Nepal and Passover

In the past two months I’ve carved out a fairly regular pattern of life here in Varanasi. Every morning I wake up at 5 a.m., take a walk along the Ganga, have a cup of chai or two, go to work, come home, have dinner, read, chat with or visit friends. I’m usually asleep by 10:30 p.m.

All but the most tenacious tourists have now left Varanasi for the mountains. The daily temperature is now upwards of 40 degrees, and I can’t seem to drink water fast enough to replenish the water I’m sweating out. To add insult to injury, while I lug around as a salty, pasty mass of damp cotton, the Indian ladies around me float radiantly and sweat-lessly on clouds of cool air, smelling of jasmine and fresh cucumber.

I’ve just returned from a week in Nepal where I attended what is reported to be the World’s Largest Passover Seder. At first Nepal seemed to be an unlikely place for the gathering of thousands of Jews. But when I stepped out of my taxi in Kathmandu and into my guesthouse, the Varanasi Mystery of “where did all the Israelis go?” was quickly answered. The thousands upon thousands of Israelis who spend a year or two traveling in and around India after their army service head north to the mountains in India and Nepal during the hot months.

The seder was held in the hall of a big hotel in Kathmandu. There were estimated to be over one thousand Israelis there, and the service inside was conducted in Hebrew. Outside, two small tables were set up for about 60 of us mainly non-Hebrew speakers. I sat with a very interesting group of people.

I sat across from a young male Nepali engineer who had been brought to the seder by his elderly Jewish Norwegian friend. This Norwegian had been visiting Kathmandu for the last 20 years and staying at the family guesthouse of this Nepali boy. The Norwegian sponsored the Nepali’s education at a university in Stockholm, Sweden. The exotic woman beside me, who identifies as Christian-Muslim-Jewish, is fluent in eight languages, including Hebrew, and has never lived anywhere for longer than four years. She is currently living in Gujarat, India, and is a former resident of Germany, Jordan, and Canada (Montreal).

I also met a Thornhill Jew who was in the process of making a documentary about the phenomenon of “Bu-Jews” – Jews who study and follow Buddhism. Apparently he was struck by a statistic that 30% of Buddhist converts in America are Jewish. This prompted him to explore the reasons for this phenomenon and he has spent the past months interviewing and filming Bu-Jews all over India. There was also a large group of American students who are participating in a study abroad program in Kathmandu.

I was very lucky to meet a fun Bu-curious Dutch girl who was looking for a trekking partner to join her for a few days before she started her 10-day meditation/Buddhist philosophy class at a Kathmandu monastery. We did a 3-day hike in the Kathmandu valley area and were extremely lucky as we work up on our first night to a perfect sunrise and view of the Himalayas (which had apparently been obscured by haze for 10 days prior). The most memorable moment was watching the sunrise from the temple perched above our guesthouse in Nagarkot.

We spent my last night in Boudha – a quiet and beautiful Buddhist area of Kathmandu. Boudha is full of Tibetan monks and also has a significant population of Westerners studying Buddhism. We met an interesting group of Mexicans and Canadians who had come to Boudha for study and enlightenment.

I’m now back in Varanasi, trying to get all my projects competed before I leave on April 23^rd. Last night a friend and I escaped to the new “IP mall” – an American style, heavily A/C’d mall. I cooled off by eating an ice cream sundae and drinking a cold coffee and we watched locals practice riding up and down on the escalator – for many it was their first time using one. Tonight I have to run a few errands and then will try, for the fourth time, to make it to my friend Nitu’s roof before the sun sets. I always seem to arrive half an hour too late.

I’ll be spending four nights in London before returning to Toronto. I’m staying with my friends Gemma and James and am hoping that my friend Jesca, from Holland, will be able to join me for a day or two.

Will try to write more soon!

Luv Nadine

International Women's Day, Kabaddi, and Holi

I've added some more photos. The first set are from Holi (or the "Festival of Colours" - well actually post-Holi. Holi in Varanasi is a bit nutty and so as women (especially foreign women) we were advised to spend Holi locked inside. Luckily there were a group of us who were able to spend it together in the WLC palace, which has a great view of the Ganga and all the craziness along the ghats.

Photos:
http://www2.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=276759233/a=115330919_115330919/otsc=SHR/otsi=SALBlink/COBRAND_NAME=snapfish

The second set are from International Women's Day. See for explanation of game/event: http://www.worldlit.ca/kabaddi.html

Photos:

http://www2.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=276759514/a=115330919_115330919/otsc=SHR/otsi=SALBlink/COBRAND_NAME=snapfish

Varanasi - some photos and ultrabrief update

http://www2.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=276627360/a=115330919_115330919/otsc=SHR/otsi=SALBlink/COBRAND_NAME=snapfish

Hello all! I've updated the snapfish site with a few more photos. It has not been easy to upload so I've just added a few and once I figure out how to upload faster, will add some more.

