I’ve got a little bit of a routine going now. Normally, I wake up in the mornings between 7:30 and 8:00, make tea to warm up, and sit on my balcony to watch the sun rise over the hills to the east. The rays of light have already struck the Himalayas to the northwest, and their snow-capped peaks seem to glow and shimmer golden-white and beautiful while the smaller foothills south of them are still waiting to be awakened from their nightly slumber. In these early hours before the shops open, before my neighbors start their daily chores and before the world itself wakes up, time neither flows nor stops. Instead, my perception of the flow of time and space around me enters a new dimension, one where I can just stand and wait for it to return to normal.
In these precious moments, I like to read a little, write, or call the states, where it is evening and their day is starting to wrap up. It’s peaceful, and I look forward to Shammi, the cook, to come and grace me with more knowledge of Indian cuisine. I know it seems a little weird that I have somebody to cook for me, and I’m still not used to it, but it’s getting better. I help cook, learn from him, share tidbits in broken English and sign language, and help clean after most meals to wash off the guilt. It’s just another one of those cultural differences to which I should acclimate myself.
This morning, my routine was shattered. Minutes after finishing tea, the peaceful quiet was broken by one of the most gut-wrenching sounds I have ever heard. It grew louder and louder, and soon I was able to identify the source: a group of four or five Indian women walking at the edges of the field, on the outskirts of my little neighborhood, wailing and moaning. Shawls were wrapped around their heads, and they continuously grabbed each other in anguish. Their voices rang out in the morning mist, exclaiming pain, agony and suffering.
Confused, Agata and I consulted Shammi, who had just arrived. He was able to inform us that a woman who lived several houses down had died during the night. Though we were never able to find out the cause of death, we learned that she went to a larger hospital in Chandigarh, but the doctors there were unable to help. Soon, we were able to see men assembling on the side of the hill opposite us, breaking down branches from trees and throwing them down to the bottom where a small stone structure awaited. It didn’t take long to figure out what they were preparing.
This was the most significant cultural experience I have encountered so far in my travels, and yet I felt so detached from it all. I didn’t know the person, I didn’t know family or friends, and most of all, I didn’t know how I was supposed to behave or what I was supposed to do. Agata, Harmit, Shammi and I were headed off to Dharmshala that day, so we missed most of the funeral rites and the cremation, but I will always remember that sound. It won’t haunt me for the rest of my life, but it definitely made an impression. It made me realize that no matter how much you live in a different place, there are some aspects to culture that cannot be learned or acclimated. Some things need to be truly felt, and I know that it will be some time before I can call any other culture my own.
Now, off to Dharmshala and Mcleodganj, home to the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government-in-exile. In 1950, the province of Tibet was “reacquired” by the growing Republic of China who wanted to assert their dominance over their self-proclaimed land. It’s spiritual and political leader, the Dalai Lama, was forced to flee Tibet in 1959. The Chinese had no room for organized religion in their secular government. As such, Dharmshala has become the base of operations for Tibet and Tibetan Buddhism, as well as a home for Tibetan refugees.
Going there was like going to a different county, even though we never left India (which justified the purchase of a Tibetan flag to add to my collection). The Punjabi outfits and wandering cows were replaced by crimson-robed monks and souvenir shops selling singing bowls and laughing Buddhas. Most of the faces were Tibetan, but there were a scattering of skin colors from all over the world. It was the first time I saw another white person besides Agata since I arrived in Palampur, and I briefly reflected on the fact that I am now a minority. At one point during the day, Harmit and I were having coffee and saw two girls sitting at a table across the terrace who, at least to me, were blatantly American: jeans tucked into Ugg boots, face-covering sunglasses, long shirts, big purses, and drinking Coke. It was, like, totally obvious. We bet 200 rupees on their origin. I said Midwest American, while he put his money on Toronto. They were from Iowa. I rock.
To be quite honest, there isn’t a whole lot to see in Dharmshala. Obviously it is a very important city in the world, being home to the Dalai Lama and all, and his crib deserves a spot on MTV, but the rest of the town is just one big tourist trap. That’s okay by me, because just like my run through London, I can now say I’ve been there, and this time I enjoyed my short venture with the company of friends.
There was one thing that is worth significant mention, and that is lunch. Harmit took us to a place with rooftop seating from which you could see the monastery, but that wasn’t the good part. The good part was that for the first time in my life, I had Chinese food. Real Chinese food, my friends. PF Chang’s can bite it. When Tibetans are cooking for you, it’s a whole ‘nother story. Spring rolls are not the small, greasy drumsticks you see in white boxes; they’re large, light, delicate batters barely concealing an array of fresh, crunchy vegetables that taste like they just came out of the garden. I also enjoyed my chop suey of egg, rice noodles, cabbage and other mixed vegetables in the best sweet and sour sauce I have ever had. And fried rice? Not a greasy mass of soggy rice and frozen vegetables, but a light and delicate side dish where every grain of rice, every tiny piece of onion, and every shred of lettuce or cabbage was oh-so briefly cooked, and one can taste and feel every last element of the dish, down to individual grains of rice. It was a culinary adventure in a bowl.
My guess is that Brad Pitt stayed in Tibet for seven years because the food was so good. I don’t blame him.
30 January 2010
29 January 2010
KLB College Report
Here is another report that I wrote for Atul about my work so far at the college.
“I have started working at KLB College for Girls. There are about 800 students taking classes in four graduate programs and 1 post-graduate program. Two main classroom buildings are operating right now, with a third under construction, due to be completed in the summer. My main focus will be in two areas of the college that prepare and serve food to the student body.
“First is the canteen. It is a small kitchen adjacent to the college run by one man and his wife. They are independent from the college itself, and are given the space and free electricity by Principal Ramdev. He is unhappy with their service for two main reasons. One, they serve a limited menu: samosas, channa and chai. Occasionally momos are also made. The other reason is that they just don’t make enough food, at least by Principal Ramdev’s judgment. After the samosas are finished, usually by noon, they are sold out in two hours. A dish of two samosas and channa is sold for ten rupees (about 25 American cents).
“Principal Ramdev has suggested that the owner of the canteen serve more or different food, but the suggestions are ignored. He has also told me that this man is actually a very good cook who is an expert in many Indian dishes, but just chooses to serve two of them. I can only take him on his word for this, because the man does not speak English, and I have yet to see him prepare anything else. I can add a third fault to the canteen’s service: the samosas are improperly deep fried. Ideally, a small number (around ten) should be completely submerged in oil at about 375 degrees Fahrenheit (about 200 degrees Celsius). That way, a minimal amount of oil will actually make its way into the food. Instead, the cook here only partially submerges a much larger number of samosas (20-30) in oil whose temperature is not regulated. Using this method, much more fat than necessary gets into the food. I am not about to condemn his cooking; I am just observing that the food can easily be made quicker, more efficiently and a bit healthier if he were to use more oil to fry and regulate temperature.
“My other area of focus will be the hostel kitchen. The hostel is reserved living quarters for anywhere between 35-50 female students of the college who do not live close to campus. They are not allowed to leave campus except for classes, on Sundays, and by written permission. They have a warden who lives on the premises (Mrs. Utra) and a resident cook (Neetu), as well as one of the girls appointed as “head girl” (Neha) who takes responsibility to make sure the rules are followed. Specifically, I will be working to improve the quality of food in the hostel kitchen. Three meals a day plus tea are served there. The menu is a weekly rotation, meaning that every Monday is the same three meals, every Tuesday is the same, and so on. It is also very monotonous. Every day, the girls receive two paranthas for breakfast (a savory filled flatbread) with a serving of milk or yoghurt, rice and a serving of pulses or beans for lunch (also called dal) and chapatti (whole-wheat flatbread) with a different kind of dal for dinner. On Thursdays, a sweet dish called kheer, similar to rice pudding, is also served. So, every day the girls get more than enough complex carbs (which contain a fair amount of fiber and some protein), lots of rice, two servings of beans, lentils or pulses (more complex carbs and more protein), one serving of dairy, between two and four servings of vegetables, and no meat (but that is typical or Indian diets). Of course there is added fat in the form of oils used to cook the food, but it is no more than a few tablespoons per day and well within almost all allowances of fat, both saturated and unsaturated.
“I also took a look at the accounting books to see the money that is being spent on the food. Between 25,000 and 30,000 rupees (545-650 USD) is spend per month on food ingredients and gas for cooking. Each girl pays 1600 (35 USD) per month to live in the hostel. Compare that to the approximately 1000 USD spent by an MSU student each month to live in the dormitory and eat in the cafeteria. Right now, there are 40 girls living in the hostel, making a total of 64,000 (about 1400 USD) per month in revenue towards the hostel for the girls. 30,000 rupees of that is spent on food and gas to cook. 4000 is Neetu’s salary for cooking (she is also given accommodation in the hostel as payment), and another 1500 for her helper that washes dishes. It varies per month, but Ramdev estimates that about 8500 is spent per month on water, electricity, and various other expenses. That leaves 20,000 rupees (435 USD) left over as profit for the college from just the hostel, tuition not included.
“I have tasted the food in the hostel on several occasions, and have found that is quite lacking in flavor. The girls to whom I have talked agree, and in addition to requesting more filling food, they also would like more taste in their diet. I don’t blame them. Ramdev has asked that I being my work here by preparing new dishes for the students, but especially for the girls in the hostel (since I will be using their kitchen much of the time) and especially American foods. I have focused on sweets so far: brownies (without eggs, of course, and that recipe needs work), fudge and peanut butter-chocolate no-bake cookies, which I have called PBC’s. I also made a larger quantity of PBC’s to distribute to the rest of the college to see how they like it, and it met with resounding success. The results were a little substandard by my judgment, as they did not have a very good structure and crumbled easily, but the taste was still quite good.
“The plan is to begin making more snacks out of both the hostel and the canteen kitchens and to distribute them throughout the college to see how the students like these new recipes. I will be exploring mostly sweet snacks and desserts in this manner, but also some spicy things like falafel (because chickpeas are very common here, and the girls want more spicy things). Furthermore, I hope to increase the quality of food in the hostel. First, I need to work more with the cook there to learn how these Indian dishes are cooked, and I can also learn from the canteen cook. Then I can apply what I know of cooking and baking to what I will learn here and apply it to food preparation in the hostel to make it more savory and a better quality. The ultimate goal is to make the general diet in the hostel more nutritious. One idea is to purchase an oven, which they don’t have, so that more foods can be cooked without frying them in oil. Sure, I will be making some desserts, but I believe taste is quite important to overall diet, and I won’t be giving them brownies at every meal. Next week I will analyze their diet more closely to breakdown the average caloric content of their diet, including their intake of proteins, carbohydrates and fats. I am not a trained dietician and will not be doing any sort of published studies from this research. I just want to get a general idea of what these girls already consume to see if there is anything radically wrong that needs correction, but I doubt that. It will be more of a base from which I can observe any changes that I may make in my work this semester.”
Well, that’s what I did this week. Ramdev said he would look into purchasing and oven and I could also use a scale for measuring ingredients. Accuracy makes for better results if you ask me. Oh, and I really need to perfect that PBC recipe. They were way too hard and crumbly, and I felt bad that I made so many of them and they turned out so badly. At least the people here support me and are willing to give me another shot. I can’t thank them enough.
Stay tuned for next week’s update!
“I have started working at KLB College for Girls. There are about 800 students taking classes in four graduate programs and 1 post-graduate program. Two main classroom buildings are operating right now, with a third under construction, due to be completed in the summer. My main focus will be in two areas of the college that prepare and serve food to the student body.
“First is the canteen. It is a small kitchen adjacent to the college run by one man and his wife. They are independent from the college itself, and are given the space and free electricity by Principal Ramdev. He is unhappy with their service for two main reasons. One, they serve a limited menu: samosas, channa and chai. Occasionally momos are also made. The other reason is that they just don’t make enough food, at least by Principal Ramdev’s judgment. After the samosas are finished, usually by noon, they are sold out in two hours. A dish of two samosas and channa is sold for ten rupees (about 25 American cents).
“Principal Ramdev has suggested that the owner of the canteen serve more or different food, but the suggestions are ignored. He has also told me that this man is actually a very good cook who is an expert in many Indian dishes, but just chooses to serve two of them. I can only take him on his word for this, because the man does not speak English, and I have yet to see him prepare anything else. I can add a third fault to the canteen’s service: the samosas are improperly deep fried. Ideally, a small number (around ten) should be completely submerged in oil at about 375 degrees Fahrenheit (about 200 degrees Celsius). That way, a minimal amount of oil will actually make its way into the food. Instead, the cook here only partially submerges a much larger number of samosas (20-30) in oil whose temperature is not regulated. Using this method, much more fat than necessary gets into the food. I am not about to condemn his cooking; I am just observing that the food can easily be made quicker, more efficiently and a bit healthier if he were to use more oil to fry and regulate temperature.
