stores, but I wasn’t seeing anything that grabbed me. So shopping time ended and eating time began. We went by a restaurant and picked up arepas, which are corn patties that were fried with a fried egg sandwiched inside. Um, delicious.

There was no fear of going hungry because within two hours of eating the arepas, I was called for another meal. I had my first taste of cuy, which is a pretty typical dish in both Ecuador and Colombia. That’s right, I had rotisserie guinea pig… and I liked it. I didn’t take a piece with the head or the feet, though I was certainly offered. I opted for the midsection, which had more meat and fewer bones. It was a little bit richer than chicken, and tasty. We had it with more potatoes and popcorn. I polished off the meal with some great now-and-later-esque gummy candies and apple-flavored chocolate that I had bought in one of the mega stores we visited during the day. I was so freaking full by the end of the day that my jeans didn’t really fit.

Ana’s family was great. We watched some game shows and chatted, and there was a lot of laughing. Ana’s sister and niece are hilarious, and there was a granddaughter and a very old Scottish terrier around who were endless sources of amusement. We made a lot of jokes, and I was happy to catch the gist of things some of the time.

We left early on Sunday and made a stop in Ipiales, which is the border town. Ana’s mom lives there, so we stopped by for lunch. She was a delightful old lady who kept trying to give us soup, and though I couldn’t really talk to her I felt very warm toward her. Her house is super old… it’s not free-standing, but it’s huge. All of the rooms on both floors open into an open courtyard, and everything has an aged look. The house used to be a hotel, and there are a lot of very creepy stories of ghosts coming through the house to haunt or visit. I wouldn’t survive a night there. You have to go out back to go to the bathroom… I wouldn’t sleep and I certainly wouldn’t leave the room to pee. To my relief, we left Ipiales before sunset, and the trip back to Quito had fewer trucks and, consequently, fewer inexplicable stops. We stopped for ice cream at one point and Cayambe bizcochos. When we finally got back to Quito, Ana asked every what they wanted to eat… the only person who didn’t wretch at the idea was Rudolf Sr., who had to fend for himself for the weekend. The rest of us had to wait till the morning to even think about eating anything else.

So yeah, I liked Colombia.

Quito Week Something

So things have been busy in Quito. My weekday schedule has completely changed. A group of 16 students from Ohio State arrived last week, and I’m now taking class with 6 Ohioans. Some of them can’t speak really at all, and some of them will be great practice to talk with. They’re a good group, but it’s strange to be part of a group that is virtually all undergrad and all with the same program. Classes for me are now four hours, and during our break I’m downstairs helping Christian in the café. I serve cinnamon rolls to my fellow classmates before heading back to class with them.

But before they got here was father’s day weekend. I went out for the first time since I got here – sad, I know – on Saturday night. Jose Luis and I met up with an acquaintance of Jonah, and we talked about movies, politics and traveling over some beers. I went out in the neighborhood known as the Mariscal, which is apparently where I will be living before too long. My school is also in the Mariscal, but I am rarely out there past dark. So going out gave me a chance to find out what my soon-to-be hood will be like at night. And lord, it is going to be hard to sleep. It’s an area littered with bars and clubs, and people are always hanging out in the street in groups. It’s crowded inside and outside. Especially now, because this is the high season for Quito, things in that neighborhood are constantly moving.

But we didn’t stay out too late on Saturday on account of the fact that I had to work Sunday morning. So I went to work Sunday Brunch at the café, which was a delightful four hours of washing dishes. But then when I got home, there was a group waiting. I walked in, and down in the dining room was my family with five people I had never met before. They all chorused “hola”s to me, and I felt my cheeks turn red at the thought of having to speak Spanish to all of them. The guests were a family that used to neighbors with my family, and they had come over for a Father’s Day dinner. It was pretty great because within the hour someone suggested cards, and I was super excited. We played a game sort of like Phase 10 but without all of the rules and with betting. It was a great game. Then we tried to play Cuarenta (40), which I didn’t understand at all. Then we played Spoons, Kemps and Assassin, all games I already knew from the States. We were all amazed that the games existed identically in both countries. After many hours of cards and then some really fantastic sweet empanadas, we talked about haunted houses and bowling, then they left. It was a fabulous Sunday afternoon.

With the arrival of the new students, the week flew by. One night, Ana had a hankering for pesto… so we got all of the ingredients that are available here (no pinenuts, very unfortunately) and made the pesto. And then we made the pasta as well… it was great! Ana has taken a lot of cooking classes, so she had a pasta maker. We made some great angel hair.

Later in the week, I went by a school for kids without homes to see about volunteering, so I’ll be starting that soon. I didn’t do anything for design because I never had time, and the days just flew. Thursday was Rudolf’s birthday, and he had friends come over. They played a version of Ecuadorian poker and I watched, and eventually I started playing a one-on-one game of Speed with Jose and then Max. I only lost one game, so I think my marathon games with Ben Eckerson during middle school paid off. To end the night, we had some delicious pizza and homemade marble cake with fresh strawberries.

Friday night I went out to meet up with the students. I went with Jose Luis and Diana, a Colombian friend of the family who is here visiting her mom during her summer break from the university. Unfortunately, we were hanging out with mostly gringos – who had been drinking since 6 p.m. no less – so there was a lot of English. Jose liked the challenge, but Diana was lost. I definitely empathized with her because her facial expression matched the way I feel a lot of the time here – trying to so hard to follow the conversation and figure out what the hell is going on without wanting to seem bored or frustrated. But it was a good night. The students were a little out of it… for most of them, I think the mix of the altitude and being able to drink freely underage with a receipt for getting drunk before sunset. But I got to talk to most of them outside of class, which was good.

Saturday I didn’t do much. As usual, my parents here left for the day to go to a nearby town for their business. The boys and I, along with Max, went to a local mall to eat lunch. Food courts here are different than in the states. You can get things like McDonald’s, Pizza Hut and Baskin Robins… but they also have places that sell full, restaurant-style meals. We went to a grill, and Max and I ordered a grill plate for two… it had two pieces of beef, two pieces of two different kinds of chicken, various sausages (including blood sausage), salad, beans, French fries and a mousse for dessert. It was quite a spread, and it’s typical to have restaurants like that in food courts.

I ended up going to bed early on Saturday night after starting a new book. On Sunday, we went on an excursion. We headed to Ibarra, a town to the North that is past Otavalo, and I once again enjoyed the outside-of-Quito views. We drove around the town and stopped for ice cream that is made a special way here, with ice and fresh fruits and ingredients. I got blackberry and vanilla, and it was delicious. Afterwards, we headed back toward Quito and stopped for lunch at my second grill of the weekend. This time I got a huge piece of meat with a mountain of potato wedges and salad. It was delicious, and it came with a tomato and guacamole salsa that was very tasty. On the way back, Rudolf senior asked me about Native American groups in the US, and I felt wholly unqualified to answer the questions. Then we started talking about social problems in each country, and how much of a problem corruption is here, and we talked about the educational systems and life in general. It was a good conversation, but it was quite tiring because it involved a lot of Spanish that I had no idea how to use, and a lot of tenses that I didn’t know. But I got through, even with a few jokes, and I only had a small headache by the end. Oh, the woes of learning a new language.

Anyway, this week promises to be as packed. Ana’s birthday is this week, I’m supposed to start volunteering, class isn’t going to get any shorter, and I’m supposed to actually do some design work. And I really want to read the book I’ve started… J

I’ll update on how it goes. Also, I have a few pictures, and I will post them when I have chance...

Quito Week 4

Oh, Quito. Oh, Ecuador. Sometimes I am in love with you, and sometimes I just want you to go the hell away. This past week, I loved you. Today, on this semi-dreary Monday afternoon, I am not loving you as much. I keep messing up stupid stuff with my Spanish, and today was especially bad.

However, no matter. I will talk about last week and this past weekend. They were both fun and funny. First: last week. I have a great, completely and typically Winna, story. I went to the grocery story last Thursday with Ana, Rudolf and Jose Luis. We were going to recharge our phones because it was triple Thursday, and the recharge was a super good deal. I am set up for life.

