(Marco) Polo Forest and Valentine's Day

(From February 14)

A whirlwind of a weekend comes to a close, after fresh air for the first time in a month, a lonesome venture into the city center, and a freaking amazing ice cream sandwich.

I woke up around 6 AM yesterday morning to scarf down a quick breakfast (my first real meal since Wednesday!!!) before meeting up with companions at a nearby homestay. The five of us had all forgone a weekend at a Portuguese beach colony (aka pre-Brazil) and a luxurious spa day in order to trek into Polo Forest, a gorgeous nature reserve about two and a half hours away from Ahmedabad.

We piled into the van to start our adventure, but only ten minutes in, one of the girls frantically demanded we pull over. As soon as the quite confused driver slowed the car to the edge of the freeway, she opened the door and began vomiting.

Yikes.

I mean, it made me feel a little bit better about my previous illness—at least I could be moderately sure it wasn’t typhoid and that it was instead some stomach bug that is making its way through our group. And while I would have immediately pleaded out of the trip and opted for a day in bed being pampered on, my friend soldiered on and demanded we continue driving.

You do you, girlfriend.

I settled into the long drive comfortably. I personally really love transit. I crave the freedom of being transported from one place to the next, my only worry being whether I want to read or listen to music or nap. That’s why plane rides are, like, the best;* you’re literally not expected to do anything but sit there and chill.

(*quick note, plane rides are only the best if they’re headed towards California.)

About an hour into the journey, one of our company became enthralled by some massive rock formation on the side of the road. “I’m gonna climb it,” she exclaimed suddenly and motioned for the driver to pull over, once again.

I took one look at the giant mountain with zero footholds, no vegetation, and blaringly obvious unsafety, and quickly decided it wasn’t my cup of tea.

Instead, I took the time to make friends with the cutest freaking puppy (probs six months old at the very most) on the side of the road. It looked like a legit teddy bear, and I coaxed it enough over the next twenty or so minutes to allow me to pet it. #heaven.

I attracted quite the crowd with my compassion towards a random stray. It’s difficult to discern whether it was more shocking to see a white person or just an individual choosing to interact with an animal beyond kicking it, but either way, about fifteen villagers gathered around me and the puppy, enthralled by my affection.

What I didn’t notice in my blissful state of canine lovin’ was the other crowd gathering on the side of the road staring up at the mountain up which my friend continued to clamber. It wasn’t until another of the girls frantically ran up to me, telling me that the villagers were angry about the rock climber’s blatant disregard for safety and that our driver was demanding she return, that I looked around at the scene we were causing.

At least fifty people had lined up on the street to watch her ascent, while cars were literally stopping in the middle of the freeway to stare at the commotion. Our presence was causing an actual traffic jam. We quickly scrambled into the car in order to call the girl’s cell phone and demand she come back down. Other individuals had begun to get more curious about us (and slightly more aggressive) and were beginning to crowd around us and our car, at times reaching for the door handles and staring into the windows with their noses at the glass. I felt like a zoo animal.

It was uncomfortable, hectic, and kind of scary. One guy apparently pantomimed the snarl of a tiger, indicating that tigers were on the mountain (which turned out to be completely, one hundred percent false, but what do we know), and our driver was getting antsy, and we could no longer see my friend.

Basically, long story short, we got her off the mountain after about an hour, and were back on the road with little incident. It was an ~exciting~ morning to start off our day.

We got to the Polo Forest, excited to finally begin our foray into the great outdoors. Simply being around green, and trees, and water instilled in me a peace for which I’d been searching for weeks. Finally—I was back where I belonged (kind of).

Along our hour-long hike, we were treated to views of dry deciduous forest, which reminded me so much of home that it was happily disconcerting. At one point, we even came across a valley with rocky drops and shrubby trees that looked almost identical to my backyard. We got to swing on the hanging roots of a gigantic banyan tree, venture into abandoned, ruined temples, and catch breathtaking views of uninterrupted, seemingly endless hills. It was everything I’d needed after weeks of city life.

My delight began to dissipate literally the second we stepped back onto a main road for a singular reason. A tiny little puppy, probably less than three months old, had wandered into the street, probably looking for food, considering its ribs were sticking out. A shrill honk sent it scampering back to the side, but one random imbecile couldn’t seem to help but throw a stone at the retreating dog anyway.