“My other area of focus will be the hostel kitchen. The hostel is reserved living quarters for anywhere between 35-50 female students of the college who do not live close to campus. They are not allowed to leave campus except for classes, on Sundays, and by written permission. They have a warden who lives on the premises (Mrs. Utra) and a resident cook (Neetu), as well as one of the girls appointed as “head girl” (Neha) who takes responsibility to make sure the rules are followed. Specifically, I will be working to improve the quality of food in the hostel kitchen. Three meals a day plus tea are served there. The menu is a weekly rotation, meaning that every Monday is the same three meals, every Tuesday is the same, and so on. It is also very monotonous. Every day, the girls receive two paranthas for breakfast (a savory filled flatbread) with a serving of milk or yoghurt, rice and a serving of pulses or beans for lunch (also called dal) and chapatti (whole-wheat flatbread) with a different kind of dal for dinner. On Thursdays, a sweet dish called kheer, similar to rice pudding, is also served. So, every day the girls get more than enough complex carbs (which contain a fair amount of fiber and some protein), lots of rice, two servings of beans, lentils or pulses (more complex carbs and more protein), one serving of dairy, between two and four servings of vegetables, and no meat (but that is typical or Indian diets). Of course there is added fat in the form of oils used to cook the food, but it is no more than a few tablespoons per day and well within almost all allowances of fat, both saturated and unsaturated.
“I also took a look at the accounting books to see the money that is being spent on the food. Between 25,000 and 30,000 rupees (545-650 USD) is spend per month on food ingredients and gas for cooking. Each girl pays 1600 (35 USD) per month to live in the hostel. Compare that to the approximately 1000 USD spent by an MSU student each month to live in the dormitory and eat in the cafeteria. Right now, there are 40 girls living in the hostel, making a total of 64,000 (about 1400 USD) per month in revenue towards the hostel for the girls. 30,000 rupees of that is spent on food and gas to cook. 4000 is Neetu’s salary for cooking (she is also given accommodation in the hostel as payment), and another 1500 for her helper that washes dishes. It varies per month, but Ramdev estimates that about 8500 is spent per month on water, electricity, and various other expenses. That leaves 20,000 rupees (435 USD) left over as profit for the college from just the hostel, tuition not included.
“I have tasted the food in the hostel on several occasions, and have found that is quite lacking in flavor. The girls to whom I have talked agree, and in addition to requesting more filling food, they also would like more taste in their diet. I don’t blame them. Ramdev has asked that I being my work here by preparing new dishes for the students, but especially for the girls in the hostel (since I will be using their kitchen much of the time) and especially American foods. I have focused on sweets so far: brownies (without eggs, of course, and that recipe needs work), fudge and peanut butter-chocolate no-bake cookies, which I have called PBC’s. I also made a larger quantity of PBC’s to distribute to the rest of the college to see how they like it, and it met with resounding success. The results were a little substandard by my judgment, as they did not have a very good structure and crumbled easily, but the taste was still quite good.
“The plan is to begin making more snacks out of both the hostel and the canteen kitchens and to distribute them throughout the college to see how the students like these new recipes. I will be exploring mostly sweet snacks and desserts in this manner, but also some spicy things like falafel (because chickpeas are very common here, and the girls want more spicy things). Furthermore, I hope to increase the quality of food in the hostel. First, I need to work more with the cook there to learn how these Indian dishes are cooked, and I can also learn from the canteen cook. Then I can apply what I know of cooking and baking to what I will learn here and apply it to food preparation in the hostel to make it more savory and a better quality. The ultimate goal is to make the general diet in the hostel more nutritious. One idea is to purchase an oven, which they don’t have, so that more foods can be cooked without frying them in oil. Sure, I will be making some desserts, but I believe taste is quite important to overall diet, and I won’t be giving them brownies at every meal. Next week I will analyze their diet more closely to breakdown the average caloric content of their diet, including their intake of proteins, carbohydrates and fats. I am not a trained dietician and will not be doing any sort of published studies from this research. I just want to get a general idea of what these girls already consume to see if there is anything radically wrong that needs correction, but I doubt that. It will be more of a base from which I can observe any changes that I may make in my work this semester.”
Well, that’s what I did this week. Ramdev said he would look into purchasing and oven and I could also use a scale for measuring ingredients. Accuracy makes for better results if you ask me. Oh, and I really need to perfect that PBC recipe. They were way too hard and crumbly, and I felt bad that I made so many of them and they turned out so badly. At least the people here support me and are willing to give me another shot. I can’t thank them enough.
Stay tuned for next week’s update!
27 January 2010
Because I Got High (and Dry)
When you’re sitting on top of the world, you feel like anything is possible, and it really puts things into perspective. Like yesterday, when we had a day off due to Republic Day in India, and Harmit took Agata and I on a little field trip to Billings Mountain, about an half hour’s drive outside of Palampur. When we got there, we began another half-hour drive up the side of the mountain on a one-lane, rocky road that wouldn’t even be called a road if it were in the U.S. As we got higher and higher, Agata and I began to feel some effects of the thin air. Being in a small, rickety car didn’t help either.
Don’t worry, there were no problems, and we got to the top of the mountain without a hitch. At about 9,600 feet or 2,600 meters, you could see for miles and miles (kilometers and kilometers). The weather was wonderful, and we just sat there and observed. Believe it or not, people actually maintain continuous residence at that altitude. They grow their own food, and there is enough fresh water to keep them comfortable. No electricity and no running water, but these people like the simple life. They don’t want anything else besides what they already have.
After the descent, we were treated to another example of minimalism as we toured a newly built Tibetan monastery. One of the monks, Lobsang, was kind enough to show us around and tell us about the temple. Did you know monks have cell phones? Anyway, we were also on a search for momos, a small Chinese dumpling that Harmit said I must try, so we asked Lobsang:
“Do you know if there is a place that serves good momos around here?”
“Sure.”
“Can you show us?”
“Of course.”
“Want to eat momos with us?”
“Yes.”
So we had dinner with a monk. Something I didn’t think I’d be experiencing on this trip.
By the time we got back to Palampur, we were all pretty sick of driving, and just wanted to go home, take a bucket bath and eat dinner. Unfortunately, the night before, the water in the whole house stopped running. It had been that way all night and all day, and Agata and I were really hoping that it would come back on, but no avail. How many Indians does it take to turn the water back on? Only one to go in the basement and realize that the master pipe was turned off. Water came rushing back in full force, and we were greeted by a torrential spray from a slightly leaky faucet in the bathroom. Turns out the water pressure had been building for over 24 hours, and that kind of pressure does funny things to leaky sinks.
No problem, though. Everything went back to normal by bedtime, and we fell asleep, content that at least one more luxury in life had returned to us. Maybe we’re not ready to live on top of a mountain or in a monastery, forgoing the conveniences of industrialized life, but just knowing it is possible makes us feel a little better about the future.
Don’t worry, there were no problems, and we got to the top of the mountain without a hitch. At about 9,600 feet or 2,600 meters, you could see for miles and miles (kilometers and kilometers). The weather was wonderful, and we just sat there and observed. Believe it or not, people actually maintain continuous residence at that altitude. They grow their own food, and there is enough fresh water to keep them comfortable. No electricity and no running water, but these people like the simple life. They don’t want anything else besides what they already have.
After the descent, we were treated to another example of minimalism as we toured a newly built Tibetan monastery. One of the monks, Lobsang, was kind enough to show us around and tell us about the temple. Did you know monks have cell phones? Anyway, we were also on a search for momos, a small Chinese dumpling that Harmit said I must try, so we asked Lobsang:
“Do you know if there is a place that serves good momos around here?”
“Sure.”
“Can you show us?”
“Of course.”
“Want to eat momos with us?”
“Yes.”
So we had dinner with a monk. Something I didn’t think I’d be experiencing on this trip.
By the time we got back to Palampur, we were all pretty sick of driving, and just wanted to go home, take a bucket bath and eat dinner. Unfortunately, the night before, the water in the whole house stopped running. It had been that way all night and all day, and Agata and I were really hoping that it would come back on, but no avail. How many Indians does it take to turn the water back on? Only one to go in the basement and realize that the master pipe was turned off. Water came rushing back in full force, and we were greeted by a torrential spray from a slightly leaky faucet in the bathroom. Turns out the water pressure had been building for over 24 hours, and that kind of pressure does funny things to leaky sinks.
No problem, though. Everything went back to normal by bedtime, and we fell asleep, content that at least one more luxury in life had returned to us. Maybe we’re not ready to live on top of a mountain or in a monastery, forgoing the conveniences of industrialized life, but just knowing it is possible makes us feel a little better about the future.
25 January 2010
Give PBC's a Chance
School is off today, and most of India is closed because of a national holiday. Actually, today is Himachal Day, and tomorrow is Republic Day. Many government schools and other groups in the area are practicing drills and marches and dances to celebrate in tomorrow’s parades, which will take place all over India. Today, I technically don’t have to go to work, because nobody else is, but since my work is in a hostel where food is served every day, and since it’s not my republic anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to come in and get something done.
Today I tested a new recipe on the girls: PBC No-Bakes. Very simple, very delicious, and egg-free, so I think it’ll be a good match. It just depends on if Indians like peanut butter. Whatever, nothing went wrong with this recipe, and for once, there aren’t a lot of good, interesting stories about which I can write. Many of the girls have gone home for the holiday, so I didn’t have nearly as many groupies following me around.
Also, I figured it would be time to start doing so accounting for all this baking I’m doing. That way, it’ll seem a bit more like work and less like play. Besides, if I plan to expand this as a small business venture for the students here, it will be important. So, I (KLB actually) spent just under 800 rupees on groceries so far. I made about 40 small brownies, 50 pieces of fudge, and 85 no-bakes, making a total of 175 pieces. I also didn’t use all of the groceries, as there was some left over. So, let’s call it 700 rupees to be safe. Divide the 175 pieces into that, and each piece costs a little more than 4 rupees. Sell them at 5 apiece to break even, and 6 or 7 to make a profit. That puts my sweets right around the same price as other sweets in India.
5 rupees for a PBC no-bake? That’s 12.5 cents. Pretty cheap by American standards. Also, the ingredients are much cheaper, so it all rounds out.
I guess when you apply it to baking and food, math can be pretty fun.
Next, Ramdev wants me to make another, bigger batch of PBC’s (that’s what I’m naming them) to more of the college to get a wider range of opinions. Plus, I should find another vegan brownie recipe, because the last one left a lot to be desired. Furthermore, the girls want something spicy. I was thinking hummus and falafel, since chickpeas are so abundant and cheap here. Finally, Ramdev has asked me to come up with American menus for one lunch, one breakfast and one dinner, just to change things up. Looks like I’ll have some more substantial things to do now. I’ll need to get some better measuring equipment, like a scale and some cups. I know I’m a nerd, but that’s so exciting!
Oh, and I have a roommate for the next couple of weeks. Her name is Agata, and she’s a Polish PR rep checking out the programs that GSC is offering in Palampur and the rest of Himachal Pradesh. She wants to make these opportunities available to Polish students. She took the midnight train from Delhi to get here, and fell right asleep upon arrival, but my first impression is that she should be a pretty cool person. Harmit, Atul, Agata and I will be hanging out tonight to get to know each other better.
Today I tested a new recipe on the girls: PBC No-Bakes. Very simple, very delicious, and egg-free, so I think it’ll be a good match. It just depends on if Indians like peanut butter. Whatever, nothing went wrong with this recipe, and for once, there aren’t a lot of good, interesting stories about which I can write. Many of the girls have gone home for the holiday, so I didn’t have nearly as many groupies following me around.
Also, I figured it would be time to start doing so accounting for all this baking I’m doing. That way, it’ll seem a bit more like work and less like play. Besides, if I plan to expand this as a small business venture for the students here, it will be important. So, I (KLB actually) spent just under 800 rupees on groceries so far. I made about 40 small brownies, 50 pieces of fudge, and 85 no-bakes, making a total of 175 pieces. I also didn’t use all of the groceries, as there was some left over. So, let’s call it 700 rupees to be safe. Divide the 175 pieces into that, and each piece costs a little more than 4 rupees. Sell them at 5 apiece to break even, and 6 or 7 to make a profit. That puts my sweets right around the same price as other sweets in India.
5 rupees for a PBC no-bake? That’s 12.5 cents. Pretty cheap by American standards. Also, the ingredients are much cheaper, so it all rounds out.
I guess when you apply it to baking and food, math can be pretty fun.
Next, Ramdev wants me to make another, bigger batch of PBC’s (that’s what I’m naming them) to more of the college to get a wider range of opinions. Plus, I should find another vegan brownie recipe, because the last one left a lot to be desired. Furthermore, the girls want something spicy. I was thinking hummus and falafel, since chickpeas are so abundant and cheap here. Finally, Ramdev has asked me to come up with American menus for one lunch, one breakfast and one dinner, just to change things up. Looks like I’ll have some more substantial things to do now. I’ll need to get some better measuring equipment, like a scale and some cups. I know I’m a nerd, but that’s so exciting!