This is an incredible city - perhaps only comparable to Jerusalem in terms of the feel. It is one of the holiest sites in Hinduism. Pilgrims come from all over India to pray, cremate their relatives and bathe in the sacred River Ganges. Along the west bank of the River is a series of ghats, which are steps that lead down to the river. At any given time while walking along the ghats one can see children playing cricket, locals selling flowers, people bathing in the River, boats (and the many "boatmen" trying to sell their services: "Boat Madam? Madam, boat?"), men sipping chai beside small wooden chai stalls, tourists taking photographs of poor children, people praying at the many temples along the River, men peeing, men leering, men chewing and spitting paan, bulls chewing and spitting, people trying to avoid spit and poo, families collecting bull/cow poo (used as fuel and for walls and floors), stoned hippies staring into space, stoned religious men staring into space, begging women, begging men, begging children.

On the work/volunteer front, I'm really enjoying my time at WLC. Yesterday was an amazing day. I went with one of the staff to a rural site to interview women who had taken loans from their "Self Help Groups" to purchase sewing machines. SHGs are groups of up to 20 women who all contribute 20-30 rupees each month to the group's savings. The group can decide to lend women within the group money from the group's savings as needed. Among other things, I'm writing up "success stories" for WLC reports and publications. These women had effectively doubled their household incomes through the sale of their products in their communities. Both women learned to sew through the WLC sewing training centre in their community. You'll see images of the two women I interviewed (with the help of Neetu's translation) on the snapfish site.

Last Friday I moved into the guesthouse just across from where the WLC is located. I have my own balcony with a partial view of the Ganga. I love it (and at the rate of approx. $2.50/night, it will be hard to leave!).

Will write more soon and please send news!

Luv Nadine

Staying Put

I arrived in Varanasi on Saturday and I plan to stay and volunteer here for about two months. I arrived just in time as I had just about reached the point where I was touristed out. I don’t know how people travel continuously for a year. But then again, I’m someone who takes great comfort in routine. I love going every day to the same Bridgehead coffee shop and ordering the same medium skim latte at the same time with the same people. It isn’t that I’m homesick or that I am tired of India. But I have a strong urge to stay put, see the same people every day, make some real connections, develop routines, and not have every conversation centre around where are you from… where have you been … where are you going…

For me there is something tiring and a bit stressful about backpacking and backpacker culture. It feels like we expend a lot of energy in pursuit of the “authentic experience” - trying to get off the tourist track to mingle with locals in their natural habitat. There is an implicit hierarchy of tourist experiences where in trading stories extra points are always awarded to those who discovered the undiscovered beach or were invited into a local’s home (eg: “They’re so poor but so generous – they insisted we all drink their chai *and* they gave us the best homemade sweets we’d ever had!”). I went with one woman I met for a Pizza Hut dinner which sent her into an existential dilemma – did eating at an American chain mean that she was a “touristy tourist”? Was she selling her backpacker street cred for a greasy deep-dish pizza? She resolved to eat the pizza and to never mention this slip to anyone. Of course, this quest for authenticity is all part of the larger pressure to maximize one’s tourist experiences: see everything, eat everything, experience everything. After all – when am I next going to be in Mysore? Many seem to be happily immune to this kind of pressure, but sadly I’m not that evolved a tourist.

Before arriving in Varanasi, I spent about six days in Pondicherry where, with few exceptions, I spent my days working in the mornings and then wandering around in the late afternoon and eating dinner at the same place each night. I did have an ayurevedic massage on day 2 – but I can’t quite find a way to describe it and still have it qualify as appropriate reading material for all ages. To give you some idea - think two masseuse sisters, a canola field’s worth of oil, and enough direct skin-on-oily chair/-oily wooden table for my relaxation to be punctuated with bouts of anxiety re: previous guests and the potential for transmittable disease.

I arrived in Varanasi not quite knowing what to expect. I’d set up my volunteer position at World Literacy Canada (WLC) quite last minute at the suggestion of my friend Tina who had worked for this organization a few years ago and had a very positive experience. I was supposed to leave for Israel on February 16th to do an internship position there through the Professional Internship Program run through their government. But as my time here went on, I felt that I would be missing out by leaving India so soon. I’d not actually heard from the Israel program in a while and had not been informed about what I was to do upon arriving in Israel. As it turned out, yesterday while checking my email at a café in Varanasi, I got an email from Israel telling me that their Internship program had just been cancelled. (Good thing I hadn’t booked my plane ticket to Israel.) How is that for karma?! Om….

Here in Varanasi I’m staying at a friendly family-run guest house about 10 minutes walk from my work here (at a rate of about $3.75/day). I’m not sure what my project is going to be yet. WLC runs quite a few interesting programs – I’m hoping that I’ll be able to get involved in their advocacy and social entrepreneurship programs in particular. In the past two days I’ve been helping with various administrative tasks and getting to know the three awesome Canadian CIDA interns (all women) who have been here for six months and are sadly (for me) leaving next week (not so sadly at this point for them – I’ve been listening to them fantasize about hamburgers, sushi, hot showers, privacy, and lack of leering men back in Canada.…).