I think I saw red.

BUT instead of beating up the man (which I would have gladly done), I took a deep breath and moved tentatively towards the tiny canine. I got on all fours, murmuring sweet nothings, and slowly reached out my knuckles to allow it a sniff.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget its posture or expression.

It stood there, tail tucked between its bony little legs, hunched out of perpetual fear, looking at me with the expectation of cruelty.

I know, I know, I’m in a country and a city in which I see people—human beings—in abject poverty and abhorrent conditions every day. I promise that I get upset about it, and I am going to be dedicating my life and career to improving the conditions of the world’s people. However, there is simply something about animals, especially dogs, that pierces directly to my heart every single time.

I sat there for a few moments, registering its emotions and the potential of getting viciously attacked by a dog, then reached my hand closer to its nose. After a few moments of stillness, it seemed to slowly realize that I wasn’t looking to hurt it. I cautiously began to pet its back, its head, and its ears. I sat with it for maybe one or two minutes, while most of my party continued on (bye, guys). After I stood up and brushed off my leggings, the puppy did something that cheered me more than any hike or fresh air ever could—it wagged its tail.

If you’re not an animal lover, or at least an animal liker, that story probably bored you enough to the point where you’re only skimming. I mean, hey, to each his or her own, unless its animal cruelty, then cut it out. Actually, animal mistreatment seems to be a really big problem in this place, for reasons that I don’t feel quite qualified nor uncensored enough to elaborate on at the moment, but I actually just wrote a paper on it for one of my classes that I may or may not post here later on. We’ll see if you get lucky.

We got back to the main grounds and climbed back into the car around 3 PM for what we thought would be a short three hour ride back to Ahmedabad.

Ha. Ha. Wrong.

We’d told our driver we were interested in seeing one final temple on our way home, but he apparently did not quite catch which temple… So we ended up in a completely random town at a completely random (albeit cool-looking temple) around 5 PM, and it then took us six (SIX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) hours to get home.

Did you read that????? SIX. HOURS. After two hours already!!!!!!!!!! Literally, we could have driven from Southern California to San Francisco in that amount of time. Instead, we were on a bumpy, curvy road (really great for my stomach, which started to act up again, and for my friend, laying in the front seat looking like she was going to die) with a driver that honked more often than not. He’d honk when he was in front of a car, or behind a car, or sometimes when there was no car at all. I started getting pretty pissy about it around 10 PM going on the seventh hour. Hope you don’t blame me for that one.

My host mom was worried sick, considering I’d told her I’d get home at 8 PM and I had no way of letting her know that I was going to be three (!!!!!!!!!!!) hours later than I’d thought—both because I had no minutes on my phone and because even if I could reach her, I couldn’t communicate with her. Super awesome situation.

I slept it off though, getting to go to bed without an alarm for the first time in three weeks. Praise to the Lord for that one, man.

I was feeling a little down (read: dejectedly depressed) today. I mean, my roommate is gone for the weekend, so I’m stuck in a home with no English speakers, no WiFi to check for any nearby spots to hang out, no phone numbers of any friends in town, and an explicit command to not go anywhere alone because of dangers. I was laying in my bed in despair, looking through photos of my family and—I’ll admit it—crying.

My parents rock though, and while Mom was virtually consoling me, my dad messaged me a place close by that he’d Google Mapped that looked interesting. So, I dried my tears and set out on an adventure, flouting the rule on travelling in pairs.

I arrived in a random city square with no English signs and lots of stares, but I took it in stride and began to wander the streets. At one point, I saw an elephant in the middle of the street and mesmerized, I began to wander towards it. That auspicious omen ended up leading me to a cyber café, where I was able to use the sweet, sweet internet for a full hour for the cheap enough price of 20 rupees—aka 30 cents.

I’ll take it.