Anyway, I was screwing around with Rudolf, waiting for Ana to finish depositing a check. Because in this monstrosity we call a grocery story, there is a mini-bank, pharmacy, bookstore, clothing store and lots of groceries. So we waited at the front, and I was on the end of a row of about 42 checkout aisles. We were joking around, and I started swinging between two aisles. I had my hands planted on the edges of two of the checkout counters, and I was swinging forward and backward with my feet off the ground. I started going faster, talking while I was swinging, and I knew the moment that I went too far. I went forward and felt my hand slip. I went back, and my whole body flew backwards. Bam. Right on the floor, landing directly on top of my head. Rudolf was next to me, and after yelping in fright that I had died, he helped pull me up. Ana looked back from the aisle – along with everyone at the bank desk – to find out what had happened. Jose Luis was reading a magazine, and when he found out what happened, he was pissed he didn’t see it. Oh. My. God. So embarrassing. For some reason, at 6 p.m. all of the aisles weren’t full… but I’m pretty sure the first 21 aisles noticed my fall. Anyway, I was laughing a lot, despite immense pain in my head, and we started the shopping trip. Lord, Mary and Joseph. Later during the trip, Rudolf said I should have popped back up and said, “It’s okay! I found it!” and Jose Luis said I should have said, “People, don’t worry. The floor is fine over here.” They’re a creative bunch, but I was way too disoriented to say anything. Next time, as I’m sure there will be…

Fast forward to Saturday because Friday was a lot of studying and working. I decided to go to Otavalo with two of my friend Suzi’s cousins from Ireland, and apparently a friend from the states. We made a plan to meet at the terminal at 7:30, and I was there with my bag and ready to go. After almost an hour and a half, I decided to leave without them. I found out yesterday, long after the trip, that they had also waited for a while before heading out, and we all spent the day in the same small town without meeting up. No matter.

On the way to Otavalo, which is a town known for its handcrafts market, I got to talking to a girl next to me named Alejandra. We talked about all sorts of things, from bellybutton rings to differences between Latin American and North American teenage mentality. It was pretty cool to be able to at least hold the conversation in Spanish, even if it was riddled with mistakes. Her parents live in San Pablo del Lago, near Otavalo, and she goes home on the weekends. She studies in Quito and lives with her older brother, who is also studying, during the week. As she got closer to her stop, she invited me to her house for the night. I ended up refusing, mostly because I didn’t know her really at all, but we have made promises to meet up in Quito soon, and perhaps I’ll get to return to Otavalo to see her house and family.

Then I got to Otavalo. It’s a very small town, and most of the people there are indigenous. There is a sizable market with hand-made clothes, jewelry, toys, shoes and just about anything else you can think of. There are also all sorts of fresh fruits and vegetables, and there are lots of stalls lining the market selling local lunches with meats, potatoes and all kinds of fresh vegetables. I passed about 10 fried pigs that had been picked apart for lunch, and all of the market vendors were enjoying their mid-day meals at their respective spots. I ended up getting some street snacks – a little bag of chilenos, which are balls of fried dough covered in sugar. They were, without doubt, a delicious lunch. I ate as I shopped, and it did not take long for me to finish. Afterwards, I found a place that had some good blackberry juice, and I was all set. The weather was beautiful, and I spent most of the afternoon walking around outside more to get sun than to buy things. It was really nice being in small town where I could walk on the street without worrying too much about getting run over or harassed by someone.

Nice as it was though, I decided against staying the night. I got on a bus in the afternoon to head back, and that was another adventure. I spent the first half of the trip watching Mr. Deeds in Spanish. I was sitting in the front row next to a little kid who was very perplexed with my text messaging, and we passed the time just fine. Along the road we picked up passengers, and one point the bus started to fill… so we were joined by a young woman who sat in an extra seat that folded down just below the TV. It was great, and we were fine… until our new friend looked like she might be sick. Then thirty seconds later, she was sick. And then a minute later, she was sick again. All over her pants, shirt, my shoes, the floor and my bag. Awesome. I thought fast and grabbed some Kleenex, and I tried my hardest to keep myself from gagging. Then the little kid next to me start gagging and pushing his lips together… so I threw up the windows and got out my gum for my two new sick friends. Oyoy. After some fresh air and a lot of cleaning from the bus attendant, things seemed okay. But I mean, really, vomiting on me? After a while, I moved toward the door to get off, and she moved with me. In the politest way possible, I tried to make her go ahead of me… I wasn’t going to be able to handle a repeat. Eventually she got off, and the rest of the trip passed without event. But I just couldn’t believe my luck.

So that was Saturday. I got back, and I was totally ready to go out on the town. But, by about 9:30, I was sitting in bed – dressed and ready to go – and I fell asleep. It turned out to be a good thing, though, because Sunday was a whirlwind.

Ana’s nephew was in town for the weekend with three of his friends. They’re Colombian, and they wanted to know Quito. So with two cars, we headed out to see the city. We went the city museum for an exhibit on Miró, which was fabulous. It had some of his plans, paintings, and drawings – and it ended with a great interactive part that included drawing items that you could only feel without seeing, creating a landscape of Quito with only the essence and creating a huge watercolor that disappeared because you only painted with water. It was pretty neat, and my companions did a pretty good job of helping me understand what was happening in the different rooms.

After that, we went to see the Virgin de Quito. It’s a huge statue of a virgin, apparently the only one that has wings in the world, overlooking the city, and you can climb into the virgin to see nice views of the city. It’s built out a light aluminum, and it’s not altogether attractive. But it gave a good perspective of the city.

After that, we went to the Teleférico. It’s a huge gondola that carries you from city level to way up high where the air in thin and the city looks tiny. We climbed along a dirt path to see a beautiful panorama, and it was totally worth feeling a little like I was going to die. Rudolf and I walked together, and he joked, “With this librarian physique I am surely going to die soon…” I would have laughed more, but I didn’t have a lot of air coming in.

Then we went about 45 minutes away to the Mitad del Mundo, or middle of the world. We stood on the equator, and the nephew and his friends took a ton of photos. In each direction, they took at least 10 pictures.

And then, after going to the center of the Earth, we went home. It was almost 8 p.m. by the time we got home, and we were tired. We spent the day listening to lots of different kinds of music in the trips to all of our sites, and we all had fun speaking ‘hood’ throughout the day. They like to use the phrase, “whatchu doin fool?” and things of the like, so it was quite an amusing day.

Anyway, it was a good weekend. This week is probably going to go quickly – I am supposed to meet up with the Irish for a night out, and I’m supposed to try out a drawing class. I’ll write more again soon…

Quito Week 3

A funny conservation this week started with one of my nightly juices. With dinner, I get something fruity that Ana always asks if I like. And typically, I do. The only time I haven’t been the biggest fan is when tomato and orange were mixed – I’m just not a V8 fan, and no matter how much I try, tomatoes belong on sandwiches and not in drinks.

So anyway, the night this conversation happened I was drinking something pretty sweet, and I was enjoying it. After affirming that I liked it, Ana explained that it was Quaker oats mixed with a sweet fruit naranjilla. Except that she didn’t say “Qway-ker” – she said “Qua-ker” sort of like it looks like it should be said. After a few times repeating it and explaining to me that everyone in the US drinks this stuff, I finally realized she was talking about the brand Quaker. Apparently if I go to a restaurant, I can ask for Quaker, and I will get this delicious drink with any number of combinations. Maybe Quaker with pineapple, maybe with rice, maybe with naranjilla, or maybe with something else all together.

So then we started talking about how English words have crept into Spanish vocabulary. If you want a razor somewhere, don’t say the Spanish word. Say “give me a Gillette”. If you want toothpaste, it’s “give me a Colgate”. If you a person in charge of watching a construction site, then you say “Estoy trabajando en Watchiman”. If you are waiting impatiently for something for someone, then you say “Estoy awaitando” as an alternative to the Spanish verb for “to wait”, esperar.