I’m sure I’ll be writing lots about Varanasi in the next few weeks (see also Lisa’s awesome blog about her trip here – www.lisaincalcutta.blogspot.com) but so far I really love it here. The WLC office is in a beautiful building owned by the King and overlooking the Ganges River. On my first night here I met an Israeli tourist (who was stopping through on his way to Nepal) and the two of us explored the ghats and took a boat ride down the Ganges in the late afternoon/early evening.

Tonight I’m taking my first Hindi lesson with a tutor who was recommended by the interns. Wish me luck!

As always- please send news as I miss you all! Luv Nadine

Photos Phinally!

http://www2.snapfish.in/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=276419622/a=115330919_115330919/otsc=SHR/otsi=SALBlink

Quick Update

Hello from Pondicherry! This will be a very quick update – it has been a crazy long (but good) day here.

My host family in Chennai gave me a small glimpse into the lifestyles of the rich and famous in India. I stayed with Prasanna and her two children in their large central apartment (with their driver, cook and maid). But the Chennai apartment is not Prasanna’s main home. She lives in a town a few hours away in what she described as a “sprawling mansion.”

On my first day at Prasanna’s place, one of the highest ranking officials from the Tamil Nadu police force dropped by for a coffee. As a side note, I asked this officer (in my hopelessly non-politically astute way), who had worked in all areas of federal and state policing, about his views of the effectiveness of the different facets of the police in India. His mouth went into a half-amused/half-annoyed curl and looking me in the eye he said: “All aspects of the Indian police are excellent.”

Prasanna invited me to attend the mendhi party for the wedding of the grandson of a very famous Indian actor (considered the “Godfather” of South Indian cinema and to whom there is a statue erected across from that of M. Gandhi in Chennai). The father is also a well-known actor. Actually, the grandson was marrying his first cousin. The mendhi party was plush beyond anything I’ve seen before. It was held in one of the famous Taj hotels. There was an extensive and professionally choreographed dance show put on the by family, live drummers, a fantasy-garden of food, expensive gift bags, beautiful dresses and people. Aside from having my hand decorated with henna, I spent the evening watching the dancing, eating, and chatting to movie directors. Apparently the wedding (held the following evening) was attended by top Indian politicians and Bollywood actors.

Mahabalipuram was quite the change from Chennai: a laid-back backpacker’s haven full of white European yoga fanatics. During my two days there I had a private (free) yoga lesson by a Belgian yoga instructor/style consultant/aromatherapy/dietician on the roof of my guesthouse (she offered me a lesson after I agreed to switch rooms with her. Her old room had bad energy after her breakup with another yogi who left to go back to Sweden), discussed communicating with spirits and animals with a Swiss man who practices Shamanism, and puked my guts out after drinking juice which (I discovered too late) contained a rogue ice cube.

Today in Pondicherry I took a city bus tour and met a fun Irish woman who seems to like eating as much as I do. Tomorrow we’re having an ayruvedic massage – which promises to be another interesting experience.

Lots of other stuff has happened but I’ll have to keep this one short. Miss you all and send news!

So friggin itchy!

I am so crazy ITCHY! I'm really only updating my blog so that I keep my fingers occupied for a bit so that I don't continually scratch the zillions of mosquito bites that are currently covering my arms, legs, face, hands, elbows, neck, ears, feet, back, ankles.... Chennai- last time it gave me runny poo and this time it left me looking like the victim of some terrible skin disease. And yet, I've left Chennai (now in only slightly less mosquito infested Mamallapuram) and am once more returning to Chennai two days from now. My host family in Chennai invited me to attend the weddnig of the son of some ultra famous Indian actor (whose name I can't recall at present)... and so, how could I say no? I shudder to think about what gross ailment I'll leave Chennai with next time. I once asked a doctor friend about the strangest medical issue she'd ever seen and the answer was "milky white stuff oozing from a patient's belly button." I really hope that doesn't happen. That would be truly gross. And given that I'll be wearing a sari to the wedding that may very well show my belly button, it would be particularly unfortunate. If you are still reading this, you are a trouper and perhaps a bit of a gross ailment fetishist, like me. If you are, I recommend that you go to the science library and take out a book on skin conditions. Really unbelievable and engaging stuff. Shoot- I just figured out that I can type with one hand and scratch with the other! Aaaarrrgggg!

Vietnam

Once again I have a huge chunk of time to account for – in this case, my entire two-week trip to Vietnam. And again, I’m going to start with my most recent few days.

Tina and Hetan (Tina’s husband) met me in Hanoi on February 16th and after our trip to Halong Bay, Hetan returned to Canada and Tina and I continued traveling together through Vietnam. It was really a magical trip and the two of us (sisters and husbands excluded) may be the most compatible travel buddies ever.