My mini connection with the outside world (Scalia died? My friend updated her profile picture? The PSK/Sab dinner actually happened without my presence???) refreshed me and rejuvenated me. I noticed, however, that I didn’t feel any extreme compulsion to post or look at or like anything. I just wanted to message my best friends, and check my email for videos that my mom had promised to send, and laugh at updated comments on my world-famous YouTube video. That’s how I know I’m in the right place. Even though I’m depressed about animal cruelty, and poverty, and my lack of the super skill of knowing every dialect that the world has to offer, and even though I miss my friends, and my family, and my dogs (oh my god, my dogs), I don’t feel like I’m missing out. I feel completely content with my detachment from my normal life. And only like 25% of that is because I read an article in an Indian newspaper today about the “life-threatening” cold hitting Boston this Valentine’s Day (literally, it quoted “life-threatening”!!!!).

That’s not to say I’m completely content and perfectly living in the moment. It’s just like the metaphor that I shared with a very dear friend yesterday, that’s pretty good if I say so myself. (This is the last part of my blog, I promisepromisepromise, please stick with me.)

India is like this really delicious bread basket. (Go with it.) Like you’re eating this bread and you’re like, wow yeah this is great.

But you’ve already looked at the menu. And you know that following this bread basket is an amazing appetizer of caprese salad (Brazil), and then, after that, a top-grade sirloin steak (South Africa). But after the steak and the caprese (I love me some caprese) is the most delicious, incredible, mouth-watering ice cream chocolate cookie milkshake concoction that is made by the best dessert person in the whole wide world (California, obviously).

And you’re trying so hard to savor your break and to eat every last crumb, but you’re already looking forward to your appetizer and your dinner but above all you know you have to save room for dessert.

So I’m trying to savor every second in India and absorb every little experience and lick my fingers after I’m done to carry the taste, but I’m already so excited for my next adventures and honestly, more than anything, I’m really, really excited to go home. I love my family and my house and my friends and my dogs (my dooooogs!!) more than anything in the world—and I’ve seen a fair share of this ol’ place by now, so I can say that with some confidence.

Anyways. I had more poetic things to ramble on about, including identity and what it’s like to sit quietly while you’re pretty sure that everyone around you is talking about you and your digestion in a different language and the demon that lives outside my window and emerges at 4 AM every morning, but you’ve listened to me blather for more than long enough, so we can save those stories for another day.

Thanks for sticking with me. Keep me in your thoughts. And friends at Harv, please take a Valentine’s Day shot in honor of my pathetic romantic ventures over the years. (Preferably at either the PSK or Spee, as those are the most appropriate locations.)

Sending love and kisses this fourteenth of February,

AubStod

Illness in India

(From February 12)

What is worse than being sick?

How about being sick in a foreign country? In which you can’t communicate with your host mother to tell her you’re throwing up? And, when your stomach hurts beyond belief, being offered Indian food to calm it down?

Yikes, right?

I’m just getting over my illness of stomach pain, fevers, aches, and chills, but it was not a pretty time, my friends. I could barely keep down crackers and grapes, and I couldn’t sleep more than twenty minutes without waking myself up from shivering or aching. It sucked.

More than the sickness itself, the homesickness bothered me most. Not having my mom to bring me a smoothie or rub my back or tell me that I was going to be okay brought me to tears. I felt so alone and isolated and helpless. It sucked.

I also couldn’t have gotten sick on a worse day. Yesterday, my entire class visited the regional commissioner who provides exit visas for those leaving India. We’d been told that he could be rather masochistic and pressingly interrogative, which is exactly the kind of person you want to deal with when you’re feeling nauseous and icky. Fortunately, I was allowed to rest in my faculty member’s home for a few hours before going to the office alone, after the rest of my classmates. I got my exit visa with little trouble, because once the officer heard I was nauseous, he got scared that I would throw up all over his office and signed off without asking any more questions.

When I woke up today, still feeling pretty sick, I was scared that I’d have to figure out how to find a doctor in freaking India and figure out insurance, etc. while dealing with a headache and stomach ache. LUCKILY, my childhood best friend’s grandparents are actually from India and are even visiting the country right now!! They called me to see how I was feeling and connected me with a family friend doctor who lives in Ahmedabad. She gave me advice on what to eat and what to do then spoke with my host mother in Gujarati so she knew what to give me. How serendipitous is that??!