This was interesting enough, but what was more interesting was when we started talking about names, and how English is all over the place in strange ways with Spanish names. For instance, the family I am living with right now is the Estrella family. Let me just share with you some of the names that I may see here in front of a Spanish last name, using Estrella as an example:

Gorgewashington Estrella
Jefferson Estrella
Burgerking Estrella
Steveaustin Estrella
Deliciouspilsner Estrella
Statueofliberty Estrella
Dosporuno Estrella (Funny because some kid got stuck with a final soccer score as a first name)

They also have tons of Kevins, Daniels, Jonathans and Stefanies now. A lot of times, this person with a very typical English first name will have a very indigenous, very long last name.

Though the don’t have Starbucks here, the infiltration of my homeland is alive and kicking.

Quito Week 2

As I’ve just lamented with a few people, it has been crazy here to try to figure out a system for my days. My times is sectioned off with class, studying, designing, working in the café, talking and hanging out with my family, trying to find some way to volunteer and trying to find people who will speak Spanish with me. Recently I’ve felt like I’m doing a million things, and I’m not really doing any of them well.

Now, that’s not to say I’m not having a good time. I am enjoying myself.

My first weekend in Quito I talked to friends for hours and made homemade pizza. I admitted that I was an atheist to a surprisingly agnostic crowd, and tried to show in a small way that not all Americans are completely clueless about what America is doing in the world.

Last week, I went to a midnight premier of Pirates of the Caribbean 3 with Jose Luis and his friends Max and Abel. At 4:30 a.m., when I finally got to sleep, my head was full of new Spanish words from the clever Jack Sparrow that I read on subtitles. I was recuperating for two days, but it was worth it.

This weekend I was in a park, looking at beautiful views of the city, when the sky opened up and poured buckets of rain and hail. I ran through a field and a forest to get back to the house. We started walking back down to the house, but when the lightening seemed right next to us, we broke out in a run. High knees through fields and dodging back and forth on roots and rocks in bed of the woods. Soaking wet, we traversed the highway to get back to the house, and made it just inside before the hard, big pieces of hail started to fall.

I’ve eaten well. Every weekend, my host mom Ana makes a new dessert. Last weekend it was a tart custard layered with sweet cookies. This weekend it was a tasty peace pie with delicious fruit slices masterfully positioned in a circle on top. Needless to say, I am looking forward to Sundays.

That’s all for this week. I’ll try to keep the updates coming…

Quito Week 1

Now, I am in Quito and life is very different than it was three weeks ago.

• I am in a house with four other people – Ana, Rudalfo Sr. and Jr., and Jose Luis.
• I am in class two hours a day, and I am studying for at least two more than that.
• I eat three square meals per day – a mix of fresh fruit with freshly-squeazed orange juice for breakfast, something from the café for lunch, and fun Ecuadorian dishes for dinner. They normally eat a big meal at lunch, but since I’m at school I get to eat a big meal at night when they’re eating bread and tea.
• My daily commute is $.50, 20 minutes long and involves a bus that is 98% of the time jammed packed with people. I have had to squeeze over and under people often to get out at the correct stop.
• I live in a place where most days I wear long sleeves, jeans and a jacket when I leave the house, and maybe I’m not wearing the jacket when I get home, but usually I am. I sleep under two blankets, and that is enough to keep me pretty warm but nowhere near hot.
• I routinely sit at the table for over an hour conversing with my family and friends, and the longest stretch has been more than six hours on a Friday night. We talked about politics and religion… light topics for icebreaker activities.
• Besides my school, house and a few shops and malls, I haven’t seen anything Quito has to offer. I am studying, working in the café connected to my school and working on design projects for the school. Not to mention trying to recreate my entire portfolio, which got completely ruined when my harddrive crashed a few months ago. This weekend is a holiday weekend, let’s hope I get out some.
• I find it a struggle these days to ask for something or figure out how to get where I need to be without sounding like a complete moron. Understanding Spanish isn’t too bad for day-to-day stuff, but speaking it is an entirely different beast. My pronunciation isn’t horrible, but formulating ideas has been a daily brain drain. My family speaks English, what I say is 10% Spanish and 90% English because I know I sound like an idiot and they know my language so much better.

Anyway, in general life is great. I'm off to finish my first project and get some homework done. This weekend I'm gonna go out and see this city!

Turkey

First things first:

Turkey was great! I am sad that I didn’t get a chance to update while I was there, but I will hit on some highlights.

After a 13-hour overnight bus ride from Georgia, I arrived in Trabzon, which is in the Northeast corner of Turkey. Like in Georgia, it was cold. Also like in Georgia, I didn’t know what the hell was happening half the time. But, my friend Kristy – after much delay thanks to strange Turkish domestic flight policies (i.e. the ability to cancel flights without notice) – met me, and we began our adventure.

In Trabzon we walked uphill to the Sumela Monastary in the snow, went to the Black Sea shore and we found some of the best baklava in Turkey. Then we took an overnight bus to Ankara and saw nothing but the bus station. Really great experience with the capital of the country, but even our Turkish friends – even the ones who are from Ankara – said there was nothing there worth seeing. So within three hours, we were off for another 6-hour ride to Capadoccia.

Capadoccia, and our town Göreme, were amazing, amazing places. It’s a region formed all by volcanoes, and the shapes in the land are wonderful. We went to an underground city where marginalized groups would hide out during wars, we walked through a valley and saw cave houses, we saw the sunrise in a hot air balloon, we rented scooters for an afternoon and rode around town in style, and Kristy went to an underwhelming UFO museum. We ate goat’s milk ice cream (awesome) and had our first great pita pizza. Oh, and we slept in a cave hotel.

After Cappadoccia, we headed to the east coast. We went to Selçuk and the Agean Sea. We saw Ephesus, which is an area with some pretty old and surprisingly well-maintained ruins. We had our first meal with hummus. Surprisingly (at least to us) it’s not a big dish in Turkey… they much prefer meat to vegetarian fare. We went to a nearby town for some outdoor shopping, and we left with helva, borek, cheese bread with spinach, honey, and some fruit. I’m pretty sure Kristy still has helva left over. We went to the beach for half a day, and an old man who was working on the beach area gave us a ride up a long hill to the main road to catch a bus, and though we didn’t speak a similar language, we were able to figure out some basic stuff about each other (families, home towns, phone numbers… the essentials).

After Selçuk we headed north on another overnight bus to Bursa, which is a big, non-touristy city below Istanbul on the Sea of Marmara. We went to a Turkish bath, which was amazing and wonderful. It was an all-female Turkish bath with a lot of old ladies gesturing about what we should do. I didn’t know what was happening most of the time, but I went with it and it felt great after our overnight bus ride. I found a great new backpack for cheap. We went to a beautiful mosque and tried to go to a tomb, but it was being renovated. We went to an amusement park near Ataturk’s house and played some air hockey, and I kind of ruled Kristy.

Then it was up again in the morning to go to Istanbul. We took a bus to the bus station, another bus to a ferry, and then we were supposed to go straight to the European side of the city. But alas, the ferry was full. So we went to the Asian side and befriended some people from Bursa, and that’s when I figured out that I had left my phone in Bursa at the hotel. Awesome. So after the first ferry, we got another ferry across the straight and then a taxi to the most touristy part of Turkey we’d seen yet – the Sultanahmet district of Istanbul. I mean, it was like frat row – kegs out at noon, hookahs everywhere, crazy Australians without shirts or shoes on, people sleeping on roofs. Party 24/7, and of course Kristy and I were in no mood. So we would leave the oversized frat house each day (after much rousing to get our breakfast from the guy who managed the hostel, who was usually asleep on the roof where we were supposed to eat) to go out and see the city. And see the city we did. We went to Taxim the day of the protests and thought it was a soccer game. We went to the big 3 near our place – Aya Sofia, Blue Mosque and Basilica Scisterna. We went twice to the Grand Bazaar where we both got overwhelmed with its sheer size. We went to the Spice Bazaar where we ate fresh honeycomb and sampled far too many Turkish Delights. We saw the Süleymaniye Mosque and went to a fish market. It was pretty neat.