Oh, and I have a roommate for the next couple of weeks. Her name is Agata, and she’s a Polish PR rep checking out the programs that GSC is offering in Palampur and the rest of Himachal Pradesh. She wants to make these opportunities available to Polish students. She took the midnight train from Delhi to get here, and fell right asleep upon arrival, but my first impression is that she should be a pretty cool person. Harmit, Atul, Agata and I will be hanging out tonight to get to know each other better.
23 January 2010
Fudge Factor
Things are starting to come to fruition now. While that is a very good thing here in Palampur, where nothing is planned and everything is made up on the spot, it is a bit unnerving. Let me explain. I have had one day at KLB College for Girls with the principal. The principal Ramdev and I are focusing my work on the girl’s hostel that is run by the college. Around 45 students board here, and they are served three meals per day by the one staff cook. Their menu rotates on a weekly basis, which tends to become a bit boring for the girls after awhile. My project, as assigned by Harmit and Ramdev, is to spend much of my time in the hostel’s kitchen to see what can be done to improve both the taste and quality of the food.
The taste of the food is the most important area. Let me tell you, I’ve spent over a week in India, and every single meal that I’ve had here has been absolutely, without a question, some of the most delicious I have ever eaten. Everything is fresh, strongly flavored, spicy and rich, yet all of the ingredients are very simple. Unfortunately, I tasted the food in the hostel kitchen, and it leaves much to be desired. It is more like tepid, weakly flavored broth soaked up by lots of rice.
One of my first jobs will be to analyze the weekly menu and calculate the micro- and macronutrients that the students receive on average: total kilocalories, percentages of fat, carbohydrates, protein, vitamins and minerals, the works. At first glance at the food and the foodies, I can tell that the girls aren’t being starved or malnourished, but all of them have told me that they would prefer better food. Next, I need to learn as much as possible about Indian cuisine from Shammi, the man who will be cooking for me and teaching me this semester (his food is amazing). Then, I should be able to apply what I learn to revise the menu in the hostel.
There are several reasons why it’s unnerving and very, very awkward. For one, I’m not a professional cook or dietician. Forgive me for this break in modesty, but I am a damn good cook and I know a decent amount of nutritional and fitness knowledge, not to mention some experience working in a cafeteria kitchen and MSU’s bakery. Yet the amount of knowledge that I lack is much more significant than what I already have, at least to me.
Another reason is that I feel absolutely awful coming into this kitchen and trying to get this cook to change the way she is doing things. I’m just the dumb white kid after all. I don’t tell Cristeta Cromerford how she should cook for the president. To me, the arrogance is overwhelming, but I am continuously assured by Ramdev and Harmit that my “help” is greatly appreciated. For right now, I’m just going along with it.
Thirdly, Ramdev and KLB are selflessly funding all of my exploits. I’m starting by making fudge and vegan brownies for the hostel to see if the recipes are good for the college, and I the plan is to continue trying things in the hostel kitchen, using it as a launching pad for a larger business-type thing. Ramdev won’t let me pay for a thing. I’m using as many local and cheap ingredients that I can, but it just seems wrong for him to buy things to experiment with vegan recipes and other snacks with no concrete return on their investment. Hopefully a business venture will be able to pan out so that the college can at least break even while funding my baking exploits.
Finally, there is nothing more awkward and unsettling than the 30+ girls for whom I am cooking. They are all over 18 years old, but the diet and living in the mountains has produced a generation that looks and acts much younger than they really are. They also are thoroughly fascinated by white people and the interesting things that they talk about. So, when I go to the hostel to cook and bake, I am confronted by a gaggle of 10-15 year old (looking) girls who are all incessantly fawning over me and intently following whatever I do.
Don’t get me wrong, I love female attention as much as the next red-blooded American male, but this is just creepy. Robbing the cradle, you know?
So. Fudge and brownies. The vegan brownie recipe that I tried turned out very well. I cooked apples into applesauce and was able to find the rest of the ingredients in the local markets. Using a small toaster oven that Ramdev found in storage (Indian cuisine requires very little baking), I was able to bake them and they turned out very well. The fudge, on the other hand, was a bit of a challenge. I’ve made fudge and other candies that require precise cooking of sugar before, but here I find myself woefully lacking in much of the necessary equipment: thermometer, solid pot, reliable heat source, spatula, lid… It was old school the whole way. Without a thermometer, I was forced to rely upon the “ball” method of checking the temperature. It requires taking a small amount of the cooking sugar and dropping it into cold water. The various shapes that it forms upon cooling – soft ball, hard ball, soft crack, hard crack, etc. – will let you know the general temperature of the sugar.
Let’s just say that there’s a reason why candy makers today use thermometers.
Also, there isn’t any corn syrup in India, at least not in smaller towns. Corn syrup is a crucial ingredient in candy making because it contains sugar molecules that have already crystallized, which will disperse through the mixture and prevent the whole thing from seizing up. Without corn syrup, candy making is a very precise venture, and the littlest disturbance will ruin the whole recipe.
Like when you make fudge and the mixture nearly seizes up just as you pour it in the pan. In the end, the fudge definitely did not turn out as expected (it was very grainy), but it was still delicious and chocolately, and the girls went nuts over. Especially since I added walnuts in the fudge. Nuts… get it? Whatever, I’m funny.
Next on the agenda? More vegan recipes. I need to come up with more snack-like items that the students can purchase and take with them on their way. Plus, some of them should be non-desserts. We don’t want to make the whole town fat. Harmit and Ramdev have also suggested that I hold some classes on diet, nutrition and general fitness. Again, I’m not an expert in any of these things, but they still insist.
Very exciting, very challenging, and very intimidating. I’ll keep you posted.
The taste of the food is the most important area. Let me tell you, I’ve spent over a week in India, and every single meal that I’ve had here has been absolutely, without a question, some of the most delicious I have ever eaten. Everything is fresh, strongly flavored, spicy and rich, yet all of the ingredients are very simple. Unfortunately, I tasted the food in the hostel kitchen, and it leaves much to be desired. It is more like tepid, weakly flavored broth soaked up by lots of rice.
One of my first jobs will be to analyze the weekly menu and calculate the micro- and macronutrients that the students receive on average: total kilocalories, percentages of fat, carbohydrates, protein, vitamins and minerals, the works. At first glance at the food and the foodies, I can tell that the girls aren’t being starved or malnourished, but all of them have told me that they would prefer better food. Next, I need to learn as much as possible about Indian cuisine from Shammi, the man who will be cooking for me and teaching me this semester (his food is amazing). Then, I should be able to apply what I learn to revise the menu in the hostel.
There are several reasons why it’s unnerving and very, very awkward. For one, I’m not a professional cook or dietician. Forgive me for this break in modesty, but I am a damn good cook and I know a decent amount of nutritional and fitness knowledge, not to mention some experience working in a cafeteria kitchen and MSU’s bakery. Yet the amount of knowledge that I lack is much more significant than what I already have, at least to me.
Another reason is that I feel absolutely awful coming into this kitchen and trying to get this cook to change the way she is doing things. I’m just the dumb white kid after all. I don’t tell Cristeta Cromerford how she should cook for the president. To me, the arrogance is overwhelming, but I am continuously assured by Ramdev and Harmit that my “help” is greatly appreciated. For right now, I’m just going along with it.
Thirdly, Ramdev and KLB are selflessly funding all of my exploits. I’m starting by making fudge and vegan brownies for the hostel to see if the recipes are good for the college, and I the plan is to continue trying things in the hostel kitchen, using it as a launching pad for a larger business-type thing. Ramdev won’t let me pay for a thing. I’m using as many local and cheap ingredients that I can, but it just seems wrong for him to buy things to experiment with vegan recipes and other snacks with no concrete return on their investment. Hopefully a business venture will be able to pan out so that the college can at least break even while funding my baking exploits.
Finally, there is nothing more awkward and unsettling than the 30+ girls for whom I am cooking. They are all over 18 years old, but the diet and living in the mountains has produced a generation that looks and acts much younger than they really are. They also are thoroughly fascinated by white people and the interesting things that they talk about. So, when I go to the hostel to cook and bake, I am confronted by a gaggle of 10-15 year old (looking) girls who are all incessantly fawning over me and intently following whatever I do.
Don’t get me wrong, I love female attention as much as the next red-blooded American male, but this is just creepy. Robbing the cradle, you know?
So. Fudge and brownies. The vegan brownie recipe that I tried turned out very well. I cooked apples into applesauce and was able to find the rest of the ingredients in the local markets. Using a small toaster oven that Ramdev found in storage (Indian cuisine requires very little baking), I was able to bake them and they turned out very well. The fudge, on the other hand, was a bit of a challenge. I’ve made fudge and other candies that require precise cooking of sugar before, but here I find myself woefully lacking in much of the necessary equipment: thermometer, solid pot, reliable heat source, spatula, lid… It was old school the whole way. Without a thermometer, I was forced to rely upon the “ball” method of checking the temperature. It requires taking a small amount of the cooking sugar and dropping it into cold water. The various shapes that it forms upon cooling – soft ball, hard ball, soft crack, hard crack, etc. – will let you know the general temperature of the sugar.
Let’s just say that there’s a reason why candy makers today use thermometers.
Also, there isn’t any corn syrup in India, at least not in smaller towns. Corn syrup is a crucial ingredient in candy making because it contains sugar molecules that have already crystallized, which will disperse through the mixture and prevent the whole thing from seizing up. Without corn syrup, candy making is a very precise venture, and the littlest disturbance will ruin the whole recipe.
Like when you make fudge and the mixture nearly seizes up just as you pour it in the pan. In the end, the fudge definitely did not turn out as expected (it was very grainy), but it was still delicious and chocolately, and the girls went nuts over. Especially since I added walnuts in the fudge. Nuts… get it? Whatever, I’m funny.
Next on the agenda? More vegan recipes. I need to come up with more snack-like items that the students can purchase and take with them on their way. Plus, some of them should be non-desserts. We don’t want to make the whole town fat. Harmit and Ramdev have also suggested that I hold some classes on diet, nutrition and general fitness. Again, I’m not an expert in any of these things, but they still insist.
Very exciting, very challenging, and very intimidating. I’ll keep you posted.
22 January 2010
School Daze
Thursday, 21 January 2010
This morning I went to Dhared daycare center, a school in a small rural village bordering Palampur. It was about a 30-minute hike away from my house, and I mean it was a true hike, requiring a bit of trekking up the side of a mountain. Nothing serious, mind you, but let’s just say that the average couch potato would have some trouble getting to Dhared. In this part of my program, I will be exploring the different institutions and projects in Palampur to familiarize myself with their function. Ignorance is not bliss, and only by familiarizing myself with how this city works will I be able to make a positive impact.
To make sure that I’m not a complete idiot, Atul has asked me to write up short “reports” about what I see and learn on these de facto orientations. Since I like to multitask, simplify and consolidate, and just because I am generally lazy, here is the report I wrote, so you can also be enlightened by my orientation:
“The daycare, or aanganwari, at Dhared is a small, three-room concrete building perched on the side of a hill overlooking Palampur and the surrounding hills. It is simply decorated with mottos and slogans in both Hindi and English, as well as some handprints of the children who attend it.
“This school is a GPS, a Government Primary School, similar to public school in the United States. The government of Himachal Pradesh pays for the building’s construction and maintenance, teacher salaries, facilities, infrastructure and other basic expenses. It does not pay for textbooks or uniforms; these have to be provided by the student. In addition, the families sending their child to the school are required to pay a nominal fee of about 7 rupees per month (less than 20 cents) to cover additional expenses. Since the state government receives all of its funds from the Indian federal government, it is the central government that is the ultimate source of funding for GPS’s.
“The school teaches first through fifth grades, and the children are between four and fourteen years old. Instruction at the school is done in Hindi. At Dhared, four subjects are taught: Hindi, English, mathematics and environmental studies. That last subject consists of teaching the children basic hygiene and giving them an understanding of how everything is recycled in the environment. That way, they learn that anything they put into the environment comes back to them, and they must take care of it if it is going to take care of them. The other subjects are self-explanatory, but it is understood that English lessons must receive extra effort if the children are going to succeed in the world, since it is the lingua franca of the world.
“The syllabus determines the structure of the lessons and it regulates the children’s progress through each grade. It is provided to Dhared and other GPS’s by the state Board of Education, located in Dharmsala. Each syllabus is a list of lessons that the students are expected to master by the end of the school year. The list is contained in the government-sponsored textbooks, and at the end of these books is a set of exercises that will determine a student’s aptitude. For example, the grade 5 English textbook is a list of poems, stories and reading in English that each highlight a portion of the English language that the student is to learn. The pace of the lessons is determined by the teacher at each site. Regardless of how the lessons are carried out, the exercises is the ultimate determinant of the student’s understanding of the language.