Honestly, though, I’ve literally had the most boring two days, so there is like nothing to write about. I laid in bed all day today, reading books and writing papers. My roommate left for the weekend, so I am probably going to watch some Discovery Channel to satisfy my craving for the English language.

Oh, also, I haven’t had access to WiFi for two and a half days now, and I probably won’t have any for at least another two and a half days, so basically I feel like a frickin hermit, isolated from the rest of humanity. Keep me in your prayers.

Bye bye for now,

Aubrey

A Classic Few Days

(From February 10)

I pick up my story from Monday, awakening after only six or so hours of rest to embark on another full week of experiential learning. While I was physically exhausted, I felt mentally and emotionally refreshed in a way that made me excited for the rest of the stay here in India. I’d gotten over the “hump.” I was halfway done with the actual time spent in India; I’d settled into my homestay; and I feared for my life a little less every time I rode in a rickshaw.

Classes were quite enjoyable on Monday, and I enjoyed immersing myself in the academics of India after a weekend of fun. It also happened to be one of my last full classroom days in India; most of the remaining week or so of school will involve field trips and site visits.

I also had the fun experience of eating what I thought was a SUPER spicy green bean, only to discover it was a freaking chili pepper. Sally and I finished the night by avidly watching “Belief,” that show on Discovery Channel that we look forward to literally all week.

Our host mother also informed us that she has begun to take English lessons! She’ll be moving from India in a few short months, so she’s decided to learn this worldwide language. Plus—she’ll be able to communicate with us! I’m stoked about it.

Tuesday was a weird day—but it also just felt so ~Indian~. Our class was supposed to visit a car factory about an “hour” away from our campus then visit a village nearby that had experienced adverse effects from the industrialization of their farm land.

Plot Twist #1: the factory was “closed” on Tuesday, so we were alerted that we’d simply wander the grounds and absorb information in that manner.

Plot Twist #2: the factory was not an hour away. It was about two and a half hours away. We arrived about an hour and a half after we were meant to be there.

Plot Twist #3: the factory itself was not the only thing closed; the grounds themselves were closed as well. So we stood at the gateway to get into the factory for about twenty minutes, while our faculty attempted to *persuade* (read: bribe) the officials to let us through. A few of us took matters into our own hands and linked arms to barricade the road in front of the factory in a manner of peaceful protest—but that ended in about .5 seconds when the guards yelled at us.

So, after failed begging and faulty protesting, we admitted defeat and drove to the nearby village.

It’s difficult for me to write about and describe that experience. The discomfort in pulling up to a dusty, dry, evidently impoverished neighborhood in an air-conditioned coach bus with twenty-nine other extremely privileged American students is so visceral and so powerful that it knocked me dumb. I didn’t know what to say when we passed children staring out at us through dung- and pollution-filled air. I didn’t know what to ask when we gathered a dozen awestruck villagers around our entitled group for an info center on their struggles and hardships. What do I say? I’m sorry? Thank you for sharing, I’ve got to go back to my cushy life in the US in a few months? See you later?

It’s not necessarily the feeling of inadequacy that I had last week—it’s more a frustration with my inability to do anything right now, it’s a discomfiting feeling of not belonging in the space I’m occupying, and it sucks. The potency of it during my time in the village crippled me, and I guiltily couldn’t wait to escape back onto my bus.

We were able to mildly express these emotions after a two-hour ride back to the school in which we debriefed on our visit. It wasn’t nearly enough, but we revisited it shortly.

Sally and I departed with other members of the group to visit the night markets after class. I enjoyed finding the perfect gifts for the rest of my friends and family.

I’m currently feeling absolutely sick to my stomach, so I’ve gotta cut this short and get to sleep. Hopefully it wears off and isn’t typhoid. Fingers crossed!

Toodles,

Aubs

Taj

(From February 8)

Wow. What. A. Weekend. From a moronic taxi driver, to a Wonder of the World, to watching trash burn in the streets, our whirlwind foray into Agra and Delhi took my breath away.

