India, Part 2
The next morning I woke up on my cot. I was starving. Wait. That's a cruel word to use. I was pretty dang hungry.
I was still tired and had not slept much the night prior, ready to knock out any would-be-attackers with my hard bound journal. I suppose it sounds silly. Here I was in a hostel hosted by fellow Christians within a Christian organization, but... you can never be too sure.
I dressed myself as quickly as possible. Long pants and long sleeved shirt with my collar completely buttoned up. Despite the intense heat and humidity, I was well aware prior to coming that India is extremely conservative, and shorts were not an option for us ladies.
I was greeted by the gentleman who would come to serve each of our meals over the course of that summer. He would see to our general needs and inquiries. He would spend afternoons boiling water to make it safe for us to drink. I sat down on one of the 4 available chairs in that kitchen. I was served a strawberry jam sandwich with hot tea. He must have sensed my confusion at the hot tea on such a hot morning. He said hot tea helps to cool the body down. That might be true. I can say that on no such occasion in India can I say I felt cool.
I nibbled on my sandwich. I polished it off, in truth. The tea was wonderfully sweet and I thought the tea cup was nothing short of adorable. So American. So spoiled. I write of these first impressions and it is embarrassing. Such little knowledge of the world outside my window. Such little knowledge of other peoples' daily lives. I had yet to see it all. Not yet. I had been in this town of Hastsal for less than 24 hours and had seen people living in tents and huts. I didn't have bacon, eggs, and endless refills of coffee. This wasn't the Hyatt. It was a hostel withough clean tap water. It was a hostel with a fan whose power was intermittent, at best, with the ensuing monsoons kicking out the electricity. I thought about toilet paper while other people think of how they will acquire food for their families.
Not long after I finished my breakfast did the second volunteer come. I was ecstatic. My lame fear of being murdered subsided and I was anxious to talk with a fellow American. That's what we Americans tend to do. All people, now that I think of it. We seek the company of those that are like us. Ok. That's an other anthropological study and blog for another time period.
She pulled from her handbag a beautiful, white roll of Scott bathroom tissue. I knew I would never look at toilet paper the same. Such a luxury. She was well prepared. Her fiancee's family lived an hour's drive away. We would end up spending a considerable amount of time with them over the summer. They had a toilet-toilet. They were considered rich in India. They lived behind a gate. It is all relative. They taught me a lot about India and its culture that summer. They took us to the Himalayan mountains and told us wonderful stories.
Monday-Saturday were the teaching days. 8 classes a day. Although the days were long, I had students that I looked forward to seeing. The 5 of us volunteers took the school bus each day, riding alongside the students. I don't think there were seats in the bus. If there were, I never saw them. The first time the bus came to our "stop" I remember thinking the bus was already full-we'd have to walk. My impression of full was forever changed. They called us along. We approached, not understanding how we could possibly all fit. But we did. We huddled inside, some of us hanging from the doorway as the bus skirted along the dirt road. Older children cradled toddlers in their arms. If you have any problems with personal space, this was not the bus for you.
We edged along. The bus frequently encountered "technical difficulties" and would break down. Sometimes the boys would get out to give it a push along. It generally always came back to life, and we would be back on the road. The bus was a short yellow bus. It looked like the hand-me-down bus of an older sister bus from the states. We generally opted to walk home from the school. It gave us volunteers a chance to stop at the vendors booths stationed along the streets. The pharmacies had the hydration packets. These nasty, chalky tasting powders that dissolve in your water bottle. They helped to keep us hydrated from the constant sweating and potential diahrrea from bad water.
The other thing they carried was toilet paper. Rolls stacked in the back, like a carton of cigarettes in a supermarket. The hidden gem that you had to specifically request. We would take turns buying the rolls. The volunteers came from America, Germany, Switzerland & Ireland and it was the tie, or roll, that bound us. The cost was 40 rupees.
India, Part 3 coming...
I was still tired and had not slept much the night prior, ready to knock out any would-be-attackers with my hard bound journal. I suppose it sounds silly. Here I was in a hostel hosted by fellow Christians within a Christian organization, but... you can never be too sure.
I dressed myself as quickly as possible. Long pants and long sleeved shirt with my collar completely buttoned up. Despite the intense heat and humidity, I was well aware prior to coming that India is extremely conservative, and shorts were not an option for us ladies.
I was greeted by the gentleman who would come to serve each of our meals over the course of that summer. He would see to our general needs and inquiries. He would spend afternoons boiling water to make it safe for us to drink. I sat down on one of the 4 available chairs in that kitchen. I was served a strawberry jam sandwich with hot tea. He must have sensed my confusion at the hot tea on such a hot morning. He said hot tea helps to cool the body down. That might be true. I can say that on no such occasion in India can I say I felt cool.
I nibbled on my sandwich. I polished it off, in truth. The tea was wonderfully sweet and I thought the tea cup was nothing short of adorable. So American. So spoiled. I write of these first impressions and it is embarrassing. Such little knowledge of the world outside my window. Such little knowledge of other peoples' daily lives. I had yet to see it all. Not yet. I had been in this town of Hastsal for less than 24 hours and had seen people living in tents and huts. I didn't have bacon, eggs, and endless refills of coffee. This wasn't the Hyatt. It was a hostel withough clean tap water. It was a hostel with a fan whose power was intermittent, at best, with the ensuing monsoons kicking out the electricity. I thought about toilet paper while other people think of how they will acquire food for their families.
Not long after I finished my breakfast did the second volunteer come. I was ecstatic. My lame fear of being murdered subsided and I was anxious to talk with a fellow American. That's what we Americans tend to do. All people, now that I think of it. We seek the company of those that are like us. Ok. That's an other anthropological study and blog for another time period.
She pulled from her handbag a beautiful, white roll of Scott bathroom tissue. I knew I would never look at toilet paper the same. Such a luxury. She was well prepared. Her fiancee's family lived an hour's drive away. We would end up spending a considerable amount of time with them over the summer. They had a toilet-toilet. They were considered rich in India. They lived behind a gate. It is all relative. They taught me a lot about India and its culture that summer. They took us to the Himalayan mountains and told us wonderful stories.
Monday-Saturday were the teaching days. 8 classes a day. Although the days were long, I had students that I looked forward to seeing. The 5 of us volunteers took the school bus each day, riding alongside the students. I don't think there were seats in the bus. If there were, I never saw them. The first time the bus came to our "stop" I remember thinking the bus was already full-we'd have to walk. My impression of full was forever changed. They called us along. We approached, not understanding how we could possibly all fit. But we did. We huddled inside, some of us hanging from the doorway as the bus skirted along the dirt road. Older children cradled toddlers in their arms. If you have any problems with personal space, this was not the bus for you.
We edged along. The bus frequently encountered "technical difficulties" and would break down. Sometimes the boys would get out to give it a push along. It generally always came back to life, and we would be back on the road. The bus was a short yellow bus. It looked like the hand-me-down bus of an older sister bus from the states. We generally opted to walk home from the school. It gave us volunteers a chance to stop at the vendors booths stationed along the streets. The pharmacies had the hydration packets. These nasty, chalky tasting powders that dissolve in your water bottle. They helped to keep us hydrated from the constant sweating and potential diahrrea from bad water.
The other thing they carried was toilet paper. Rolls stacked in the back, like a carton of cigarettes in a supermarket. The hidden gem that you had to specifically request. We would take turns buying the rolls. The volunteers came from America, Germany, Switzerland & Ireland and it was the tie, or roll, that bound us. The cost was 40 rupees.
India, Part 3 coming...
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