When Tina left to return to Canada from Hanoi on January 26th, a cold and cloudy day, I felt the type of heartsick loneliness I had not experienced since the end of visitor’s day at summer camp in 1987. I dragged myself around the deserted streets of Hanoi – everything was closed for Tet holiday (Vietnam’s New Year) – and finally sat down in an empty café to do some work. When Mr. Bojangles began to play through the café’s speakers, it seemed to be the saddest song I’d ever heard and felt I might start weeping into my condensed milk-sweetened coffee.

I realized that sitting around Hanoi by myself for four days of Tet might not be the most uplifting of travel experiences and so I booked myself on a train to Sapa that evening. Sapa is in hilly northern Vietnam and is home to many ethnic minority peoples and is known for its incredible terraced landscapes. I’d seen photos of Caryn’s trip to Sapa and had fallen in love with the place immediately.

Tina and I had actually spent half of the day before trying to find me an organized tour to Sapa, but we made the discovery that all the reputable tour agencies closed town for Tet and gave their employees a week vacation. Those tour companies that were still open in Hanoi were scary and desperate and it was clear that if I booked myself on any of them I’d end up being shipped to Sapa in Bovine Crate class and sleeping on the soiled mattress of some erstwhile Sapa massage parlour. In one memorable encounter we entered “Discovery Tours” through a long dimly lit hallway where a young Vietnamese agent bargained furiously against herself:

Okay, I sell to you for happy new year price - $100. Okay, no, I sell to you good, good - $80. Yes, I think $75. You like for $70?

Then she took a business card out from the drawer (which, strangely had the name “Fansipan Tours” on it) and scribbled down $65US before handing it to us.

Discouraged about tour prospects, I sat at the café and began researching hotels in Sapa and found one that had excellent reviews and even organized the train travel and hiking for its guests. I emailed Thai Binh Sapa Hotel and 10 minutes later received a response from its wonderful owner. He arranged for me to pick up my train tickets at the station that evening. I shared a comfortable 4-bed cabin with a friendly young Swiss couple and a humourless 40-something radiologist from France. We arrived in Lao Cai at 5 a.m. and a minibus driver met me holding a piece of paper with my name on it and drove me to the hotel where I was greeted with coffee and a warm fire in the lobby fireplace.

That day I wandered around the small town of Sapa. In the centre of town there were tons of children dressed up in their traditional clothing and playing games. I watched one young boy climb up a tall and smooth bamboo pole to reach the bags of candy at the top. I also hiked down to a small village. The next day I went hiking with a group from my hotel. It was a great group. There were four from England who were all part of a volunteer organization and were teaching English and doing other charitable work in Vietnam. There was also a woman who had worked as a nurse with Doctors Without Borders in Sudan and now runs a B&B with her husband in Greece. The same group did another, more treacherous, hike the following day that involved balancing on thin muddy rice paddy walls and scrambling up slick rocks between villages. It was spectacular (I’ll have to upload photos).

After the first hike, I returned to Sapa and decided to go for a walk up to a nearby garden. On my way there I encountered a young Vietnamese woman who was busy hiking up the garden stairs in her high heels. She asked me where I was from (the way most conversations begin) and we spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the gardens together and Ling practiced her English (and she taught me a few phrases in Vietnamese). Ling works at the hotel across from the Thai Binh Sapa Hotel and was on her day off – she works 7 days a week and gets 2 days off per month. She has two jobs in Sapa and works from 6 a.m. until 10 p.m. each day. She hopes to earn enough money to buy a motor bike so that it is easier for her to go home to visit her family and support her mother. She has one sister who works in HCMC and her two other siblings died tragically years back – one in an “accident on the street” and one in an “accident in the woods.” Her mother lives alone as her father now lives with his “other wife” – Ling’s aunt (though from what I gathered, her aunt and father are not legally married).

Ling asked me to go around Sapa with her in the evening and she gave me a small tour and then we went for karaoke and then for some street food (sticky rice with peanuts, BBQ zucchini). She also gave me a present for Tet – a small red envelope with 10,000 dong. I was really, really touched by the gesture.

While sitting in the hotel lobby the next morning I also met another young Vietnamese woman who was visiting Sapa with her family from Hanoi. Trang had the best English of any Vietnamese person I’d encountered on my trip to that point. She struck up a conversation and told me that she’d like to show me around Hanoi when I got back into town.

My trip back to Hanoi was not quite as plush and comfortable as my trip there. Though I’d paid too much for my train ticket back (I was told that only ultra deluxe class was available because of happy new year) when I got to the station the shady ticket agent told me he’d booked me on a later train “VIP.” The tickets don’t say on them the class or style of cabin so it was not until I boarded my train and saw the sticky sheets, rickety upper birth and dirty floors that I realized that I’d been duped. Luckily for me (but unluckily for them) my cabin mates had had been similarly scammed and ended up in my cabin- a warm Jewish newlywed couple from Argentina who were partway through their 2-month honeymoon trip. We arrived in Hanoi at 4:30 a.m. and they were kind enough to bring me with them to their hotel – which was a very nice, clean and inexpensive hotel in old Hanoi.