From school on Friday, our group of seven scurried to dinner then drove directly to the airport for our 9:55 PM flight. Because it’s me, duh, there was drama in actually getting on the plane, including being escorted out of the airport by a security person in order to withdraw money from an ATM to then re-buy my ticket because my identity was apparently unclear enough to trust my credit card. (Despite having my passport, license, and an alternate form of payment.) I also lost my security tag to get on the plane and had to sprint back down to the X-ray machines, where the guard suspected me of having a LIGHTER in my bag when it was literally a padlock to secure my bags (don’t know how those look the same in an X-ray???), but the only casualty was my nice water bottle, and we landed in Delhi safely and soundly at about 11:40 PM.

Fun fact: Delhi is the most polluted and most dense city in the entire world—it legit smelled like sulfur outside.

We quickly clambered into a taxi to drive to our Airbnb (a service that rents out apartments to travelers for short trips), but plot twist, our driver literally had zero idea where we were going and literally drove in circles for about an hour while Sally berated him with English epithets, which he obviously couldn’t understand. I am usually quite generous in my allowances for mistakes and lack of knowledge, but this guy literally talked to our host four or five times, in his own language, and still had to hand the phone (which was Sally’s, by the way) to random individuals on the street at 1 AM (most likely drug dealers, it’s fine).

But we FINALLY arrived at our super lush, very comfortable apartment with our attentive, (perhaps over-)eager host, who welcomed us to the city and slightly exposed his party-hard side, which would greatly evidence itself in less than twenty-four hours.

Four hours later, we woke up, sloughing out into the cold (it is winter, after all) around 6 AM to ride three hours to Agra. Despite all of the exhaustion, discomfort and stress of travelling, Saturday’s activities were absolutely, one hundred percent magical. We all agreed that travelling to Delhi and Agra was the best decision we’ve made during our entire experience thus far.

Here’s why.

Upon arrival to Agra, we visited the Baby Taj, a smaller mausoleum that ended up influencing the Taj Mahal itself. Because we arrived rather early in the day, we were greeted with much-appreciated solitude. The quiet and peace of the morning allowed us to frolic on the grounds and marvel at the mind-defying intricacy of the marble inlay on the surface of the tomb. Basically the stunning inlay is the result of delicately carving out gouges in the white marble stone and seamlessly filling them with gorgeous stones and gems in the forms of flowers, vines, and geometric shapes. The perfect fit of the stone into the marble creates an effect by which the carvings actually look like paintings, because you can’t see any of the cracks! It’s only when you put your face right up to the marble, or by chance catch a glimpse of a hole out of which one of the stones has fallen, that you realize the shocking amount of work, skill, and artistry that were necessary to build the Baby Taj.

I also enjoyed the Baby Taj, because it was actually a tomb built by a daughter for her parents because of how much she loved them. And, because she loved them equally, she flouted the tradition of building the man’s coffin larger than the woman’s and had her mother’s and father’s coffins constructed in equal size.

#girlpower, dude.

From the Baby Taj, we went to one of the seven most wondrous sights on the planet, one of the most romantic expressions of love in history, and the location of my next profile picture: the one and only Taj Mahal.

This is the third Wonder of the World that I have ever seen, and for the third time, I found that these wonders truly live up to their title. Sometimes, when you see a monument or place of which you’ve already seen multiple pictures, your stomach sinks a little as the guilty inquiry flashes through your mind, “that’s it?”

The Taj chased any doubts of magnificence from my mind. Gleaming in the sun, towering with multiple domes and minarets, imperial and unapologetically majestic, the Taj took my breath away. I’ve found that one of the most appealing features for me is symmetry; I love buildings whose sides mirror each other. The Taj is infinitely symmetrical; it’s a cube and can be split any which way. I fell in love with the Taj and its story before even stepping foot inside.

Then, we crossed the doorway—I couldn’t believe it: the inside was just as magnificent as the outside!!!!! The walls, coffins, and floor were covered in the marble inlay, and our guide bribed the officers to shine a flashlight onto the gorgeous gemstones so that we could see their illuminated colors under the beam of light. Imagine having a thin handkerchief or piece of red paper—it might seem dull until you put it against a lamp to see the light shine through the color. It’s difficult to describe—but it took my breath away.

After three hours (!!!) at the Taj, we moved on to a scrumptious lunch of Indian food (surprise, surprise). Each region in India, though, has its own distinct flavor, so we enjoyed the difference in taste from our homestay meals. It’s like comparing Californian Mexican food to Southern comfort food—totally different!