“Each week, the students at the school work to lean that week’s subject, review it and complete the assigned exercises. Minimum passing grade for the exercises is 35%, and the average score is 50%. This is much lower than the 50% minimum and 80% average in most American educational institutions, but that doesn’t necessarily reflect upon the quality of either institution. If the student fails to pass the exercises at the end of the year, they are required to repeat the lessons until they can pass it. Only after passing are they able to proceed to the next class and lesson.
“The daycare also acts as a health clinic for the whole community. Medicines, drugs and vaccines are distributed from there, and it is likely to be the first place somebody in the community goes when they are sick or injured. In addition, the daycare provides prenatal care for women in the community.
“One of the most important aspects of the daycare is the meal program. In 2004, the Indian government passed a resolution stating that all primary school students are required to provide one hot meal per day to all of its students, and the government is also responsible for paying for it. To do so, it contracts out to local farmers. Local, state and nationally-owned farms do exist in India, but their purpose is mainly agricultural research, not widespread distribution. Local farmers have contracts with the government to sell them a fixed quantity of food products at a fixed price, which is negotiated by the government yearly. Usually, this quantity is lower than a farm’s total production, and the price is lower than market value. The reason why these contracts continue to be renewed is because it is a source of stable, renewable business for local farmers; it is a guaranteed consumer than fluctuates much less than outside markets. If local agricultural production diminishes and the government is unable to provide schools with the predetermined quantity, they school is allowed to purchase extra food at outside markets, with government reimbursement to follow. As such, the daily meal program at GPS’s requires a much balancing. All in all, Dhared is a wonderful example of Indian GPS’s, and it provides a very important service to rural communities.”
After Dhared, I went to talk to the principal of the local girl’s college in Palampur. Harmit, the representative from Global Student Consultants, wants me to do most of my work there, because there is a lot of opportunity for students in future programs and he wants to develop the connection between MSU, GSC and the college. Ramdev, the principal, had already learned that my main interest is food and nutrition, and he was ready to present me with several areas in which I could work.
For one, the canteen at the college is insufficient to provide adequate food for the 800+ girls and the 1200+ students at a neighboring school. It only serves chai and samosas, a fried pastry filled with a spiced potato mixture. Besides the canteen, there are only two nearby places where students can buy lunch, and their selections aren’t much better.
Furthermore, the cook at the canteen is an independent contractor who doesn’t listen to the principal at all. It was suggested to him many different times, as subtlety as possible, that he should step outside of his comfort zone a bit to respond to the needs of the hungry student body. These requests were promptly ignored.
So, Harmit has big plans for me. First, he wants me to spend a couple of weeks familiarizing myself with the institutions in the area. This includes the girl’s college, Kayakalp (the health center), the hostel that provides food and lodging for 40-50 students, and the daycare center. Then, my next project is to get to know the current diets of and nutritional habits of the students. With that information, I can help with nutrition and food classes for both the college and the community to improve their eating habits.
Finally, what Harmit really wants me to do is expand the eating options of the students by opening up a small snack shop near the school that features American baked goods. Think about that for a second. This semester, an American student with limited experience in the food industry and no business experience will attempt to open up an American bakery in a foreign country that will serve 2000+ plus people per day, many of them vegetarians who won’t consume baked goods with eggs.
I’m freaking out! Ok, not really, but the possibilities are quite exciting. There are a lot of variables to consider, and this won’t be happening overnight. Over the next couple of weeks, and of course throughout the semester, I will be doing my best to explore the possibility of starting up a mini-restaurant for the first time in a foreign country. I don’t know if this is a dream come true, but it it’s pretty damn close.
This morning I went to Dhared daycare center, a school in a small rural village bordering Palampur. It was about a 30-minute hike away from my house, and I mean it was a true hike, requiring a bit of trekking up the side of a mountain. Nothing serious, mind you, but let’s just say that the average couch potato would have some trouble getting to Dhared. In this part of my program, I will be exploring the different institutions and projects in Palampur to familiarize myself with their function. Ignorance is not bliss, and only by familiarizing myself with how this city works will I be able to make a positive impact.
To make sure that I’m not a complete idiot, Atul has asked me to write up short “reports” about what I see and learn on these de facto orientations. Since I like to multitask, simplify and consolidate, and just because I am generally lazy, here is the report I wrote, so you can also be enlightened by my orientation:
“The daycare, or aanganwari, at Dhared is a small, three-room concrete building perched on the side of a hill overlooking Palampur and the surrounding hills. It is simply decorated with mottos and slogans in both Hindi and English, as well as some handprints of the children who attend it.
“This school is a GPS, a Government Primary School, similar to public school in the United States. The government of Himachal Pradesh pays for the building’s construction and maintenance, teacher salaries, facilities, infrastructure and other basic expenses. It does not pay for textbooks or uniforms; these have to be provided by the student. In addition, the families sending their child to the school are required to pay a nominal fee of about 7 rupees per month (less than 20 cents) to cover additional expenses. Since the state government receives all of its funds from the Indian federal government, it is the central government that is the ultimate source of funding for GPS’s.
“The school teaches first through fifth grades, and the children are between four and fourteen years old. Instruction at the school is done in Hindi. At Dhared, four subjects are taught: Hindi, English, mathematics and environmental studies. That last subject consists of teaching the children basic hygiene and giving them an understanding of how everything is recycled in the environment. That way, they learn that anything they put into the environment comes back to them, and they must take care of it if it is going to take care of them. The other subjects are self-explanatory, but it is understood that English lessons must receive extra effort if the children are going to succeed in the world, since it is the lingua franca of the world.
“The syllabus determines the structure of the lessons and it regulates the children’s progress through each grade. It is provided to Dhared and other GPS’s by the state Board of Education, located in Dharmsala. Each syllabus is a list of lessons that the students are expected to master by the end of the school year. The list is contained in the government-sponsored textbooks, and at the end of these books is a set of exercises that will determine a student’s aptitude. For example, the grade 5 English textbook is a list of poems, stories and reading in English that each highlight a portion of the English language that the student is to learn. The pace of the lessons is determined by the teacher at each site. Regardless of how the lessons are carried out, the exercises is the ultimate determinant of the student’s understanding of the language.
“Each week, the students at the school work to lean that week’s subject, review it and complete the assigned exercises. Minimum passing grade for the exercises is 35%, and the average score is 50%. This is much lower than the 50% minimum and 80% average in most American educational institutions, but that doesn’t necessarily reflect upon the quality of either institution. If the student fails to pass the exercises at the end of the year, they are required to repeat the lessons until they can pass it. Only after passing are they able to proceed to the next class and lesson.
“The daycare also acts as a health clinic for the whole community. Medicines, drugs and vaccines are distributed from there, and it is likely to be the first place somebody in the community goes when they are sick or injured. In addition, the daycare provides prenatal care for women in the community.
“One of the most important aspects of the daycare is the meal program. In 2004, the Indian government passed a resolution stating that all primary school students are required to provide one hot meal per day to all of its students, and the government is also responsible for paying for it. To do so, it contracts out to local farmers. Local, state and nationally-owned farms do exist in India, but their purpose is mainly agricultural research, not widespread distribution. Local farmers have contracts with the government to sell them a fixed quantity of food products at a fixed price, which is negotiated by the government yearly. Usually, this quantity is lower than a farm’s total production, and the price is lower than market value. The reason why these contracts continue to be renewed is because it is a source of stable, renewable business for local farmers; it is a guaranteed consumer than fluctuates much less than outside markets. If local agricultural production diminishes and the government is unable to provide schools with the predetermined quantity, they school is allowed to purchase extra food at outside markets, with government reimbursement to follow. As such, the daily meal program at GPS’s requires a much balancing. All in all, Dhared is a wonderful example of Indian GPS’s, and it provides a very important service to rural communities.”
After Dhared, I went to talk to the principal of the local girl’s college in Palampur. Harmit, the representative from Global Student Consultants, wants me to do most of my work there, because there is a lot of opportunity for students in future programs and he wants to develop the connection between MSU, GSC and the college. Ramdev, the principal, had already learned that my main interest is food and nutrition, and he was ready to present me with several areas in which I could work.
For one, the canteen at the college is insufficient to provide adequate food for the 800+ girls and the 1200+ students at a neighboring school. It only serves chai and samosas, a fried pastry filled with a spiced potato mixture. Besides the canteen, there are only two nearby places where students can buy lunch, and their selections aren’t much better.
Furthermore, the cook at the canteen is an independent contractor who doesn’t listen to the principal at all. It was suggested to him many different times, as subtlety as possible, that he should step outside of his comfort zone a bit to respond to the needs of the hungry student body. These requests were promptly ignored.
So, Harmit has big plans for me. First, he wants me to spend a couple of weeks familiarizing myself with the institutions in the area. This includes the girl’s college, Kayakalp (the health center), the hostel that provides food and lodging for 40-50 students, and the daycare center. Then, my next project is to get to know the current diets of and nutritional habits of the students. With that information, I can help with nutrition and food classes for both the college and the community to improve their eating habits.
Finally, what Harmit really wants me to do is expand the eating options of the students by opening up a small snack shop near the school that features American baked goods. Think about that for a second. This semester, an American student with limited experience in the food industry and no business experience will attempt to open up an American bakery in a foreign country that will serve 2000+ plus people per day, many of them vegetarians who won’t consume baked goods with eggs.
I’m freaking out! Ok, not really, but the possibilities are quite exciting. There are a lot of variables to consider, and this won’t be happening overnight. Over the next couple of weeks, and of course throughout the semester, I will be doing my best to explore the possibility of starting up a mini-restaurant for the first time in a foreign country. I don’t know if this is a dream come true, but it it’s pretty damn close.
No Place Like Home
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
After almost a week of traveling, not staying in the same spot for more than 24 hours, I can finally say that I have arrived home. Home is where I have a room, a bed for myself, and basically a place to put my stuff. This being India, traditional amenities are a bit scarce, or at least not like they are back in the states. Nevertheless, it is still more than enough for me.
Before I go into describing the house, let me tell you about my bus ride, which turned out to be one of the most frightening and exciting times of my life. Atul and I departed from Delhi at approximately 18:30 on an overnight bus journey to Himachal Pradesh and Palampur. I should have gotten a clue about the nature of the upcoming journey when I noticed both Atul and the driving praying before departure. The driver went so far as to light incense on a portable shrine to Ganesh that he had with him at the front of the bus. Seriously, there was an altar in my bus. I should have realized what that meant.
This bus was in desperate need of renovation, at least by American standards. It shook, rattled and rolled during the entire trip, and the noise it made was enough to keep me up on its own. Add to that the nearly incessant horn blowing that seems characteristic of Indian driving, and I knew that I wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night. Oh well, how bad can it be? Turns out, pretty bad.
The first two thirds of the ride were in the thickest fog I have ever seen. Less than five meters of visibility. Looking out the bus windows, you feel as if you are travelling to the Twilight Zone. That, or it feels like a scene from Stephen King’s The Mist. Yet the driver felt it was necessary to travel at about 70 or 80 kph. How could he see? Needless to say, I was a bit concerned.
Then at around two in the morning, in a span of about thirty seconds, the fog completely disappeared. We had reached the Himalayan foothills in Himachal which effectively killed the fog. “Good,” I thought, “the rest of the way should be much safer and more pleasant, and I will be able to sleep.” Couldn’t have been more wrong. Foothills, remember? That means the road stayed straight for no farther than 20 meters. The rest was hairpin turns and steep slopes. Still the driver didn’t slow down. For the next four hours, I didn’t sleep a wink. I was too busy hanging on to the seat in front of me and anything else that would stabilize me. It was like an old wooden roller coaster, except it lasted longer than 90 seconds and there wasn’t a creepy carnie taking my ticket. The worst part was that everybody else in the bus was fast asleep! By the name of everything that is holy, how could they fall asleep when I could hardly stay seated and was actively trying not to puke? Finally at 5:30, we arrived in Palampur. After kissing the ground and rescinding the promise I made to become religious, I was driven to my house.
The place where I am staying for the next few months is a two-story mud hut, which sounds filthy, but is quite clean. It’s just that the house is constructed out of mud, like adobe in the southwest. Décor is limited and the doorways are a bit short, but there is running water and kitchen with a wooden fireplace used for cooking. There is a wonderful man named Shammi who cooks for me and the other inhabitants who will be arriving later in the week. My bedroom is a small room in the corner of the house that is really more of a large closet, but I love the coziness of it. No heating of course, which kind of sucks because nights in the mountains tend to get quite cold. However, I have a very heavy blanket and my clothes are more than adequate to keep me warm. Chai three times a day also helps.