A short story that I like: Our first day at the Grand Bazaar I decided I wanted a purse, and after not finding one that I like a guy from one of the stalls started telling me about how they can make one for me. The perfect one. So after much joshing back and forth, with me gesturing exactly what I want and them saying of course they could do it (with me thinking it would not actually happen), they said “come on.” So we went with the tailor out of the Bazaar up about four flights of rickety stairs to a small room full of fabric and a single old sewing machine. Another guy was working, and my tailor friend told him to move because he was going to make me a purse. Neither of the men knew any English, so conversation was interesting. After about an hour with me watching and them laughing, my bag was made. I chose a patchwork pashmina for the fabric, and I was super excited about the results. I mean, talk about fare trade. We were leaving after I got the bag, and a lady in one of the stalls did a double take and said, “Oh, I like your bag. Pashmina? Cool!” Kristy said that nothing could have made me happier at that moment than that compliment, and she was so right.

Ok, so. I would say, if you’re going to Turkey, don’t just go to Istanbul. Of course, if you can, go to Trabazon. Learn a little Turkish, it’s a fun language. The word for raspberry is ahududu, how much better can it be than that? I had a really great time, and we were already concocting plans while we were there about how to move back….

Georgia

Like everywhere I’ve visited, it took me a little bit of time to adjust to Georgia. From when I left Delhi, it was almost 24 hours before I got to a bed in Georgia. There was lots of time in between on planes without sleep, and in the Istanbul airport without money, food or sleep. Note: if you travel around the world, always have some American money in your carry-on. I was smart enough to have some, but not smart enough not to pull it out of my duffel before I checked it for my long flight.

I arrived in Tbilisi, Georgia’s capitol city, at 2:30 in the morning. I was pleasantly surprised that Qatar Airways followed through with their assurances, and my bag that had been checked for three flights and on two different airlines reached Tbilisi the same time I did. So I met up with Nicholas and his friend Ryan, who were patiently waiting for me at the exit, and off we went. Nicholas has been in Georgia for nine months now, and he is full of practicality and pride for his new home. We rode through the streets at 3:15 a.m., and he pointed out the freshly-cleaned streets and the packs of wild dogs that would tear us alive if we got out of the car. Welcome. We got to the nika, a guesthouse that often serves as the weekend home for Peace Corps Volunteers in Georgia, and passed out within the hour. But not for long. Neither of us could sleep, so after about four hours we were up and heading out again.

We took care of uninteresting things for a bit, then we headed to my first marshutka, which I learned is a minivan used in most post-Soviet country as a way to get a lot of people from one space to another without taking up a lot of space. There were nine or ten of us crammed inside the van, and for my first experience we chose poorly. The marshutka had a slow start and had to stop about every twenty minutes to fix something in the engine or dump water in as a coolant. But we finally made it to Telavi, a town two hours northeast of Tbilisi. We stayed with Nicholas’ friend Ariana and her host family for the weekend, and I got my first taste of fairly well-off Georgian life.

Georgians have a few traditions that I learned immediately. The first was drinking wine and toasting. This country was the pioneer of wine, and they drink it at all festivities. We were Ariana’s guests, so her host mom had food on the table quickly. We sat to eat some dishes that I would be seeing a lot during my stay. With the food came a bit of wine, and I had my first toasting experience. They don’t drink unless someone toasts, and I was thirsty. So after the first toast, I drink a few sips. Nicholas and Ariana didn’t notice, but Ariana’s host mom did. So she politely said, “let’s have another toast” and looked at my glass. Ariana and Nicholas quickly explained the protocol, and I never again took sip out of turn.

Not only are you not supposed to drink out of turn, if you make the toasts you need to follow a good bit of structure. The toasts talk about God, family, ancestors, parents, kids, women, men, friendship, peace, the reason for the party (or supra in Georgian), and some other pretty major ideas. At a supra, there are toasters and there are pour-ers. There may be a toastmaster who does all the toasts, or it may go round-robin with everyone participating. After everyone drinks following a toast, pour-ers are supposed to keep an eye on people’s glasses to refill as necessary. Men are pressured to drink a lot, women are pressured symbolically but are supposed to drink lightly. At most supras I attended, the men participated in all of the drinking and drank heavily; women paid attention to the kids and the food and drank when they could. Sometimes men giving a toast would ask other men to stand up as they toasted, but women were always supposed to stay seated.

My first toasting experience was at a snack-time meal, with only about eight dishes. Bread, pickled sprouts, cabbage stuffed with meat and rice, beets and some chicken. It was a small meal with a bit of wine. But full-out supras are where it’s at. At a supra, there is a huge spread in honor of an occasion, a holiday or a person. I came during their most important holiday time, and I was a guest from America. So we did some supra-ing.

We spent Easter Sunday with Ariana’s family in their village. We hiked up to the church and met up with many families who had the same idea. Cars, trucks, carts, horses, mules and people were milling about everywhere. A man was using a tree trunk beside the church as a slaughter block to kill the chickens for the feasts. Nearby, a group of men were working together to carve up a lamb that was hanging from a tree. And beside the church, a pile of dead lamb lay slaughtered as sacrifice. Happy Easter. Or, as you say in Georgian, “Christ has risen.” (response) “He has risen, indeed.”

Before eating, we walked around the church twice, went inside the to light a candle at the entrance and the interior, some of us made a short prayer, then we finished with a last circle around the church… as is the Orthodox tradition. Then we ate. Barbequed meats, potatoes, cheese bread and more wine. We promenaded around the church and watched the festivities. Teenagers were hanging out, flirting and eyeing each other. Little kids were playing with toy guns and gnawing off meat bones. At one point, we walked back to the church for more pictures. We three Americans got stopped by a family of Georgians who were very curious. There was a young girl who fancied Nicholas, or fancied a ticket to America. They formed a group for us to take a picture of them. They asked us to be in pictures with them. At one point, Natia (Nicholas’ new girlfriend) got in a picture with the three of us. Nicholas put his arm around Natia and said under his breath, “I’m just trying to be a gentleman”. Natia heard and understood, and she responded happily, “And you are…”. With her father’s urging, she boldly asked for Nicholas’ number. Within a day he had been texted. A few days later, he got a poem about life and her affections and questions about why he hadn’t responded to her first attempt. Nicholas said he wanted to have fun with it, but I don’t know if anything ever developed.

The other two nights in Telavi we supra-ed with a Georgian friend named Nick that all the volunteers loved. Nick voluntarily attended an English meeting at some point, and everyone immediately recognized how eager he was to befriend Americans who spoke a lot of English and wanted to make positive change in Georgia. He continues to practice English with the volunteers, but he has become more involved. This summer, he’s going to be a camp counselor with a boys’ leadership camp that Nicholas is helping organize.

The first night a group of ten of us met at Ariana’s school director’s sister’s restaurant to feast. I had my first taste of kenkali, which are dumplings twisted at the top and stuffed with ground beef or potatoes or cheese. It’s a dish that is easy to find in restaurants but rare at home. Georgians like to eat a lot, so to show their record they eat everything but the top of the dumpling and count the total number of tops at the end of the night as a competition. I ate the tops and don’t think I did that well anyway, but I enjoyed the dumplings a lot. The second supra night, which happened the night after our Easter hilltop celebration, was much of the same with beer instead of wine.

Telavi was my first experience with cold Georgian weather, but Nicholas and Ariana were happy that it had finally warmed up. They finally didn’t have to wear thermal underwear all of the time. Coming from the 90+° heat of India, though, I was wearing four shirts every day, and I was still cold all over. At night we used thick wool blankets, and I still woke up from the cold.

Nicholas and Ariana were telling me stories of a few months ago when it was much, much colder. Nicholas’ school didn’t have any heat, and the cement walls served as a refrigerator. Students stopped coming in December and only started to re-attend in April. It would rain and freeze and mud is everywhere. Many houses here don’t have heat. I really wouldn’t be able to handle Georgia. I don’t think I would be able to get out of bed for four of five months out of the year. I have the highest respect for these volunteers who got up during the week to teach in an icy room to students who either didn’t want to be there and acted like it or didn’t show up at all.