Trang and I exchanged emails and she told me she would pick me up at my Hanoi hotel on her motorbike the next day to show me around. She arrived on a shiny blue Vespa with a cute (though hardly protective) helmet for me. Two years ago the Government made it mandatory to wear helmets – but from what I can tell, anything from a cloth cap to a bicycle helmet will do.

I’ve never exactly been one who dreams about the open road, speed, and wind in my hair (preferring the subway and other forms of safe and passive transit) but I think that I was meant to ride a Vespa. I can’t imagine a more enjoyable way to get around.

Trang is a fun and bright 26-year old woman who won a prestigious scholarship in her penultimate year of university which allowed her to spend two years studying in Australia where she completed her undergraduate degree and MBA. Trang seems to run with an impressive crowd as her boyfriend is studying on a scholarship in Indiana and her friend is in Amsterdam (also on scholarship). Trang works in finance in one of Vietnam’s top banks and hopes to marry her boyfriend once he graduates and gets a good job. For now, she lives with her parents, spends time with her friends walking around Hanoi, karaoke-ing, going to movies and dinner and purchasing a few new English DVDs each month after she receives her paycheck.

Trang took me to some of her favourite spots in town. After visiting the amazing Museum of Ethnology, we went for rice rolls and ice cream, listened to some live music in the 5-star Hilton hotel (until we began to arouse suspicion and then we used the WC and slipped out) and we ended the night with a trip to the nail salon and a night drive over one of the bridges across the Red River.

I feel so lucky to have had such a good last few days in Vietnam and to have met such friendly and generous people.

I’m now in the Singapore airport. Sadly, I only have a 2 hour stop-over in Singapore – which is not nearly enough time to make use of all the awesome facilities here. I’m heading back to Chennai where I’m supposed to stay at a host family living there.

Hyderabad and Chennai

My brilliant and entrepreneurial friend Angel, the CEO and founder of an executive search firm, was onto the outsourcing trend before it became a matter of course for North American businesses. He runs his business from his Toronto HQ office and his India office is in Baroda (Gujarat).

Some years back, Angel read an article written by Ravi* (or Sam, to his North American clients) who was working as a journalist at the time in an Indian newspaper and was so impressed, he contacted the paper and had it put him in touch with Ravi. After a lengthy conversation, Angel was impressed enough to offer Ravi – with no previous business marketing experience - the position of the head of the marketing department in India. For a few years, Ravi, from Hyderabad, worked for Angel’s firm, under the direction of my friend Krista, in Winnipeg. They communicated and ran a 20 plus employee marketing department through MSN messenger, Skype, and email.
A few years ago, Ravi left Angel’s firm, though he remained in touch with Krista (who kindly put me in touch with this lovely family) Ravi’s wife, Radha, now works part-time for Krista’s cousin who runs a business out of Newfoundland of “virtual assistants” – where Canadian businesses use employees in India, like Radha, to perform routine administrative functions at way-less-than-Canadian hourly rates.

When Ravi and Radha were first married, they moved into a small one-room apartment. They now live in a comfortable two-bedroom (plus office, kitchen, living room) apartment in a friendly and quiet neighborhood with their adorable 8-year old son, Babalu. Though they received pressure from friends and family to further expand their family, they made the decision to maintain their happy and small threesome and to, in Radha’s words, “give their son a good life.” And a good life he has – filled with lots of love and attention from his doting parents and family, video games and trips to the Imax (game station) and to Necklace Road, digital TV, and a top-notch education at a Christian private school (though the family is practicing Hindu).

Radha and Ravi are wonderful parents and have an unfathomably loving relationship. Theirs is a “love marriage” (as opposed to arranged) and they took time to show me photos of their wedding and tell me stories about their courtship 10 years ago (the two were classmates from third standard). Radha’s younger sister - a lovely and bubbly 30-year old businesswoman with a Master’s degree - on the other hand, has agreed to an arranged marriage. The engagement party is to take place in February. While the two have spoken on the phone, they have never interacted in person or discussed any serious topics. Last night Ravi and Radha were trying to convince her that it would be a good idea to meet her future husband in person before the engagement to discuss their mutual expectations and to make sure her fiancée has no deal breaker traits (like habitual drinking). She was quite resistant to the idea and moreover seemed to be resigned to whatever her future married life would hold for her. She told me she had never really wanted marriage for herself but that Radha convinced her that marriage and children are an inevitable part of life and so it was simply what she had to do.

Radha’s sister, brother, and mother live in the apartment just across they way and the families breeze in and out of one another’s apartments all morning and evening, as do a parade of cute kids who live in the same apartment block who come looking for Babalu to play.