I start work soon. Every hour I am in the dark about the next hour’s schedule, but I don’t mind. It’s quite exciting, you know? Every day is an adventure, and in my new home, it looks like it will be that way for a long time.
After almost a week of traveling, not staying in the same spot for more than 24 hours, I can finally say that I have arrived home. Home is where I have a room, a bed for myself, and basically a place to put my stuff. This being India, traditional amenities are a bit scarce, or at least not like they are back in the states. Nevertheless, it is still more than enough for me.
Before I go into describing the house, let me tell you about my bus ride, which turned out to be one of the most frightening and exciting times of my life. Atul and I departed from Delhi at approximately 18:30 on an overnight bus journey to Himachal Pradesh and Palampur. I should have gotten a clue about the nature of the upcoming journey when I noticed both Atul and the driving praying before departure. The driver went so far as to light incense on a portable shrine to Ganesh that he had with him at the front of the bus. Seriously, there was an altar in my bus. I should have realized what that meant.
This bus was in desperate need of renovation, at least by American standards. It shook, rattled and rolled during the entire trip, and the noise it made was enough to keep me up on its own. Add to that the nearly incessant horn blowing that seems characteristic of Indian driving, and I knew that I wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night. Oh well, how bad can it be? Turns out, pretty bad.
The first two thirds of the ride were in the thickest fog I have ever seen. Less than five meters of visibility. Looking out the bus windows, you feel as if you are travelling to the Twilight Zone. That, or it feels like a scene from Stephen King’s The Mist. Yet the driver felt it was necessary to travel at about 70 or 80 kph. How could he see? Needless to say, I was a bit concerned.
Then at around two in the morning, in a span of about thirty seconds, the fog completely disappeared. We had reached the Himalayan foothills in Himachal which effectively killed the fog. “Good,” I thought, “the rest of the way should be much safer and more pleasant, and I will be able to sleep.” Couldn’t have been more wrong. Foothills, remember? That means the road stayed straight for no farther than 20 meters. The rest was hairpin turns and steep slopes. Still the driver didn’t slow down. For the next four hours, I didn’t sleep a wink. I was too busy hanging on to the seat in front of me and anything else that would stabilize me. It was like an old wooden roller coaster, except it lasted longer than 90 seconds and there wasn’t a creepy carnie taking my ticket. The worst part was that everybody else in the bus was fast asleep! By the name of everything that is holy, how could they fall asleep when I could hardly stay seated and was actively trying not to puke? Finally at 5:30, we arrived in Palampur. After kissing the ground and rescinding the promise I made to become religious, I was driven to my house.
The place where I am staying for the next few months is a two-story mud hut, which sounds filthy, but is quite clean. It’s just that the house is constructed out of mud, like adobe in the southwest. Décor is limited and the doorways are a bit short, but there is running water and kitchen with a wooden fireplace used for cooking. There is a wonderful man named Shammi who cooks for me and the other inhabitants who will be arriving later in the week. My bedroom is a small room in the corner of the house that is really more of a large closet, but I love the coziness of it. No heating of course, which kind of sucks because nights in the mountains tend to get quite cold. However, I have a very heavy blanket and my clothes are more than adequate to keep me warm. Chai three times a day also helps.
I start work soon. Every hour I am in the dark about the next hour’s schedule, but I don’t mind. It’s quite exciting, you know? Every day is an adventure, and in my new home, it looks like it will be that way for a long time.
20 January 2010
Market Day
Monday, 18 January 2010
I faced death many times today. It smiled at me, and I smiled right back.
Don’t worry mom, I’m still alive. Just wanted to bend the truth a little for shock and awe.
Today, Atul and I went to Amber Fort in Jaipur, a palace built in 1599 by Moguls ruling India at the time. At least that’s what I think is the story, because the palace was a shockingly good specimen of Mogul architecture. Stunningly gorgeous, too, especially in the sunny weather. Contrary to most Western tourist traps, this one had no signs, no guided paths, no set tours that visitors are expected to follow. In fact, there were very few places in this ancient palace that were closed to visitors. It was generally open to exploration, something you would be hard-pressed to find in, say, Monticello or Buckingham Palace. The place is a veritable maze, with a plethora of corridors and hallways, crazy stairways and hidden passages. Were it not for Atul, I would have gotten very lost (see previous entry).
To get to and from any place in these big cities, one must take a tuk-tuk or rickshaw auto, small gas-powered contraptions designed to ferry a few people between places. Why not take a regular taxi? Because a tuk-tuk is small, light, quick, and able to navigate through traffic very easily. For Westerners, this is not a very good thing.
The near death of which I spoke is the traffic in Jaipur. It is only my third day in India, the third in a big city, and already I have become complete unfazed by the astounding way in which Indians drive. It’s not astounding to me anymore, surprisingly. I have come to this conclusion: if one were to drive like and Indian in the United States, they would be arrested and thrown in jail after five minutes, if they haven’t yet killed ten people in those five minutes. Yet if and American drove in Delhi, he would not get anywhere. Not anywhere at all. In fact, he would probably get hit by a bus pretty quickly.
It’s impossible to give specific recipe for this type of driving, but I’ll do my best. First, one must take streets designed for cars two abreast, and pack in five. Throw in an excessive use of horns, constantly jaywalking pedestrians, and a complete ignorance of traffic lights or lane lines. Add a pinch of adrenaline and a healthy dose of fearlessness, and you’ve got yourself a great serving on Indian traffic.
Seriously, on the first day, I fully expected that I was going to either die or kill somebody else every five minutes. Our tiny 200-kilo tuk-tuk is swerving around cars ten times its size and narrowly missing people who cross the street directly in front of it. All in all, it’s a complete shock, but very easy to get used to. Why? Nobody else seems to be fazed by it, so I shouldn’t be. Besides, Atul is telling me that the traffic in Himachal and Palampur is nowhere near as crazy.
One more very fun thing today is that I finally got to go to an Indian grocery store. True, there are many outdoor markets to buy food and other goods, and they are great in their own respect, but I love visiting commercialized stores in other countries. Here, I was introduced to bags of oil for cooking instead of solid containers, half-kilo bags of turmeric or chili powder, and a fascinating check-out process. What you do is bring your items to one counter, where they are scanned and a receipt is printed. Then the receipt is taken to a second counter, where cash is given as per the amount on the receipt. The receipt is stamped, and it is taken from you, along with your items for which you have just paid, by a store hand who brings them to a third counter, where another person compares the items on the receipt to the ones in your bag. Needless to say, items are rarely stolen from stores.
Seriously, a half-kilo of turmeric?
Oh, today I finally had my first Indian dessert, laddoo. It is a small ball of graham flour sweetened with melted sugar, which also serves to hold the ball together. There are many different flavors, and the one I ate was flavored with watermelon seeds. Who would’ve thought? Anyway, this and most other Indian desserts share a few characteristics: lots of sugar, and very small amount of fat, and no eggs. That is because being a vegetarian in India (as most Indians are) means that eggs are a no-no. It’s not vegan, because they use a lot of milk and butter (or ghee, which is clarified butter and their main cooking fat), it’s just that eggs are grouped as a type of meat. Also, most desserts are not baked or cooked, just held together by sugar and/or fat, but mostly just sugar. Fats are more expensive and harder to come by.
All in all, between risking life and limb on the streets and practically needing a background check to buy a bottle of water, it was quite a wonderful day in India. Atul and I are going to watch The Dark Night on my computer. How fortunate that I was paired with a Hollywood movie buff. Tomorrow, we are starting a very long day of traveling to get to Amritsar and will likely be heading to bed very early. Goodnight, all.
I faced death many times today. It smiled at me, and I smiled right back.
Don’t worry mom, I’m still alive. Just wanted to bend the truth a little for shock and awe.
Today, Atul and I went to Amber Fort in Jaipur, a palace built in 1599 by Moguls ruling India at the time. At least that’s what I think is the story, because the palace was a shockingly good specimen of Mogul architecture. Stunningly gorgeous, too, especially in the sunny weather. Contrary to most Western tourist traps, this one had no signs, no guided paths, no set tours that visitors are expected to follow. In fact, there were very few places in this ancient palace that were closed to visitors. It was generally open to exploration, something you would be hard-pressed to find in, say, Monticello or Buckingham Palace. The place is a veritable maze, with a plethora of corridors and hallways, crazy stairways and hidden passages. Were it not for Atul, I would have gotten very lost (see previous entry).
To get to and from any place in these big cities, one must take a tuk-tuk or rickshaw auto, small gas-powered contraptions designed to ferry a few people between places. Why not take a regular taxi? Because a tuk-tuk is small, light, quick, and able to navigate through traffic very easily. For Westerners, this is not a very good thing.
The near death of which I spoke is the traffic in Jaipur. It is only my third day in India, the third in a big city, and already I have become complete unfazed by the astounding way in which Indians drive. It’s not astounding to me anymore, surprisingly. I have come to this conclusion: if one were to drive like and Indian in the United States, they would be arrested and thrown in jail after five minutes, if they haven’t yet killed ten people in those five minutes. Yet if and American drove in Delhi, he would not get anywhere. Not anywhere at all. In fact, he would probably get hit by a bus pretty quickly.
It’s impossible to give specific recipe for this type of driving, but I’ll do my best. First, one must take streets designed for cars two abreast, and pack in five. Throw in an excessive use of horns, constantly jaywalking pedestrians, and a complete ignorance of traffic lights or lane lines. Add a pinch of adrenaline and a healthy dose of fearlessness, and you’ve got yourself a great serving on Indian traffic.
Seriously, on the first day, I fully expected that I was going to either die or kill somebody else every five minutes. Our tiny 200-kilo tuk-tuk is swerving around cars ten times its size and narrowly missing people who cross the street directly in front of it. All in all, it’s a complete shock, but very easy to get used to. Why? Nobody else seems to be fazed by it, so I shouldn’t be. Besides, Atul is telling me that the traffic in Himachal and Palampur is nowhere near as crazy.
One more very fun thing today is that I finally got to go to an Indian grocery store. True, there are many outdoor markets to buy food and other goods, and they are great in their own respect, but I love visiting commercialized stores in other countries. Here, I was introduced to bags of oil for cooking instead of solid containers, half-kilo bags of turmeric or chili powder, and a fascinating check-out process. What you do is bring your items to one counter, where they are scanned and a receipt is printed. Then the receipt is taken to a second counter, where cash is given as per the amount on the receipt. The receipt is stamped, and it is taken from you, along with your items for which you have just paid, by a store hand who brings them to a third counter, where another person compares the items on the receipt to the ones in your bag. Needless to say, items are rarely stolen from stores.
Seriously, a half-kilo of turmeric?
Oh, today I finally had my first Indian dessert, laddoo. It is a small ball of graham flour sweetened with melted sugar, which also serves to hold the ball together. There are many different flavors, and the one I ate was flavored with watermelon seeds. Who would’ve thought? Anyway, this and most other Indian desserts share a few characteristics: lots of sugar, and very small amount of fat, and no eggs. That is because being a vegetarian in India (as most Indians are) means that eggs are a no-no. It’s not vegan, because they use a lot of milk and butter (or ghee, which is clarified butter and their main cooking fat), it’s just that eggs are grouped as a type of meat. Also, most desserts are not baked or cooked, just held together by sugar and/or fat, but mostly just sugar. Fats are more expensive and harder to come by.
All in all, between risking life and limb on the streets and practically needing a background check to buy a bottle of water, it was quite a wonderful day in India. Atul and I are going to watch The Dark Night on my computer. How fortunate that I was paired with a Hollywood movie buff. Tomorrow, we are starting a very long day of traveling to get to Amritsar and will likely be heading to bed very early. Goodnight, all.
With a Little Help from my Friend (Atul)
Saturday, 16 January 2010
You know that feeling when everything is going so well, and you are expecting everything to just starting falling apart completely? Well, that didn’t happen yet. Two days in India and two days of traveling, and I am amazed to find that everything is going perfectly smooth. I owe most of it to Atul.
Atul is the guy hired by Global Student Consultants to escort me around for my excursion in India. He met me at the airport in Delhi when we touched down. After a quick snack of chaana madura at the airport, we were immediately off to the bus stop, on our way to Agra. Agra, you say? What happened to Delhi?
So, the original itinerary for me was to go from Delhi to Mussoori, where I would spend two weeks learning some of the language and culture. Unfortunately, the language school is in the mountains, and when it snows there, the school automatically closes for two weeks. That puts a damper in my original plan. Instead, my Indian excursion, which was planned for later in the semester, got moved to the first thing to do. That way, I get to add another 6 or so days of travel to the first two. Yay!
In all seriousness, I don’t mind all this traveling at all. We got to Agra late at night, had a bite to eat again, and pretty much passed right out at a hotel, because both of us were feeling quite dead. Atul promised to show me something great in the morning. Can you guess? If you have heard of the city Agra, you know what it is already: the Taj Mahal, one of the wonders of the world. I must say, it was quite wonderful. Hard to see, because the city was covered in fog so early in the morning, but gorgeous nonetheless.