A few days into my stay, I started to get used to the change. We left Telavi and headed to Kareli, the town where Nicholas lives and works. Nicholas had anxiety about coming back home because I think I came at the most dramatic part of his stay.

Let me provide some background. As part of the Peace Corp program, all volunteers arrive to the country and live with host families for a total of nine months. They live for three months with a training host family, and they spend a minimum of six months with a family at their actual working site. After those nine months, they are allowed to move into an apartment if they are at a site where apartments are available.

Nicholas had a great training host family. They loved him, and in proper Georgian tradition they took great care of him as their honored guest. Then he moved to Kareli for his permanent post and moved in with a new family. In many ways, this new house defied the idea of a traditional Georgian family. While lots of people lived together in one big house – the kids, parents and grandparents – they host mom was divorced and clinically depressed. So from the beginning, there was some tension about Nicholas coming into the house. By the time I arrived, though, things were just bad. The week before I arrived (we had planned my visit two or three months out with approval from the host mother), the host mother went a little crazy. She came into Nicholas’ room the day before he left for Tbilisi to pick me up and explained that I could not stay at the house. To refuse a guest – especially the American volunteer’s American guest – is pretty much unheard of in these parts.

So Nicholas was baffled. He told Maria his situation, and she quickly arranged for us to stay with her and her host family when I arrived. In Tbilisi, Nicholas went to the main Peace Corps office to talk to the staff about the situation. A staff member called Nicholas’ host mom, and the host mom had a new announcement: Nicholas was no longer welcome in her home. What?! This is pretty much unheard of in Georgia, and when I finally arrived Nicholas was full of anxiety. Kareli is a significantly smaller town than Telavi, and finding apartments can be slow and unsuccessful. He told his teachers and Maria’s host family (this is a town where everyone knows everyone), and they all conceded that the situation was ridiculous, embarrassing as a reflection of Georgia, and all due to the depression of the mother.

So we stayed with Maria’s family, who is awesome. Maria lives on a compound of three houses, and the place is full of energy. There are usually between five and seven young people running around full of attitude, and the women were strong and full of life. The men, when we saw them, were full of good cheer and hospitality. The first day everyone cheered when we finally arrived – both Nicholas and Maria had spent the weekend away. There were hugs and hellos all around. They immediately said we could stay as long as we wanted, and they asked Nicholas if the crazy lady had come around at all. We took a grand tour to see the houses, the fresh garden, the dogs and puppies, the fields and the uncles in other rooms who had been sleeping off hangovers.

We were called back to the main house for supra, and my formal introduction to the house began. Five men – friends and relatives – Nicholas, Maria and I sat down to feast. Much of the same good food was brought out, and the toasting began immediately. The men got pretty well drunk pretty quickly, and Nicholas was no exception. They took a lot of toasts “to the death of the glass” where they finished the glass in one shot out of respect for the toast. At some point, linked-arm toasting began and it wasn’t long before Nicholas and I drank our whole glasses linked through each other’s arms. At some point after Nicholas should have stopped drinking, they brought out the horns for drinking. He refused, saying he was a small guy, but they got the best of him and he had to finish. A large uncle next to me was enchanted with both Maria and me and kept asking questions about America or going off in Georgian about culture and life. I had to thank many toasts in honor of me as a guest, women in general and Georgian-American relations (brotherhood). By the time we got to bed, my stomach was absolutely full of food and my face hurt from laughing. The other nights at the house we didn’t supra; instead we played Uno, Phase 10, Jokeri (a game I still don’t understand) and watched TV. The kids were a lot of fun. I taught Vakho, the youngest son in the house, how to play hot hands and table hockey. He studies German in school, but he knew some English and we had no problems having fun and making fun of each other the whole time I was there.

During the days, though, I left Vakho at home (he didn’t really ever go to school), and I went with Nicholas to school to be stared at, questioned and included. Every class began with my introduction, an explanation of where I was traveling, and an explanation that the mehendi on my hands was from India and was not permanent. The sixth graders were scared of the red all over my palms the first day, so they were pretty quiet, but by the second day the class had doubled in size and they felt more comfortable. The eleventh graders asked me a lot of questions about travel and food and language. The fifth graders didn’t ask me many questions, but glanced and laughed at themselves and me anytime they could. They were funny and full of chaotic energy. As they worked, they would look up at me and rattle off a question in Georgian then laugh when they remembered or realized I had no idea what they were saying. They yelled over each other and competed to do the best job in the quickest amount of time. Some things are the same between Georgian and American kids.

By the end of my first school day, I was freezing. We finished our lessons, and I was shivering. We walked to the cafeteria with Nicholas’ two Georgian English-teacher counterparts for coffee, but were quickly invited to another office to drink the coffee. Zura, the P.E. teacher who was the only Georgian male on staff, ushered us into his office for tea and a mini-supra. We took a shot of strong vodka to make us warm, and we snacked on leftover Easter dishes. Teachers came and went as they had class, and we all talked about the differences between American and Georgian schools in structure, timelines and pay. The teachers seemed shocked that American teachers usually got to school at seven in the morning and were expected to stay until at least three in the afternoon. Here, teachers arrived around nine or nine thirty, and they were gone anywhere between noon and one thirty. They don’t make a lot of money from their job, so the compensate through a booked schedule of afternoon- and weekend-tutoring. Students have tutoring for everything, and they often opt to do tutoring and homework rather than attend class. So classes never have a consistent number of students, and there is no way to have a weekly schedule or progression with activities. Georgian teachers expect this as a norm, but the volunteers here are wringing their hands as they try to make change with the system. Once again, I have the utmost respect for volunteers in this country for not just giving up and going home.

One Georgian teacher who defies the norm is Manana, counterpart of Katherine – a third volunteer that lives near Kareli. Manana is a converted Evangelical Christian who gives all of her energy to the projects to which she is committed. She vowed to help Nicholas with his housing problem, she supports all of the volunteers as they work in Kareli and she is happy and excited to take guidance and assistance from Peace Corps educational programs. So Peace Corps has gotten quite close to Manana.

So on our third day in Kareli, it was only natural that she invite us to a supra in her home village. I think this was my favorite supra because it had so many of the traditional elements but had a twist on things as well. We got there in the late afternoon and got a tour of the house. Manana and her sisters and mother were happy to show the bread-baking oven, the other cooking stoves and the wine cellar. Everything we ate was from the garden and homemade, so it was delicious. There were many, many dishes out. As we went in, Nicholas and Maria reminded me that, “it’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon”. There was freshly-baked bread (plain and stuffed with cheese and potato), homemade pastries, stuffed cabbage, chicken, beef, olives, oranges, grape paste, small crepes stuffed with ground beef, salad, almond and chestnut paste, spinach and almond paste, chocolates and Turkish coffee.

Manana presented this supra as an international supra because her family was from all over the Caucasus. In addition to Americans and Georgians, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Greece and Osetia were represented. We had thirty people at the table(s) at one point. Manana explained that the doors to the house were open to anyone in the village, and people trickled in throughout the meal. There was a drama star who sat across from me, and after a few glasses of wine he was serenading us with nice Georgian music. He said if someone would fund him, he would perform at La Scala. He then pleaded that we respond with American music. Maria finally sang some Lou Reed for them, and everyone was happy. It was the first time I captured video with my camera, and they loved it. The singer continued to sing, and other joined in. I took a video of everyone smiling making introductions, and when we finally got up to leave no one wanted us to go. It took us over half an hour to say our goodbyes because everyone wanted hugs and kisses on the cheeks, the old men who had the most wine wanted longer hugs and more kisses on the cheek. They wanted us to take a lot of pictures. They wanted to sing more for us. They wanted us to stay. At one point, a neighbor got word that we liked music and wanted to hear guitar, so he came with his instrument and serenaded us in the driveway as we tried to make our getaway. But, unlike most supras, there were people who stayed sober. Some of the men didn’t drink at all, and our glasses of pear soda were refilled more quickly than our wine glasses. Manana and her children don’t drink, so we were off the hook. We got a ride back from a nephew who hadn’t had a drop of alcohol during the whole meal. It was refreshing and lots and lots of fun.