Though Ravi and Radha feel that their lives have improved in step with the expanding Indian economy (currently growing at an astounding rate of 7% per year), their lives are by no means worry-free. Ravi is currently employed with the IT firm Satyam (which translates to “truth”). About a month ago, irregularities in the financial statements of this top Indian firm were noticed and from that time onward, a far-reaching and unprecedented fraud became unraveled. The head of Satyam had cooked the books for the last 7 or 8 years. Now seen as India’s own Enron, there is uncertainty about the future of the firm (the Government has stepped in, disbanded the old board and created a new Board to try to see what can be done to salvage the firm) and of the 50,000 employees at Satyam. Though Ravi and the very supportive Radha, are keeping a positive outlook – during my 4-day stay with the family, the television was set to the non-stop commentary, press conferences, and breaking news stories about this firm.

Also of concern to the family is the economic situation in the United States and some indications from Obama that the US may begin to take a more protectionist approach to its own economy- imposing tariffs on corporations that could obliterate the financial advantage of outsourcing to India (note: I have no idea whether or not this is likely or even possible).

Ravi also cautioned that the news about India’s massive growth is somewhat misleading. According to him, while the top 30% stratum of society has prospered with the gains in the economy, the lower 70%, which lives below the poverty line, has not seen any real substantial benefit from India’s growing prosperity. When I asked them what was the biggest challenge to improving the lives of the majority of Indian citizens – they both readily agreed that it was government corruption and the problem of illiteracy.

While poverty is on plain view everywhere in India, I have, by all accounts, been maintaining a comfortable budget/mid-range touristy distance from the gritty 70% reality. I did get a small glimpse into some of the work others are doing to aid the disadvantaged when I visited my friend Babu’s charity in Hyderabad. I met Babu and his wife, Padmini, during my work on the Air India Inquiry. Babu and Padmini lost both their sons when Air India Flight 182 was bombed in 1985. Babu started a trust fund in honour of his sons 1988 and has used that money since that time to further charitable causes in India. When he retired from his chartered accountancy practice in Toronto a few years back, he bought a home in Hyderabad and now spends 6 months of the year in India supervising the trust and helping at the charities that he supports. When I told Babu last year that I was planning to visit India, he told me about his charities and said that I should visit him if I came to Hyderabad. When he learned I was coming to Hyderabad he offered to arrange for me to visit one of the schools he supports for special needs children. He met me, along with his friend Rani, apparently a famous author in the area and fellow supporter of the charity, and we drove together to the school. They greeted me with embarrassing delight – presenting me with a garland and bouquet of flowers. A few of the students came up to me and said “Namaste Nadine” over and over again. They brought me into the tiny school house – the size of a tiny bachelor apartment that houses all 40 special needs students (and about 6 teachers). The couple that runs the school is a remarkably selfless couple that double (triple? Quadruple?) as physiotherapists, teachers, administrators, outreach coordinators, etc etc. The children come from nearby slums and but for the school, would be totally neglected by society. The teachers try to teach the children the skills to take the most basic care of themselves (hygiene etc) and then try to teach then skills so that they can eventually work selling items they make or helping out in stores, for example. The kids were very sweet – one sang me a song and another did a (very good) Michael Jackson dance impression for me. There is lots more to be said about this experience, but I’ll save it for another time.

I’ve not written much about what I actually did in Hyderabad. I really had a fantastic time and saw a few tourist sights – including Ramoji Film City which is the world’s largest film park (complete with fake Rajistan, fake Taj Mahal, fake airport, train station, bus station, church, London, Japanese garden and on and on…) It was 50% spectacular and 50% ultra lame. The amazing part was the gardens and structures and the lame part was the wannabe Universal Studios Theme Park part – which involved a ride that was like something out of a Simpson’s parody (picture a train ride past numerous rooms of creepy and unsophisticated dolls moving their arms up and down up and down to childish music) and a “Spectacular Show” with sad Malaysian girls with dead eyes and plastic smiles kicking not very high and not exactly with the beat in their acrobatic routines.

I also went to see Golconda Fort – a huge and impressive 500-year old fort and went with the family to a Hindu temple where I made the mistake of drinking some yellow water I was offered by a priest. The first time I was offered it (in the palm of my hand), I made a show of lapping it up while letting the water slide down my wrists (and thus not actually ingesting any of it). This trick had worked in the past. However, this time, a few onlookers saw what had “happened” and told me to take more. I cracked under pressure and lapped it up. The result was a worrying tummy ache that I treated with Pepto and all seemed to be okay after that. It seemed that I had managed to survive my first month in India almost stomach incident free….

Today, however, I am in Chennai (Madras) for the day (before I fly out at 11pm tonight for Vietnam (via Singapore)). So far, I’m not finding it very relaxing or friendly. In a few short hours I have been scammed, yelled at, harassed (in a non-threatening way) and condescended to. It seems fitting, therefore, that I dropped my first made-in-India watery stool in the local coffee shop WC here a few minutes ago.