After the Taj Mahal, we caught another bus to Jaipur, from which I am writing right now. Atul is the most helpful guy I have ever met. He found me at the airport, got a taxi for us, bought our bus tickets, ordered our food, booked our hotels, and answered every question that I had, which was a lot. Without his help, I would probably still be lost in Delhi, carrying my bags. I don’t know what I would do without him.
So far, there have just been way too many cultural and living differences to count. I wouldn’t know where to start. I expect that after I get settled in Palampur in a few days, I will be able to take a little more time to update all of my readers on the fascinating differences here. I can say now that it is quite an experience that everybody should have. It really helps, however, to have a great guy like Atul helping you out. Check out his blog at trekkinghimachal.blogspot.com
Itinerary for the rest of the week, since I don’t know when I will be able to write again:
Monday – Amber Fort in the morning, go through the town in the afternoon
Tuesday – take a bus ride back to Delhi, where we pick up a train to Palampur
You know that feeling when everything is going so well, and you are expecting everything to just starting falling apart completely? Well, that didn’t happen yet. Two days in India and two days of traveling, and I am amazed to find that everything is going perfectly smooth. I owe most of it to Atul.
Atul is the guy hired by Global Student Consultants to escort me around for my excursion in India. He met me at the airport in Delhi when we touched down. After a quick snack of chaana madura at the airport, we were immediately off to the bus stop, on our way to Agra. Agra, you say? What happened to Delhi?
So, the original itinerary for me was to go from Delhi to Mussoori, where I would spend two weeks learning some of the language and culture. Unfortunately, the language school is in the mountains, and when it snows there, the school automatically closes for two weeks. That puts a damper in my original plan. Instead, my Indian excursion, which was planned for later in the semester, got moved to the first thing to do. That way, I get to add another 6 or so days of travel to the first two. Yay!
In all seriousness, I don’t mind all this traveling at all. We got to Agra late at night, had a bite to eat again, and pretty much passed right out at a hotel, because both of us were feeling quite dead. Atul promised to show me something great in the morning. Can you guess? If you have heard of the city Agra, you know what it is already: the Taj Mahal, one of the wonders of the world. I must say, it was quite wonderful. Hard to see, because the city was covered in fog so early in the morning, but gorgeous nonetheless.
After the Taj Mahal, we caught another bus to Jaipur, from which I am writing right now. Atul is the most helpful guy I have ever met. He found me at the airport, got a taxi for us, bought our bus tickets, ordered our food, booked our hotels, and answered every question that I had, which was a lot. Without his help, I would probably still be lost in Delhi, carrying my bags. I don’t know what I would do without him.
So far, there have just been way too many cultural and living differences to count. I wouldn’t know where to start. I expect that after I get settled in Palampur in a few days, I will be able to take a little more time to update all of my readers on the fascinating differences here. I can say now that it is quite an experience that everybody should have. It really helps, however, to have a great guy like Atul helping you out. Check out his blog at trekkinghimachal.blogspot.com
Itinerary for the rest of the week, since I don’t know when I will be able to write again:
Monday – Amber Fort in the morning, go through the town in the afternoon
Tuesday – take a bus ride back to Delhi, where we pick up a train to Palampur
Foggy Day in London Town
Friday, 15 January 2010
10:24 London time (add ?6? hours to Chicago’s time from the previous blog
8 hours on a plane kinda sucks. I only got a couple hours of sleep and was tossing and turning the rest of the time.
But look! We’re descending into London, and the low visibility immediately reminds me of one of my favorite songs that I start humming to myself. The woman across the aisle pretends not to notice. By the time we land, at about 11:30, I’ll have a little over 8 hours between flights. Factor in time to get through customs and get back through security without being late for my next flight… let’s call it 5-6 hours of free time.
5-6 by myself to do and see whatever I want in London? Not a chance. Nope. Not nearly enough time to see the important things. Come on, this is London, one of the most historically rich cities in the world with a list of attractions as long as Big Ben is tall. There’s no way…
…um…
Well…
Fine, if you insist.
11:50
Out of customs and the cheapest and (in my opinion) most fun way to get to central London is via the world’s oldest underground metro system. 7.50 pounds for a day pass, and the city is MINE! Metro systems are so cool to ride, and once you’ve gotten comfortable with one, the rest of them seem to follow a natural order of things. Plus, they have so many fun names: metro, underground, subway, train, etc.
Sidebar: The way to get to central London from Heathrow is to jump on the blue line, Piccadilly, towards Cockfosters.
Cockfosters.
Why didn’t they just call it… never mind, that one’s too easy.
13:27
When you go to London and are navigating your way through a busy city by foot, don’t forget to walk on the left side of the staircases, not the right. If you walk on the right side, you’ll run into people going in the opposite direction, they’ll look at you like you’re crazy, you’ll feel like an idiot… Fine, whatever. I’ll just make sure to walk on the left side of things from now on.
13:53
Wait, why are the moving staircases oriented so you stay on the right? There are even signs that say to stay to the right. The British need to make up their minds.
14:04
OK, now these escalators direct you to the left side. I’m really muggled up right now (Yes, I actually heard somebody say that on the plane yesterday. I had to hold in a giggle). Confound it!
14:23
Internet café to check in with my coordinator in India and my mom. Not in that order, of course. In fact, my mom is probably monitoring my flight status from her computer and wondering why I waited three hours after landing to email her.
I saw a couple of sights at Paddington station, grabbed a bite to eat, but time’s running out. I need to get moving!
15:49
Millennium Bridge, Eye of London, Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, St. James Park, the Thames, and Buckminster Palace, complete with the motionless guys in funny hats, all in 90 minutes. I rock!
Fine, I didn’t exactly stop and get the guided tour of all these places. It was more of a Top Ten Powerwalk Through London, but that’s just fine by me. I got to see them, now I can say “I’ve been there, suckers!”
By the way, can anybody tell me why there is a 20-foot bronze statue of Abraham Lincoln in Parliament Square? Right next to Westminster Abbey and behind Parliament? I thought he played for our team.
16:06
Just got on the subway to start the 1-hour+ trip back to Heathrow. I got a Union Jack to add to my flag collection, saw and did everything I wanted and more, and I’m still going to make it back to Heathrow and time to check my email. I’m going to call it speed tourism. It’ll be the new thing.
In the middle of the trip back, I noticed that throughout the day, I saw significantly more foreigners and/or ethnicities than British people. At one point, I was on a crowded subway car and could hear conversations in French, Austrian German, Catalan Spanish, Portuguese, Malay, and of course Hindi. There is a rather large minority of ethnic Hindus in the U.K., so I guess I got “warmed up” for the next few months. It’s funny how even though there are more minorities than non-minorities, they are still called minorities.
Back on the plane in a couple of hours, and I’ll be waking up in India.
10:24 London time (add ?6? hours to Chicago’s time from the previous blog
8 hours on a plane kinda sucks. I only got a couple hours of sleep and was tossing and turning the rest of the time.
But look! We’re descending into London, and the low visibility immediately reminds me of one of my favorite songs that I start humming to myself. The woman across the aisle pretends not to notice. By the time we land, at about 11:30, I’ll have a little over 8 hours between flights. Factor in time to get through customs and get back through security without being late for my next flight… let’s call it 5-6 hours of free time.
5-6 by myself to do and see whatever I want in London? Not a chance. Nope. Not nearly enough time to see the important things. Come on, this is London, one of the most historically rich cities in the world with a list of attractions as long as Big Ben is tall. There’s no way…
…um…
Well…
Fine, if you insist.
11:50
Out of customs and the cheapest and (in my opinion) most fun way to get to central London is via the world’s oldest underground metro system. 7.50 pounds for a day pass, and the city is MINE! Metro systems are so cool to ride, and once you’ve gotten comfortable with one, the rest of them seem to follow a natural order of things. Plus, they have so many fun names: metro, underground, subway, train, etc.
Sidebar: The way to get to central London from Heathrow is to jump on the blue line, Piccadilly, towards Cockfosters.
Cockfosters.
Why didn’t they just call it… never mind, that one’s too easy.
13:27
When you go to London and are navigating your way through a busy city by foot, don’t forget to walk on the left side of the staircases, not the right. If you walk on the right side, you’ll run into people going in the opposite direction, they’ll look at you like you’re crazy, you’ll feel like an idiot… Fine, whatever. I’ll just make sure to walk on the left side of things from now on.
13:53
Wait, why are the moving staircases oriented so you stay on the right? There are even signs that say to stay to the right. The British need to make up their minds.
14:04
OK, now these escalators direct you to the left side. I’m really muggled up right now (Yes, I actually heard somebody say that on the plane yesterday. I had to hold in a giggle). Confound it!
14:23
Internet café to check in with my coordinator in India and my mom. Not in that order, of course. In fact, my mom is probably monitoring my flight status from her computer and wondering why I waited three hours after landing to email her.
I saw a couple of sights at Paddington station, grabbed a bite to eat, but time’s running out. I need to get moving!
15:49
Millennium Bridge, Eye of London, Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, St. James Park, the Thames, and Buckminster Palace, complete with the motionless guys in funny hats, all in 90 minutes. I rock!
Fine, I didn’t exactly stop and get the guided tour of all these places. It was more of a Top Ten Powerwalk Through London, but that’s just fine by me. I got to see them, now I can say “I’ve been there, suckers!”
By the way, can anybody tell me why there is a 20-foot bronze statue of Abraham Lincoln in Parliament Square? Right next to Westminster Abbey and behind Parliament? I thought he played for our team.
16:06
Just got on the subway to start the 1-hour+ trip back to Heathrow. I got a Union Jack to add to my flag collection, saw and did everything I wanted and more, and I’m still going to make it back to Heathrow and time to check my email. I’m going to call it speed tourism. It’ll be the new thing.
In the middle of the trip back, I noticed that throughout the day, I saw significantly more foreigners and/or ethnicities than British people. At one point, I was on a crowded subway car and could hear conversations in French, Austrian German, Catalan Spanish, Portuguese, Malay, and of course Hindi. There is a rather large minority of ethnic Hindus in the U.K., so I guess I got “warmed up” for the next few months. It’s funny how even though there are more minorities than non-minorities, they are still called minorities.
Back on the plane in a couple of hours, and I’ll be waking up in India.
Travelin' Man
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Origin: Allen Park, MI, a suburb of Detroit
Destination: Palampur, Himachal Pradesh, India
Thursday, 14 January, 2010
8:20, Detroit time
The bus is now leaving from the Rosa Parks transit center in Detroit, headed for Chicago. The plane ticket that I bought months ago originated from Chicago, because that was about $500 cheaper than leaving from Detroit. I just figured that I would figure out some way to get to Chicago the day of or the day before my flight, and it ended up being an $18 Megabus ticket.
Don’t do it. My driver was one of the rudest people I have ever met. After putting our bags under the double-decker without letting us in, he lined us up in front of the bus (at 8 in the morning in slightly-above-freezing weather) and lectured us how we were to board: by reading our conformation number to him out loud, including the dashes. Then when I get on with my backpack and very, very small duffel, smaller than my backpack (my big duffel was already under the bus), he says “No sir, only one bag allowed to be checked and one to take on the bus.” He could have mentioned that before. I offer to throw my duffel under the bus, and he stops me and rudely insists that I put my backpack, with my computer and travel documents, under instead. I hardly have those words out of my mouth when he loudly retorts with a “That’s enough, sir. Either do what I say or I’m leaving you here. That’ll end the argument.” This micro-confrontation was repeated at least three more times.
12:21, Chicago time (subtract one hour from the previous section)
When we finally arrive at Union Station in Chicago, the driver, whose mood has improved little, proceeds to dump the luggage from the hold into the filthy mud and city slush. I carefully pick up my backpack, only to have him throw another bag practically on top of it, splashing mud onto my light khaki pants. The pants that I’ll be wearing for the next three days, at least.
D’oh!
Needless to say, it could have been a better first leg of my marathon traveling. However, I like to keep things in perspective. If that’s the worst thing that happens for the rest of my trip, I’ll be a happy camper.
13:40
A cab ride to O’Hare from Union is $36.30! Wow.
First flight to London doesn’t depart until 21:07 + can’t check bags until four hours prior to departure = lots of waiting. Since I can’t check my bags, I don’t want to be carrying them around the city for several hours, so it looks like I’m stuck here with my books. At least I came prepared.
Book list:
The Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Holy Cow by Sarah Macdonald
Julie & Julia by Julie Powell (get off me; I know it turned into a chick flick, but the writing is actually pretty darned good)
The last book I am hesitant to name, because it is one of the raunchiest, dirtiest, most crude, most horrible books I have ever read, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t also the funniest. People were giving me dirty looks and wondering aloud what I was reading because I was laughing so loudly. I’ll just say that the main character’s name is Tucker Max. Find it and read it at your own risk.