After our time in Kareli, we headed back to the capitol and then headed west to spend time with another volunteer friend in another village. We went to Chiatura, which is known as the former Proletariat Paradise. This town, situated in the mountains west of Tbilisi, used to be a bustling mining town with 50,000 people and smooth efficiency. Today the population has dropped 80%, and it is one of the poorest places in Georgia. Once the Soviet system collapsed, residents either left the country or headed to Tbilisi. We stayed with Heidi, a volunteer from California, and met up with Jenn and Seth. This was an “American in Georgia” weekend. Heidi had recently moved into her own apartment – she pays $30 a month for a five-room apartment that used to be owned by a police officer. The family who was there before left everything – there was a piano, bookshelves, dishes and silverware, chests and bureaus, and lots and lots of kitsch. The family wanted to get out of Georgia immediately, so they took what they could carry and headed west to Greece to resettle.

In Chiatura, the apartment was much easier to arrange because of the abundance of abandoned Soviety block apartments. They were everywhere. The town is built into a gorge, and we took skyline buckets to get from the main part of town to Heidi’s apartment. It’s a beautiful place. All the buildings were terraced, and just above the town you can see the mining site where many men still work today. We visited the abandoned Young Pioneers house, which was the Communist equivalent of the Boy Scouts. We checked out the skyline, with its Hollywood-esque sign reading “Chiatura My Pride” (unfortunately, the hammer and sickle that originally adorned the sign had been removed). I asked about a metal billboard in the rock face that looked like it had numbers; Heidi said that used to read out the time to alert all of the workers when they should head to work. Nearby the clock, Seth pointed some columns where a picture of Lenin used to be – everyone in the town could see it, and it changed colors depending on the time of day. We took the free skyline bucket up to the mines and took the long walk back down, and throughout the walk we were brainstorming how to market Soviet Disneyland to jumpstart the tourism industry. The first step would be to fix the roads that wound through the mountains to the town (even Georgians were throwing up into small plastic bags from the curves and bumps), and then they could reinstate the signage, thrown in a ski resort and market supras at $30-a-head. Talk about a getaway weekend. Before sunset each night, we made our way back up to Heidi’s apartment and cooked makeshift international meals (curried meatloaf with sort-of Persian rice and curried cabbage) and played cards. It was quite the weekend.

Chiatura was my last Georgian trip. We headed back to Kareli for my last two days, and left at just the right time – it was snowing the morning we left Chiatura, and the mountains had two inches before we left the area. We went back to Kareli on the day of Maria’s host dad’s birthday, so we supra-ed for him and for my departure. Again, lots of food, lots of wine and this time some dancing, piano playing and singing. I needed to be back to take the 13-hour bus from Kareli to Trabzon, so it was only proper that I leave from the place that had become my home. I had to assure the family that f I am back in Europe before Nicholas’ service ends, I will be back in Georgia to visit. We’ll have to see whether my future holds more supras or not.

India

knoI may be completely off base, but I think there will be a point in my future when I live in India. Maybe for two months, maybe for a few years. But I loved too much about being there to not go back for longer. I know three weeks isn’t exactly representative of living somewhere, and I know I missed the hottest and wettest time of year, but I felt capable of dealing with what came my way.

I ate so well. I am very much a meat-eater, but I ate chicken probably three times while I was there and didn’t miss meat at all. The breads are wonderful – baked, buttered, stuffed, fried, puffed, wheat, white, soft, crunchy, delicious. The vegetables are tasty and their sauces are spicy and filling. The tea was sweet and satisfying. The lime soda was cold, sweet and satisfying. The fruits were fresh and flavorful. The snacks were all pretty unhealthy but very delicious – we ate too many samosas and pakora, too much pani puri and those potato things that I love. But I just couldn’t stop myself! There were ice cream and gelato stands everywhere – we could get a cone for less than twenty cents at eight in the morning. We could and we did.

And there was so much to see all the time. I think that’s why people stare. They aren’t just staring at me as a foreigner, they’re looking at everything. I noticed people usually woke up early, took a nap in the afternoon and stayed up late. So at really any point in the day, people were milling about. Hanging out or buying things. Working or just sitting on the side of the road, watching for something exciting to happen. Shops didn’t open until ten or so, but they stayed open until nine at night. The local markets didn’t open until the afternoon, and you could find anything if you looked hard enough. There were air-conditioned shops selling chintzy knick-knacks that were appealing because they were western and had English on them. There are outrageous jeans and silly shirts in department stores. Or there are open markets for buying bindis or sold baby clothes or fabrics or wholesale newspapers, magazines and books at 1/3 the published price. If there was a need, people figured out a way to provide the service.

Of course there was poverty and times when life there gave me a heavy heart. When we left in the early morning, we saw men waking up and packing up their makeshift rooms from storefronts and alleyways. Train stations were full of aggressive beggars who were pimped by someone or the government and had perfected a non-existent limp or deep, watery eyes. Small kids and animals were everywhere and seemed attached to no one. Maid servants were commanded and expected to be invisible in some of the houses we visited, and women were expected to take care of all domestic affairs.

But compared to Bangladesh, India was progressive. While women were expected to take care of the house, Kavi’s fufferji and cousin did help bring out food and clear away dishes. Kavi’s cousin’s wife only got married on the condition that she could have a job, and many women were demanding independence. They were driving, they were traveling alone, they were studying what they wanted and they were creating a voice. I stayed in houses where there was no live-in maid servants; instead, they paid someone to come in once a day to clean. I got to see an actual middle class, which most people claim doesn’t exist in India.

It’s just a neat place. I talked to people in Mumbai who seemed worn out from trying to see this country via second-class trains, broken English and lots of hand gestures. A new town or city every other day. Constant paranoia that they were being chumped, kidnapped or hurt by every Indian face on the street. I don’t think that’s the way I would travel here. There is so much I didn’t get to see, but I think if I came back I would find a spot to live. Then I would make friends and see India with them, the way they would travel. It was much richer experience to travel in a country with country(wo)men who helped me experience a place as it is meant to be experienced. A Lonely Planet is helpful, but with only that and your own cultural baggage, you wind up with some neat pictures, a lot of headaches, probably a lot of sickness, and a sense that you missed something even when you tried to see everything.

As many people know, I’ve joked for a few years that I want to be an Indian princess. I’d never want that life, but I would mind being able to get mehendi and samosas when I want… at least for a little while.

Punjab

Immediately after Jaipur we were on the road again. We took an express train north the next day to Amristar to see the Golden Temple, a famous Sikh temple close to the Pakistan border in Punjab. We rode first class in the AC car, so within minutes we were drinking tea and eating terrible naan with jelly and butter. Kavi dozed because the train’s rocking and stopping and accelerating made her feel not great, so Kavi’s fufferji and I worked on a tough sudoku and looked at pictures from our other adventures.

By the second meal, Kavi was kind of awake and kind of feeling okay, so we were all talking and looking at pictures. That’s when Kavi noticed our new small friend. A little Sikh kid kept roaming up and down the isle as we were talking. He would sit in front of us and peer through the seats quietly to listen. He would sit behind us to see the pictures on the LCD, and he put his finger over his mouth with a smile to tell Kavi not to say anything when she saw him. He had a great smile as he watched and absorbed. Finally, after looking at pictures and finishing a game of Rummy, we decided to play an innocent game of Bluff and I wanted our new friend to play. So we invited him to play. Of course at first he flat-out refused. Then we asked again with a promise of fun, and he made the humble half-nod-half-shake that so many Indians do that doesn’t make sense to me. Is it a yes? Is it a no? It was a yes, we started to play, and he caught on quickly. His English was perfect, and he was also tricky and good. But not as good as Kavi’s fufferji. That man was sly, which I never would have guessed because he’s so good-natured and all smiles otherwise. He would be down to one card when I would be stuck with so many that I couldn’t fan them with one hand.