* Note I have used fake names for my hosts

Leaving Chandigarh

I was very sad to leave my friend Yogi and his family in Chandigarh. They are a family of very modest means, but showed me extreme generosity and hospitality. They insisted on feeding me, carting me around, and even paying for my admission to the fantasy rock garden (which was incredible: a labyrinth-like garden filled with thousands of sculptures and statues made entirely out of recycled materials – including statues decorated with broken glass bangles). This was why I wanted to give something to Yogi’s family to express my appreciation. He told me that his parents were “very simple people” and that anything that was too flashy or expensive would not be used. He suggested to me that I purchase a lipstick for his mother and a sweater for his dad. However, upon my departure his mother presented me with a beautiful sari. I was overwhelmed, to say the least (and I am still feeling guilty – though I secretly suspect that Yogi may have contributed to the purchase though he was adamant that he doesn’t believe in gifts). Yogi said that it is lucky to gift a sari and that upon learning that I am unmarried, his parents felt it would be helpful to bring me luck in that regard so that I should return to Chandigarh a married lady.

It seems that many in India are concerned about my single-dom (doom?). One taxi driver in Kerala told me, wagging his finger in the rear view mirror, that I had better get a move on as “glamour is going after 30, madam.”

Yogi dropped me at the airport, after a quick stop to use the posh bathrooms at the Chandigarh Taj Hotel (where I got my photo taken with a number of Bollywood celebs). It was so lucky that I met him on the flight to India and I’m glad that I got over my fear that he was part of an evil plot to lure me to Chandigarh to steal my kidneys and trusted my instinct that he is actually just a really nice guy. I’m hoping that we will keep in touch and that I’ll be able to show him similar hospitality if he is ever in Canada in the future.

That mysterious spice...

So it has been very hit and miss with the coffee here. On the very, very early train from Mysore to Bangalore about a week or so back I purchased two (tiny) coffees on the train and was unable to drink them. The milk had a very strange taste and smell and I assumed that either the taste was coming from the thumb sweat from the vendor who stuck his thumb once in each cup as he was filling them up, or else from some mysterious spice that was being added to the coffee. However, I've now tasted this "spice" a few more times. I finally asked Chitra, with whom I'm staying in Hyderabad at present, what she put in her coffee (that had this spicy taste). Coffee, milk and sugar, she said. I was puzzled until this morning when I asked her some questions about cows in India and she revealed that her family drinks buffalo milk. Mystery solved, I think.

Business and Pleasure

Hello from Chandigarh!
Again, there are too many adventures to sum up in a quick blog post. I've been in the Punjab\Haryana for the last few days with my friend Yogesh and his delicate Italian friend, Claudio. We've joked many times about the potential for our threesome to be the basis of a blockbuster Bollywood (comedy) film.

I met Yogesh (or Yogi, as his American and UK friends call him) on the plane from London to Paris. He was sitting one seat away from me and we realized that we both needed to transfer to the Delhi flight. He is from Chandigarh and has been in Boston and the UK for the last 11 years. He comes back to Chandigarh about twice a year to visit his family here and told me that he would be happy to show me around the Punjab. He has been a fantastic host, to say the least. Chandigarh is unlike other Indian cities in that it a planned city with a grid-system of streets and many, many parks.

Claudio is a friend of Yogi's from the UK. Claudio and his girlfriend moved to the UK about a year and a half ago and Claudio was tutored by Yogi for the GMAT exam. From what I can gather, Claudio's father was a very olive oil and wine businessman in Italy. Claudio is eager to start a business and along with our tourist adventures, we've met with a number of factory owners and textile business people (men, all) to discuss the possibility of Claudio's (very vague) idea about starting a high-end t-shirt business in Italy. We've met with people in Ludhiana- the textile capital of India where there are "tax-free" zones and shops that make product for Nike, Reebok, Tommy Hillfiger and other big-name brands. It has been extremely interesting to learn a bit about how business is done in India. Yogesh also set up a meeting with his uncles in Amritsar. One of his uncles is essentially the Godfather of the textile industry in Amritsar. His role is acting as a commission agent between manufacturers and buyers and his family is the only deal in town. To meet him, we were led down allyway after alleyway of small stalls full of his product and employees. At the centre of it all was his office where he met us, in a suit, and was the only one able to sit on a chair (which is a sign of his status). The rest of the uncles and employees sat on the floor. He talked to Claudio about the business and gave us a small tour and showed us some of his products.

Amritsar was an amazing city. We saw the spectacular Golden Temple as well as the border ceremony at the Wahah border between Pakistan and India. Words cannot describe the spectacle that occurs twice a day (during sunrise and sunset). Crowds gather on both the Indian and Pakistan sides of the border. The ceremony began with loud music being played on both sides of the border. About 50 women began dancing and singing beside the border gate (and a one woman grabbed my hand and dragged me down to dance along with the others). Then the cheering began. Neither side is allowed to insult the other - but each can proclaim its own greatness. The Indians cheered Long live Hindustan, where as the Pakistanis shouted that Pakistan was supreme. Then soldiers in elaborate costumes begin stomping and kicking towards the gate separating the two sides. For a brief moment, the gates open - there is a lot of shouting and grimacing. And finally, a shaking of hands before the gates are once again closed. It was truly theatrical and fun to be with hundreds and hundreds of proud and cheering Indians.