15:53
I love people watching, and there are fewer better places to do it than at the airport. I’m not even close to Sherlock Holmes, but what I do like to do is observe the way people act, dress, talk, walk, and the things they have and ask myself, why? Why is that person doing that, or why do they have that object? What drives them?
There’s the professionally-dressed woman wearing a headset and talking on the phone, walking at breakneck pace in a straight line. Never wavering, she intersects with a large family dragging suitcases, and they are forced to move around her, accommodate her. Like a stone in a river, she can’t be moved, even while she’s already moving. Question: what’s so important in her life and on her call that she can’t break her stride to avoid running into fellow human beings?
There’s the guy in khakis and a button-down, carrying a wheeled suitcase and what cannot be called anything but a purse. Headphones are plugged into his ears, and I can only assume that the other end is plugged into an iPod, since they’re now requirements for U.S. citizenship. And he’s whistling. His smile is so wide you would need to break it in pieces to fit it through the metal detector at the security checkpoint. Question: what’s on his playlist that can bring so much happiness to him in a place filled with so much negative emotion?
There’s the young woman wearing standard female U.S. college attire (Ugg boots, leggings and North Face) staring at her phone, not making calls or even pressing buttons, just staring at the main menu. She’s been there for hours now, probably got there too early to check in like I did. Question: what’s so important with that piece of plastic and microchips that you can’t do anything but stare at it like a golden calf?
And so on. After awhile, I began to see a pattern in the way people were moving, and I realized that there are two groups of people. There are those who are going somewhere, and those who aren’t. That doesn’t mean that people from Team 1 need to be somewhere or have a specific destination in mind. Nor does it mean that Team 2 is idle, taking up space and wasting oxygen with no motivation whatsoever. To me, it’s just in the way people perceive the next moments in time. For example, I have tickets in hand and a bag to check, but that doesn’t mean I have to rush to the check-in counter, rush to security, rush to my gate, and rush off the plane. Why? I’m not late, and I have a watch. I’m either going to wait in line in one place or the other, and it doesn’t matter much to me where.
If you are thinking about future events and preoccupied with what’s coming next in your life, you have a destination. You’re a mover, a goer, a rusher. It’s not a bad thing at all, don’t take it that way. It just means that the future is more important to you than the present. If you are more content with enjoying yourself in the moment, you’re a stayer. You can look around even with the walls are crumbling down to criticize the architect who designed the walls in the first place. The way I see it, those are the two types of people in the world.
Well, I guess there are the people who focus on the past.
Damn. There goes my brilliant logic. I guess I’ll just tell the folks at MacArthur to wait a bit longer.
17:58
I thought the culture shock was supposed to come after you leave your country and start to see new things and experience new customs.
There’s this new thing in O’Hare’s restrooms called a Sani-Seat. It’s a normal toilet seat with a continuous plastic… um… thing covering it. It’s so hard to describe. When you enter the stall, you wave your hand over the sensor and a new section of clean plastic feeds out of a machine, replacing the used portion. That way, every time a person sits down, they can do so on an unused surface.
When I entered the stall, I literally stopped in my tracks with my hand on the door, staring at this thing. I didn’t know whether to sit on it or use it to wrap a fruit basket. WTF, mate?
Anyway, I’m through security, and it’s only about three more hours until my flight leaves. My book is calling to me.
Origin: Allen Park, MI, a suburb of Detroit
Destination: Palampur, Himachal Pradesh, India
Thursday, 14 January, 2010
8:20, Detroit time
The bus is now leaving from the Rosa Parks transit center in Detroit, headed for Chicago. The plane ticket that I bought months ago originated from Chicago, because that was about $500 cheaper than leaving from Detroit. I just figured that I would figure out some way to get to Chicago the day of or the day before my flight, and it ended up being an $18 Megabus ticket.
Don’t do it. My driver was one of the rudest people I have ever met. After putting our bags under the double-decker without letting us in, he lined us up in front of the bus (at 8 in the morning in slightly-above-freezing weather) and lectured us how we were to board: by reading our conformation number to him out loud, including the dashes. Then when I get on with my backpack and very, very small duffel, smaller than my backpack (my big duffel was already under the bus), he says “No sir, only one bag allowed to be checked and one to take on the bus.” He could have mentioned that before. I offer to throw my duffel under the bus, and he stops me and rudely insists that I put my backpack, with my computer and travel documents, under instead. I hardly have those words out of my mouth when he loudly retorts with a “That’s enough, sir. Either do what I say or I’m leaving you here. That’ll end the argument.” This micro-confrontation was repeated at least three more times.
12:21, Chicago time (subtract one hour from the previous section)
When we finally arrive at Union Station in Chicago, the driver, whose mood has improved little, proceeds to dump the luggage from the hold into the filthy mud and city slush. I carefully pick up my backpack, only to have him throw another bag practically on top of it, splashing mud onto my light khaki pants. The pants that I’ll be wearing for the next three days, at least.
D’oh!
Needless to say, it could have been a better first leg of my marathon traveling. However, I like to keep things in perspective. If that’s the worst thing that happens for the rest of my trip, I’ll be a happy camper.
13:40
A cab ride to O’Hare from Union is $36.30! Wow.
First flight to London doesn’t depart until 21:07 + can’t check bags until four hours prior to departure = lots of waiting. Since I can’t check my bags, I don’t want to be carrying them around the city for several hours, so it looks like I’m stuck here with my books. At least I came prepared.
Book list:
The Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Holy Cow by Sarah Macdonald
Julie & Julia by Julie Powell (get off me; I know it turned into a chick flick, but the writing is actually pretty darned good)
The last book I am hesitant to name, because it is one of the raunchiest, dirtiest, most crude, most horrible books I have ever read, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t also the funniest. People were giving me dirty looks and wondering aloud what I was reading because I was laughing so loudly. I’ll just say that the main character’s name is Tucker Max. Find it and read it at your own risk.
15:53
I love people watching, and there are fewer better places to do it than at the airport. I’m not even close to Sherlock Holmes, but what I do like to do is observe the way people act, dress, talk, walk, and the things they have and ask myself, why? Why is that person doing that, or why do they have that object? What drives them?
There’s the professionally-dressed woman wearing a headset and talking on the phone, walking at breakneck pace in a straight line. Never wavering, she intersects with a large family dragging suitcases, and they are forced to move around her, accommodate her. Like a stone in a river, she can’t be moved, even while she’s already moving. Question: what’s so important in her life and on her call that she can’t break her stride to avoid running into fellow human beings?
There’s the guy in khakis and a button-down, carrying a wheeled suitcase and what cannot be called anything but a purse. Headphones are plugged into his ears, and I can only assume that the other end is plugged into an iPod, since they’re now requirements for U.S. citizenship. And he’s whistling. His smile is so wide you would need to break it in pieces to fit it through the metal detector at the security checkpoint. Question: what’s on his playlist that can bring so much happiness to him in a place filled with so much negative emotion?
There’s the young woman wearing standard female U.S. college attire (Ugg boots, leggings and North Face) staring at her phone, not making calls or even pressing buttons, just staring at the main menu. She’s been there for hours now, probably got there too early to check in like I did. Question: what’s so important with that piece of plastic and microchips that you can’t do anything but stare at it like a golden calf?
And so on. After awhile, I began to see a pattern in the way people were moving, and I realized that there are two groups of people. There are those who are going somewhere, and those who aren’t. That doesn’t mean that people from Team 1 need to be somewhere or have a specific destination in mind. Nor does it mean that Team 2 is idle, taking up space and wasting oxygen with no motivation whatsoever. To me, it’s just in the way people perceive the next moments in time. For example, I have tickets in hand and a bag to check, but that doesn’t mean I have to rush to the check-in counter, rush to security, rush to my gate, and rush off the plane. Why? I’m not late, and I have a watch. I’m either going to wait in line in one place or the other, and it doesn’t matter much to me where.
If you are thinking about future events and preoccupied with what’s coming next in your life, you have a destination. You’re a mover, a goer, a rusher. It’s not a bad thing at all, don’t take it that way. It just means that the future is more important to you than the present. If you are more content with enjoying yourself in the moment, you’re a stayer. You can look around even with the walls are crumbling down to criticize the architect who designed the walls in the first place. The way I see it, those are the two types of people in the world.
Well, I guess there are the people who focus on the past.
Damn. There goes my brilliant logic. I guess I’ll just tell the folks at MacArthur to wait a bit longer.
17:58
I thought the culture shock was supposed to come after you leave your country and start to see new things and experience new customs.
There’s this new thing in O’Hare’s restrooms called a Sani-Seat. It’s a normal toilet seat with a continuous plastic… um… thing covering it. It’s so hard to describe. When you enter the stall, you wave your hand over the sensor and a new section of clean plastic feeds out of a machine, replacing the used portion. That way, every time a person sits down, they can do so on an unused surface.
When I entered the stall, I literally stopped in my tracks with my hand on the door, staring at this thing. I didn’t know whether to sit on it or use it to wrap a fruit basket. WTF, mate?
Anyway, I’m through security, and it’s only about three more hours until my flight leaves. My book is calling to me.
Time Delay
In the past week or so, I've written four posts on my computer using Word, but I have been unable to access the internet to post them. So, the next four posts occurred on different days, which will be listed at the top of the post, but I'm throwing all of them at you at once. Enjoy!
13 January 2010
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the World
Welcome to today's lecture titled "What to Do to Survive a Trip to a Developing Country Without Getting Murdered or Indefinitely Detained."
Let me set the record straight on a topic that has been causing me some distress. You know those news stories about American kids traveling abroad who get killed and the foreign government does nothing about it? Or about those people who are stuck in international prisons for months with no hope of parole? The reason that we hear about these things is because they are so incredibly rare that the media jumps all over it and plasters the dead kid's face all over the news.
The truth is, this kind of radical thing almost never happens. People travel from country to country all the time without any difficulty. 3 percent of the world's population are migrants, which means that they are living in a country other than their country of birth. That's over 200 million people. In the past ten years, how many people have you heard of, on the news or otherwise, that had serious, life-altering problems as a result of international travel? Ten? Twenty? Out of 200 million. The only reason that it seems so common is that we hear about it from the media. International travel is much safer than most people are led to believe.
Having said that, you can't just be an idiot when visiting a foreign country. There are some precautions that need to be taken to ensure that you reach your destination safely, and even more things to do to keep you safe once you have reached it. Here is a list of things I think are necessary to complete before travel.
1. Get a passport. 'Nuff said.
2. If you're staying for an extended period of time, apply for a tourist visa, and make sure to take care of these two things several months in advance.
3. The U.S. Department of State website has up-to-date travel information, in case there is civil unrest, bad weather, or other conditions that may cause unfavorable travel.
4. Get immunized. Don't turn yourself into a pincushion, though. Again, you can check the Department of State for more information about what to get. Here's what immunizations I needed for India: tetanus, polio, MMR (measles, mumps, rubella), hepatitis A and B, and typhoid. Malaria is also endemic to many developing countries, and there's no vaccination, but there is a series of drugs you can take immediately before departure that should protect you. Fortunately, Himachal Pradesh is one of the only states in India that does not have it, because of the altitude.
5. Buy a plane ticket. Duh.
Once you're at your destination, it's important to stay safe. Fortunately, it's pretty easy. Just don't be stupid. I'm not trying to be mean or rude, but as long as you keep your head about you and think about your situation, you'll be a-OK. This next list is some tips for getting the most out of your experience without getting hurt. Granted, a lot of this is my opinion. I'm not an expert in international travel, and a lot of this depend on your destination, so I welcome any comments or revisions.
6. Don't stand out. There's a lot of ways too do this. The problem is that most Americans are pigmentally challenged and stick out like a supermodel at Comic-Con. But even if you're look the same as the people around you, loud clothing and obnoxious behavior will probably draw unwanted attention to you more than your accent and your skin color. Try to wear clothing with limited logos or writing. If you see somebody with lots of writing on their shirt, you're going to read it, and you're likely going to make some assumptions about that person based on their shirt. Remember, friend don't let friends wear dumb t-shirts. And when in doubt, dress as the Romans do.
7. Carry cash. Not too much, but don't walk around broke. Local currency is a must, but some good ol' American moolah wouldn't be a bad idea either. There are a lot of small problems in the world that can be quickly fixed by Abraham, Jackson, or Benjamin.
8. Pack a lunch. Now, I'm all for trying local cuisine, especially if it looks weird and I've never eaten it before. However, when you're stuck on a bus for eight hours, you'll be glad you threw that apple and granola bar into your backpack before you left. Plus, there's always the dreaded traveler's diarrhea. Food that has live bugs on it just before you ate it usually isn't a good idea.