We finished playing just before we got to Amritsar, so we quizzed our friend about what to see and do in Amritsar. He was so happy to be able to give us information. When we finally got off the train, he said bye at least six times and headed off with his family.

We said goodbye, but we couldn’t waste time. Our train was an hour late arriving, and we were already booked on a return train for early that evening. So Amritsar was a warp-speed tour. We found an auto-rickshaw that promised he could get us to everything we needed to see and back by the time our train left, so in we went. We weaved through streets full of people and dogs and cars and rickshaws and carts. We made it to the temple, and realized how right people on the train were when they said it was too bad we were going on a Sunday. People were everywhere. More than any other place, I was an object of curiosity here. There weren’t as many foreigners, and I wasn’t wearing a suit. I just didn’t make sense to some people, so they had to stop and stare for a while to try to figure it out. But they didn’t have long because we were on the go!

We were carried by crowd to the shoe depository, through the holy water to wash off our feet, stopped by guards to cover our heads and pushed into the courtyard. Then I had to stop because the Golden Temple is beautiful. Like at many other temples in India, it was anchored in holy water from the Ganges. The temple was in the middle of a large, square marble pool, with a plank as wide as a road that tunneled all the visitors from the edge of the pool to the temple entrance. Across from the temple on the outer edge of the pool, men were bathing away their sins and kids were splashing clean despite their innocence. On the marble between the courtyard walls and the pool, everyone was walking and praying and making their way to the long line to get inside. People were bent in prayer, leaning to drink the holy water that volunteers were taking from the pool to wash over the marble. Others were doing their duty to wash the water back into the pool. It was a cycle of drinking, washing, praying and replenishing.

Kavi’s fufferji pushed us through the crowds. We made it to the line and waited for about ten minutes, after which point it was clear that we would never make it inside at the rate the line was moving. So Kavi’s fufferji left for a bit, came back to us and took us to a room in the courtyard. There we stood looking sad as he pleaded in Hindi that we had come from America and had only a few hours to see the temple. Welcome to India. The man inside took Kavi’s fufferji’s hand and wrote a word and the number 3, and we were off with many thanks and promises of donations. We were sent through the exit line to the temple and were in within ten minutes – because we were from America, because this was India and because we asked.

Inside the temple was small, cramped, chaotic and beautiful. The walls and ceilings were covered in patterns with gold leaf, and the center where the religious leaders sat was carpeted in red velvet. There were tabla players and singers overriding the mass of visitors, and people were crammed everywhere. I had no control of where I went once I got inside. I was pushed and pulled and smashed into a spot near the center, and when I had been there long enough I was pushed to the exit. There was a man in the center near me who was methodically sweeping the piles of money being offered into a box. Another man was stabbing the bills down with a dull knife to maximize space for the offerings. It was a fluid, rich operation. Everyone was throwing money in hopes for holy food, and it was the promise of a small orange packet of goods that kept people crammed against golden barriers waiting. We got one packet and that was plenty for us. We were thrust outside and made the short walk around to see the fish in the holy water (that people were bathing in, walking on and drinking) and then were ushered back down the same lane we had illegally entered a mere twenty minutes earlier. It was the most cramped I had ever been in India, but I expected as much when we were visited the most important temple of a major religion. On a Sunday.

There was no time to soak it all in. We took some pictures and headed to our next stop, a nearby historic site. We left the temple as quickly as we had come, and got a rickshaw to the ?????, to see a courtyard where half a century ago thousands of Indians were peacefully protesting British rule and the British opened fire, killing ????? people in a matter of minutes. The site was a small, closed-in courtyard, and Kavi’s fufferji explained that the British gave a two-minute warning. But with the only exit being an alleyway that five feet wide, very few were able to get out before the massacre began. There was a well on site that people jumped into to miss the bullets, and there was a small building that had bullet holes on the exterior. It was very strange going from the chaos of the holy temple to a relatively quiet spot where

After we saw the ?????, our driver delivered us back to the train station on time as promised, and we were off to Ludhiana for the night. This town was home for part of Kavi’s family, who live in a big house with a great garden and a vicious German Shepard. We arrived late and still managed to eat a ridiculous amount. We only stayed the night, but it was absolutely wonderful. Agra, Jaipur and Amritsar are smaller city, but they sustain through tourism. Ludhiana was the first city we visited that wasn’t really famous for anything. It was quiet. It didn’t have insane traffic. It was relatively clean. It was a nice change. And the family was great. It was like as soon as the train arrived, I could feel warmth. Kavi’s cousin and his wife picked us up, full of hugs and chatter. They laughed easily and often, and there was fun music as we made our way to the house.

As soon as we got to the house, everyone came to say hello. They didn’t speak a lot of English, but I was welcomed immediately. We had Coke and vegetables within five minutes of being inside, then we went for a yard tour. Roses, lemon trees, mango trees, carrots, chilis… everything was there. Green grass and vines growing on the walls. We then had potato pancakes with chutneys and sauces. They were delicious, and I finished two quickly. Too quickly. I wanted to stop snacking because I knew that even at 11 p.m. we would still be eating dinner, so I wasn’t going to have anymore. But they saw the empty plate, and loaded me with another one. They were happy I liked the food, and happy to give me more even if I said I was full.

During the snack, Kavi’s 3-year-old nephew came home, and he was awesome. He and his parents came in from being in the car for five hours, and he was ready to run around. So run around he did. And jumped on the chairs. And turned up the music on the computer. And brought his bike inside and rode in circles, intentionally running over feet and into shins. And rolled around on the couches. And screeched for toys. But he was a lot of fun. I made him give me a lot of high-fives, and he made me come into the yard and chase him. When it was finally time for bed, he screamed “bye bye ta ta!” about ten times before finally getting closed into his room. Little kids are great to have in a house where there is a language barrier because even if I don’t know the language, I know kidspeak and I can have fun for hours without saying much of anything.

We left early in the morning, and I was sad to leave such a fun house. But the cousin and aunt drive us to Patiala, a town closer to Delhi, for our next family visit. Patiala was a lot like Ludhiana, with relative peacefulness in the streets. We went to another big house, and this one had even more people. Fourteen people lived together. Six kids and eight adults. And visitors… us and people coming to see Kavi. So it was another crazy house. At first I spent all of my time in the sitting room, drinking Coke and pretending to pay attention as Kavi was grilled in Punjabi. I had no idea what was going on, and aunties seemed disappointed not to be able to satisfy their curiosity about me. We sat, people came, Kavi answered questions, the room went quiet for a bit, some kid would run in and be shy, we would laugh, conversation would start again.

A few of Kavi’s male cousins trickled in, and one asked if I was tired. I was actually exhausted from all of the traveling and waking up early and heat, but I shook my head that I was fine. I think that was all he needed to break the ice because then we began to talk about everything. He was one of the six parents, and he talked about his kids and Patiala and India and cell phones and industry and schools and language and life. He spoke English very well despite confessing that he hadn’t used it in years, and he had the curious personality that works well for conversations among travelers. We compared notes about our countries for the rest of our stay there. People would come, sit and listen. They would contribute questions and answers, and we all got more comfortable.

When there was a break in the stream of visitors, eight of us piled into the car and went to a maharaja’s house. Patiala, I learned, was the home of a maharaja who invited the patiala peg – a shot of alcohol that is enormous. Apparently this king was visiting England and kept telling the bartender to keep pouring when he was getting a drink. Everyone was amazed when he put back so much alcohol, and the drink was named after the town. ????? Another king or this same king was also famous because he wanted to buy a Rolles Royce. The car dealership didn’t know about the small-time king and refused him service. Finally the dealership realized the king had money to spend, and they sold him ten cars. He was so offended he brought the cars back and used them as a garbage-truck fleet. So Patiala may not have been the home of Indian tourism, but it did have some interesting history.