This morning Yogi's mom taught me to make chappatis (and said, in Hindi, that I was very good for a first timer (but I think she was being kind- my bread was more of a square than perfect circle)). This afternoon Yogi and Claudio are going back to Ludhiana to talk more business and I'm heading to the famous Chandigarh rock garden with his family. Tomorrow I'm flying to Hyderabad and will be saying goodbye to Yogi and Claudio.

Gotta run- once again I'm leaving out many stories and descriptions of events and funny stories. Oh yes- I ended up flying Air India on the way to Chandigarh. After a hair-pulling mixup at the airport in Delhi, I discovered my flight to Chandigarh was cancelled and I had been rebooked on Air India. While the landing was - um- abrupt- it was overall an okay flight.

Miss you all!

Luv Nadine

Quick Update

Hello all and Happy New Year from Bangalore!

I wish I had started this blog earlier because each day brings a zillion small adventures and funny moments that seem to quickly dissipate into a detail-less overall impression in my mind. Like today, for example, my rickshaw driver saw that I was nervous about crossing the busy street when he let me off and he actually parked his vehicle, took my hand, and led me across the street. Or the way the child who was working at the coffee shop I visited this morning must have searched every shop on the street until he found me to deliver the sweater I'd forgotten in the store and how I then tried to offer him an ice cream as a reward. When he didn't understand what I was trying to tell him ("No Engliss...Engliss!") I tried to do my best mime impression of someone enjoying an ice cream - at which he giggled (without understanding what I was doing - or at least without understanding correctly) and ran off in the other direction. It seems that I have a better memory for the scams I've encountered - which, as anyone who has been a tourist in India will know, are a daily reality. Today I fell for the old "I'll take you to the famous flea market trick" - which involves the rickshaw driver taking you to a terrible and over-priced store with very pushy vendors who provide free clothes (or other incentives) to the rickshaw driver on a per-customer-delivered basis. But I'm getting smarter. These terrible stores often have cleanish Western-style toilets for their tourist customers. So I made good use of their facilities and helped myself to some extra toilet paper (which - as my sister taught me - is gold in India). Similarly - when Neeta, Salim and I were somewhat diappointed with our expensive so-called "4 star hotel meal" on New Year's eve (which was provided in a gymnasium-like room without tables - people were sitting in chairs along the walls and in the centre of the room and balancing plates on their laps. There were not even enough chairs and many had to eat standing up) I stuffed my purse with bananas for the road.

But my overall impression of India is a good one so far. I've seen amazing beaches along the coast of Kerala, beautiful temples, hiked in the Kodagu region (aka the "Scotland of India") and stayed on a coffee plantation (my dream come true - and first decent coffee in India). Today is my first full day on my own. The people have generally been extremely friendly and generous. I spent the first week with my sister in Kerala (with an initial side trip to the Taj Mahal) and then met up with my friends Nimi and Grant in Fort Cochin for a very fun night and then flew to Bangalore to meet Neeta and her husband, Salim. The three of us (Neeta, Salim and I) spent New Year's in Mysore and then went to the Kodagu region together for amazing hiking and coffee. On my way back I visited a Buddhist temple and monestary where I met a very sweet monk who gave me a personal tour and then invited me and Joanne (someone I met in Coorg) up to his dormitory room and bought us each a peach soda while we did our best to communicate with him given his broken English and our non-existent Hindi. At some point he kept asking me if I wanted to see "He Vin" which I thought meant heaven. So I said that, of course, I hope to see heaven. At which point he told me to wait, he turned and ran up to a gate at the side of one of the temples, and then came back, looking dejected, and said "No sorry, He Vin, it is lock." I'm hoping this is not a bad sign.

Tomorrow morning I'm flying north to Chandigarh to meet up with Yogi, whom I met on the plane on the way to India. His family lives in Chandigarh which is about 4 hours away from the Golden Temple in Amritsar. He, his friend from Italy, and I will likely rent a car (and driver) together for some sightseeing.

Some quick other general impressions before I forget them:
* The moustache rate is approximately 85% here. More on that later.
* The food is amazing and crazy inexpensive. We've been eating a lot of thali which is basically an all-you-can eat buffet of Indian food but they bring the food to you. I've had a number of amazing and gut-busting meals for less than $1.50.
* The Vengaboys seem to be very popular here. More need not be said on that topic.

I will sign off here and will try to be better at writing and updating. I miss you all so please send news from home. Please excuse any typos, poor grammar, or incoherence in this email. My excuse is a lack of sleep and caffeine.

Luv Nadine