Cooked insects are another story altogether.
As a side note, if you're not in Canada, Europe, Russia, or Japan, buy your water don't drink from the tap.
9. Learn the language. If you're fluent, great. If you missed that Malay course in college, don't worry. From my experience, even just learning "hello" and "thank you" in the local tongue goes a long way towards improving other people's opinions of you. I once knew a guy who spent four months in Budapest before he learned the word for "street." Please, please, please don't be that guy.
10. Stop worrying! I know the world can be a scary place, but just because K2 keeps killing climbers doesn't mean people stop trying to get that great view from the top. Just get out there and see the world for yourself. You won't regret it.
Let me set the record straight on a topic that has been causing me some distress. You know those news stories about American kids traveling abroad who get killed and the foreign government does nothing about it? Or about those people who are stuck in international prisons for months with no hope of parole? The reason that we hear about these things is because they are so incredibly rare that the media jumps all over it and plasters the dead kid's face all over the news.
The truth is, this kind of radical thing almost never happens. People travel from country to country all the time without any difficulty. 3 percent of the world's population are migrants, which means that they are living in a country other than their country of birth. That's over 200 million people. In the past ten years, how many people have you heard of, on the news or otherwise, that had serious, life-altering problems as a result of international travel? Ten? Twenty? Out of 200 million. The only reason that it seems so common is that we hear about it from the media. International travel is much safer than most people are led to believe.
Having said that, you can't just be an idiot when visiting a foreign country. There are some precautions that need to be taken to ensure that you reach your destination safely, and even more things to do to keep you safe once you have reached it. Here is a list of things I think are necessary to complete before travel.
1. Get a passport. 'Nuff said.
2. If you're staying for an extended period of time, apply for a tourist visa, and make sure to take care of these two things several months in advance.
3. The U.S. Department of State website has up-to-date travel information, in case there is civil unrest, bad weather, or other conditions that may cause unfavorable travel.
4. Get immunized. Don't turn yourself into a pincushion, though. Again, you can check the Department of State for more information about what to get. Here's what immunizations I needed for India: tetanus, polio, MMR (measles, mumps, rubella), hepatitis A and B, and typhoid. Malaria is also endemic to many developing countries, and there's no vaccination, but there is a series of drugs you can take immediately before departure that should protect you. Fortunately, Himachal Pradesh is one of the only states in India that does not have it, because of the altitude.
5. Buy a plane ticket. Duh.
Once you're at your destination, it's important to stay safe. Fortunately, it's pretty easy. Just don't be stupid. I'm not trying to be mean or rude, but as long as you keep your head about you and think about your situation, you'll be a-OK. This next list is some tips for getting the most out of your experience without getting hurt. Granted, a lot of this is my opinion. I'm not an expert in international travel, and a lot of this depend on your destination, so I welcome any comments or revisions.
6. Don't stand out. There's a lot of ways too do this. The problem is that most Americans are pigmentally challenged and stick out like a supermodel at Comic-Con. But even if you're look the same as the people around you, loud clothing and obnoxious behavior will probably draw unwanted attention to you more than your accent and your skin color. Try to wear clothing with limited logos or writing. If you see somebody with lots of writing on their shirt, you're going to read it, and you're likely going to make some assumptions about that person based on their shirt. Remember, friend don't let friends wear dumb t-shirts. And when in doubt, dress as the Romans do.
7. Carry cash. Not too much, but don't walk around broke. Local currency is a must, but some good ol' American moolah wouldn't be a bad idea either. There are a lot of small problems in the world that can be quickly fixed by Abraham, Jackson, or Benjamin.
8. Pack a lunch. Now, I'm all for trying local cuisine, especially if it looks weird and I've never eaten it before. However, when you're stuck on a bus for eight hours, you'll be glad you threw that apple and granola bar into your backpack before you left. Plus, there's always the dreaded traveler's diarrhea. Food that has live bugs on it just before you ate it usually isn't a good idea.
Cooked insects are another story altogether.
As a side note, if you're not in Canada, Europe, Russia, or Japan, buy your water don't drink from the tap.
9. Learn the language. If you're fluent, great. If you missed that Malay course in college, don't worry. From my experience, even just learning "hello" and "thank you" in the local tongue goes a long way towards improving other people's opinions of you. I once knew a guy who spent four months in Budapest before he learned the word for "street." Please, please, please don't be that guy.
10. Stop worrying! I know the world can be a scary place, but just because K2 keeps killing climbers doesn't mean people stop trying to get that great view from the top. Just get out there and see the world for yourself. You won't regret it.
08 January 2010
Let Them Eat Curry!
This blog is supposed to be about cultural learnings, right? How about if I start with one or two cultural observations here in the U.S. of A that relate to India? Oh, and it'll be about my favorite subject: food!
So a foreign guy walks into a bar in Memphis (sounds like a bad joke, I know, but this could actually happen. Just give it a minute). Let's call him Mohammed, because it's the most common name in the world, don't you know? He makes friends with a personable character (Bud, since I'm sticking with the common names, and he's such a friendly guy anyway) and they exchange contact information. Mohammed to have already made an acquaintance.
The next day, Mohammed receives a call; it's the bar fellow, inviting him over that night for dinner. "I thought you might enjoy some authentic Memphis barbecue."
Mohammed: "What's barbecue?"
Bud: "Barbecue? Why, that's when you go to a barbecue, take a piece of barbecue, put some barbecue rub on it, thrown it on the barbecue and eat it with a side of barbecue sauce."
Mohammed: "Um... I've got plans."
Bear with me folks, it's just a hypothetical. I'm trying to show how when it comes to food, there's a lot behind simply what's for dinner. In this case, Bud has just clearly illustrated the immense diversity of the word barbecue. Originating from the Amerindian boucan, referring to the way in which meats were smoked over hot coals, Columbus and the Spaniards changed it to barbacoa, and we use a similar word today in many different ways. It can be the action of cooking meat over hot coals in a particular style, the meat itself, a blend of spices, a flavorful sauce, or even the down-south, outdoor, hootinanny get-together of a bunch of fire-loving carnivores, hell-bent on grilling as much animal flesh as they can get their hands on.
What does this have to do with India? Curry, of course. It's kinda the same thing. In Indian cuisine, curry is a section of the menu, a type of dish, a single spice, a blend of spices, a sauce, or a particular way of cooking foods. How do I know this, a week before I actually depart for India? Wikipedia, my friends. It rocks, and we would be lost without it. Oh, and Sindu's Indian Cuisine in East Lansing is pretty awesome too.
Why do simple words regarding food have such varied meanings? Cultural anthropologists the world around are scratching their collective heads, I'm sure, but I have a theory: food is simple, yet complex. Every little detail matters. Therefore, after a few thousand years of holding chunks of meat over an old fire until it's delicious, humanity has come up with millions, billions of different ways to cook a relatively small variety of food. Try counting all the different ways you can cook a chicken.
Let me prove my point by giving you my recipe to cook any food, anytime, anywhere.
Step 1: Gather food.
Step 2: Prepare food.
Step 3: Heat it until it's done.
But... What animal? What vegetable? What part? Where do I find it? What kind of heat? How long? What other ingredients? How will I know if it's done? What food goes well with other food? How do I keep it fresh? What other foods go well with it? Most importantly, what's for dessert?
If you can answer those questions for a particular region, say for Northern India, congratulations, you have just unlocked the secrets to that region's cuisine, and a big part of that region's culture. That, my friends, is one of the things about which I'm most excited in the coming months. In other words, I'm not Curry Kid yet, but I sure hope to be.
So a foreign guy walks into a bar in Memphis (sounds like a bad joke, I know, but this could actually happen. Just give it a minute). Let's call him Mohammed, because it's the most common name in the world, don't you know? He makes friends with a personable character (Bud, since I'm sticking with the common names, and he's such a friendly guy anyway) and they exchange contact information. Mohammed to have already made an acquaintance.
The next day, Mohammed receives a call; it's the bar fellow, inviting him over that night for dinner. "I thought you might enjoy some authentic Memphis barbecue."
Mohammed: "What's barbecue?"
Bud: "Barbecue? Why, that's when you go to a barbecue, take a piece of barbecue, put some barbecue rub on it, thrown it on the barbecue and eat it with a side of barbecue sauce."
Mohammed: "Um... I've got plans."
Bear with me folks, it's just a hypothetical. I'm trying to show how when it comes to food, there's a lot behind simply what's for dinner. In this case, Bud has just clearly illustrated the immense diversity of the word barbecue. Originating from the Amerindian boucan, referring to the way in which meats were smoked over hot coals, Columbus and the Spaniards changed it to barbacoa, and we use a similar word today in many different ways. It can be the action of cooking meat over hot coals in a particular style, the meat itself, a blend of spices, a flavorful sauce, or even the down-south, outdoor, hootinanny get-together of a bunch of fire-loving carnivores, hell-bent on grilling as much animal flesh as they can get their hands on.
What does this have to do with India? Curry, of course. It's kinda the same thing. In Indian cuisine, curry is a section of the menu, a type of dish, a single spice, a blend of spices, a sauce, or a particular way of cooking foods. How do I know this, a week before I actually depart for India? Wikipedia, my friends. It rocks, and we would be lost without it. Oh, and Sindu's Indian Cuisine in East Lansing is pretty awesome too.
Why do simple words regarding food have such varied meanings? Cultural anthropologists the world around are scratching their collective heads, I'm sure, but I have a theory: food is simple, yet complex. Every little detail matters. Therefore, after a few thousand years of holding chunks of meat over an old fire until it's delicious, humanity has come up with millions, billions of different ways to cook a relatively small variety of food. Try counting all the different ways you can cook a chicken.
Let me prove my point by giving you my recipe to cook any food, anytime, anywhere.
Step 1: Gather food.
Step 2: Prepare food.
Step 3: Heat it until it's done.
But... What animal? What vegetable? What part? Where do I find it? What kind of heat? How long? What other ingredients? How will I know if it's done? What food goes well with other food? How do I keep it fresh? What other foods go well with it? Most importantly, what's for dessert?
If you can answer those questions for a particular region, say for Northern India, congratulations, you have just unlocked the secrets to that region's cuisine, and a big part of that region's culture. That, my friends, is one of the things about which I'm most excited in the coming months. In other words, I'm not Curry Kid yet, but I sure hope to be.
07 January 2010
A Study in Orange, White and Green
Hi there, and welcome to my blog. It's after midnight on Thursday, 7 January 2010, and a week from today, I will be hopping on a plane to go to India for a few months. Why? People have been asking me that for months, and I usually respond with "Why not?" When was the last time you stepped outside your comfort zone and tried something new?
Actually, it's been quite awhile for me as well.
This is going to be more than a vacation. I am a junior at Michigan State University in the College of Social Science. For the next few months, I will be interning through Global Student Consultants, Inc. in the Himalayan region. The city is called Palampur, and the state is Himachal Pradesh (for those who are as addicted to Google Maps as I am) There's a great little health clinic in the area called Kayakalp that specializes in natural health methods, and I will be working there, helping people with their nutritional needs.
To be honest, there's a lot about the next few months about which I am completely clueless. Yet that's the way I like it. I'm interested in studying global relations and culture, and nutrition/health is a strong interest, but really, I just plan on jumping in with both feet first, learning as much as I can from my work and especially my interactions with this completely new culture.
That's the real reason I picked India. Over a billion people call it home. It contains one of the earliest hearths of human civilization. They even answer our tech support calls! Yet so many people, especially Americans, know so little about the country, the culture, and the people. I'm guilty as charged, and hopefully that will change.
So check back in the next few months for some observations of Indian culture, as well as updates about my work, which I am very excited to start. The idea is that this blog can help other people besides me learn from my experiences. I look forward to posting many times to come.
Actually, it's been quite awhile for me as well.
This is going to be more than a vacation. I am a junior at Michigan State University in the College of Social Science. For the next few months, I will be interning through Global Student Consultants, Inc. in the Himalayan region. The city is called Palampur, and the state is Himachal Pradesh (for those who are as addicted to Google Maps as I am) There's a great little health clinic in the area called Kayakalp that specializes in natural health methods, and I will be working there, helping people with their nutritional needs.
To be honest, there's a lot about the next few months about which I am completely clueless. Yet that's the way I like it. I'm interested in studying global relations and culture, and nutrition/health is a strong interest, but really, I just plan on jumping in with both feet first, learning as much as I can from my work and especially my interactions with this completely new culture.
That's the real reason I picked India. Over a billion people call it home. It contains one of the earliest hearths of human civilization. They even answer our tech support calls! Yet so many people, especially Americans, know so little about the country, the culture, and the people. I'm guilty as charged, and hopefully that will change.
So check back in the next few months for some observations of Indian culture, as well as updates about my work, which I am very excited to start. The idea is that this blog can help other people besides me learn from my experiences. I look forward to posting many times to come.
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