After our town tour, the whole family recognized that Kavi and I were worn out. Kavi’s fufferji had napped while we toured, so we went for a rest when we got home. We were woken up when more visitors came, and Kavi went back to her sitting-room post. I was in there for about five minutes, but I couldn’t handle it. So I went outside with the uncles, small cousins and dog. I played some tag and talked more about random stuff, then we all had dinner. Kavi was jealous of me… I was glad that I wasn’t the one coming back to India for the first time 14 years.

After a delicious dinner, I was presented with material for a suit as a gift, and another nephew came over. He was 17 and had a motorbike. I had seen them all over, and I wanted a ride. So at almost 10 p.m., I changed into pajama pants and went for a ride in India. Unlike most girls, I did not sit on the back of the bike with both legs on the same side. It was only after we were headed down the main road did I learn that Kavi’s nephew only had a permit, and he wasn’t really supposed to be driving. Oh well. I later found out that one of Kavi’s aunts had a license for three years before she learned how to drive. Her husband knew someone with the driving board, so she figured she may as well get licensed. Public systems in India are very similar in theory to those in America, but in practice everything changes because of corruption and evasion.

We got back from the ride, and the small kids wanted to play games. So Kavi and I ran around playing freeze tag and categories, we tried sardines but they wouldn’t close their eyes for long enough and we ended with some sort of tag. We went to bed close to midnight, but the kids would have stayed out running around until the sunrise.

The kids ranged in age from three years old to about 14 years old, and there were two three-year-olds who were so funny to watch. One boy, one girl, two different families. They lived in the same house and were insanely jealous of each other. It was sort of ridiculous. As soon as I got there, I saw the comedy unfolding. In the sitting room, the girl came in to see her uncle. She climbed on him and acted shy. Not long after, the boy came in to see his dad – the girl’s uncle. He climbed up into his dad’s lamp and immediately pushed the girl away. She didn’t cry, but she resolved to regain her spot by pushing right back. There was some grunting exchanged, and the girl started to cry. Finally the uncle took them both outside so they could get distracted with something else. It was the same with everything. At one point they both had glasses of Coke to drink. The girl gave her mom the drink to hold, and the boy followed suit. The girl took the boy’s drink from her mom’s hand and with a grunt handed it back to the boy. The boy shrieked, and the mom had to quickly take both glasses and put them on the table. Later the same thing happened with bread. And the same thing happened when the boy was in the grandfather’s lap. And the same thing happened when the girl got her bottle. And the same thing happened when the boy got to go outside. It was hilarious. They both grew more comfortable with me, and about five hours in I was able to hold them. When we were outside playing games, I was swinging the girl around and throwing her up in the air. I set her down to go run around, and she saw the boy walking over. She looked up at me and tugged on my pants with a squeal. I wandered away, and they both followed. Laughing, I picked up the girl and started hopping around. The boy chased after and pulled my pants hard to start climbing up my leg. So I hoisted them both up, and they started pushing each other out of my arms. I was laughing, they were starting to cry, and all that I could do was spin them until they both started laughing, hope they got bored and set them off to go find someone else to clamor over. Talk about in-home entertainment.

By the end of my day in Patiala, I was exhausted and sore. But it was a fun, fun day, and I was sad to leave at five in the morning because we couldn’t see the whole crowd together in full swing before we headed out. But I got emails and pictures before I even got back to Delhi, so I feel like it was more of a “see you later” than a “goodbye”.

Jaipur

Agra was the only tour outside of Delhi where Kavi and I were on our own. Our next trip was an overnight to Jairpur, India’s “pink city”. This time we got a driver and Kavi’s fufferji (uncle) came along. I spent most of the car ride through Haryana and Rajasthan taking pictures of the backs of trucks, and later as we approached Jaipur I got shots of camels and their carts padding along beside us. Rajasthan’s climate was much more desert, and we felt the heat by nine in the morning. The land on either side of the road was dry and dusty, and everyone on the road had their heads covered as a shield from the heat. I, of course, forgot to put on sunblock for the day. So my left arm that was leaning out the window for pictures was pink before we even got to Jaipur. Oops. This was the visit where I got my flip-flop tan, and my lips were blistered within a few hours. It was hot in Jaipur.

But we had a great time. We stopped first at a palace where we got to ride an elephant up to the palace. Awesome! It sprayed water up at us a few times as we made the climb, and the elephant driver (?) gave his token English response: “air conditioning”. We toured for a long time all day, and I will post more when I have time to write about the spots we saw.

We took a nap after all of our outside touring, and then headed to our entertainment for the night. It was a mock Rajasthani village where the admission was ridiculous and the staff was dressed in traditional garb. I was convinced it was set up for non-resident Indians who were afraid to take their kids to an actual village but who wanted them to have a village experience. It was so campy it was great. We saw young girls dancing on a stage who knew that asking the crowd to join them would make everyone smile. We saw a magician who got a bird to come out a shoe. There was a henna artist and a masseuse. We could buy tea or (in the ancient tradition) snow cones. There was a wooden ferris wheel and a merry-go-round. We got our fortunes told (I’m going to live until I’m 90. I am very lucky, but I cannot be lazy. I’m going to get married late and have two kids. I like people so I should do something that is creative and lets me work with people like theatre or – accounting.) There were shops with great stuff with English misprinted on it. I found two keychains: “It’s for you my brother like friend” and “Friend are like soul male”. I was highly entertained.

We could have ridden another elephant, but we opted for a camel instead. Camels are awesome for so many reasons. They have such a goofy, uninterested look to them. They walk around like they couldn’t care what they’re doing, and when they’re chilling they seem so content. And it is fun to get on and off of them. Kavi and I rode one together, and the camel gets up and down front-end first. So I was soaring in the air long before Kavi had left the ground, and I came crashing down with Kavi’s head banging into my back after the front had grounded. Kavi’s fufferji tried to get a picture of us on the camel, but all he got were our heads thrown back yelping as we came down suddenly. It’s an awesome picture.

They provided us dinner but berated me for my English, and they filled our plates every time they came by even if we said no. The food was okay, but it was more the experience of sitting cross-legged on the floor and using bowls and plates made from leafs. To help with digestion, we found the long wooden slide and ended our night skidding through red clay. Then we headed back to the hotel to sleep off sunburn and our very full stomachs.

The next morning we shopped. Our guide took us to a government emporium, and by this point Kavi and I were wise to the ways of commission and indoor shopping. Kavi’s fufferji was also pissed with the guide for taking us there. So he apologized and took us to a string of stores that had fabrics with the regional block printing. I found some placemats and a great purse. I bargained and got the price down a lot through banter with the owner, but in the end the price wasn’t what I wanted. It was the only time I regretted not paying more than I wanted for something because the purses were cute! Oh well, it happens.

Afterwards we headed to a monkey temple, which was cool at first. We got some peanuts, and at the entrance some cute monkeys took the food from our hands. We threw shells on the ground and they came up to snack. We had been warned all along against red-faced monkeys, and as we headed closer to the temple, we saw some to avoid. But they are feisty! The temple had some holy water that boys were dive-bombing and cannon-balling into, and it seemed like a party for the monkeys. They directed us up some stairs to another temple area, and then the monkeys came out. Probably twenty came out when they saw the bag. They advanced toward me, looking at my eyes as they moved. I threw peanuts away from me so they would go toward the shells. But they saw the bag and kept coming. Yikes. There were red-faced ones who looked hungry. I did not want to be eaten by monkeys in a desert in India. They came up to me quickly, and just as quickly Kavi’s fufferji grabbed the bag and started emptying on the ground. Finally we all got so panicked that we just sprayed out all of the nuts and dropped the bag on the ground. And we hustled down the steps. I never thought I would be so afraid of monkeys, but that was probably the most terrified I got the whole time I was in India. Those holy monkeys were too smart and too hungry to be friendly.

Our goodbye to the temple was our goodbye to Jaipur. We left at the hottest part of the day to go back in a car where the air conditioning had unexpectedly stopped working just before we left. So I dozed and sweated and listened to music and looked at trucks as we left the dessert and headed back to Delhi.