We finished the day at Agra Fort, a stunning World Heritage site that reminded me of Petra in Jordan because of its rusty red stones. Inside the fort were more marble structures and intricate stone carving. The king who built the Taj Mahal for the perished love of his life was imprisoned in this fort by his son, who enacted a coup and assumed the throne. The king, however, was lucky in that from his windows in his home arrest he could still see the Taj Mahal shimmering in the distance. He’d look out onto his wife’s grave every single day to remember his love for her.

For some reason, this expression of love propelled me to open up to my friends about my bizarre, absurd love life, and they were doubled over, about to pee their pants laughing at my recounts of bewilderment and boys. Pretty sure that some of the Indian tourists also overheard; I got even weirder looks that usual.

Regales of such stories kept us occupied along the three-hour ride back to our apartment. Upon our return, the rest of my crew primped in order to join our host out on the town in Delhi, but my regimen of antibiotics and resurgence of unwillingness to be trapped in crowded, dark places with lots of people and noise motivated me to tap out of the merriment. Our host, though, was determined that I have a good time.

Actual conversation:

Him: “Don’t worry, you can still have coke when you’re on antibiotics.”
Me, spotting the Coca Cola bottle on the counter: “No it’s fine, I have water!!!”
*Cue everybody laughing at me*
Him: “I wasn’t talking about that kind of coke.”
Me: “Oh…. Yeah water is still fine.”

End scene.

Imagine my relief at remaining in the comfy, calm, quiet apartment and my relaxed mood when everyone left.

WRONG.

You may remember from my few days alone in my Israeli home, but I am a terribly anxious, morbid individual. As soon as the great departure took place, I felt my heart speed up and jump into my throat as I imagined the murderers lurking right outside my door. I locked myself in my bedroom, feeling slightly safer. UNTIL. SOMEONE/SOMETHING (A GHOST???) BANGED AND I MEAN BANGED ON MY DOOR. Did I imagine it?!?!?! Had it happened? I looked at the shaking door and swinging key that stayed in the lock and just about peed my pants.

“Okay,” I thought rationally, “people (or ghosts) are here. They’re gonna steal everyone’s belongings. That should only take like twenty minutes. I’ll just hide out in the bathroom.”

I LITERALLY LOCKED MYSELF IN MY BATHROOM IN MY LOCKED BEDROOM to protect myself from the malicious intruders (or ghosts). Brought my book in and sat on the ground and held my breath so that they wouldn’t hear me.

After twenty minutes—an appropriate length of time to nag some passports and a camera or two—I tiptoed to my bedroom door and listened for the murmurs of satisfied thieves. I tried to ever so slowly creep the door open, but it squeaked louder than I could have imagined, and I figured that if I was gonna die, I might as well just get it over with quickly. I padded into the living room…. And promptly noticed that laptops remained on tables and valuables were untouched. Turns out my bedroom door’s lock has to take a few minutes to settle into its latch, so the thud had been the heavy door falling into place. I was safe.

I rejoiced for a few minutes, then returned to my bedroom… And relocked the door.

I woke up a few times throughout the night as friends returned from their revelry and felt well-rested for our Delhi tour on Sunday.

The tour started slowly, hesitantly; our guide rubbed us the wrong way initially and we were nervous that the misty rain falling would poison our skin due to the clogging pollution that it entrapped in its droplets. When we anxiously asked our guide whether the water would hurt our skin, he looked at us somberly and responded, “I really can’t say.”

Awesome.

But the sky ended up clearing by the time we arrived at our first few sites, thank goodness! We first stopped at India Gate, a British monument for the Indian soldiers that fought in World War I. We also had the opportunity to watch the changing of the guard at the Indian Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. You may not know this, but the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier (regardless of nationality) is one of my favorite traditions in military history. I find it incredibly honorable and respectful, a symbol that regardless of whether or not history forgets your deeds, your accomplishments or even your name, your country will never your sacrifice. It gives me the chills!

Sidenote, I’m super intrigued and interested in American military relations and history. Stemming from a deep-seated respect for service members and for the ideals of the country that they vow to protect, I have found myself dedicating myself more and more to the civilian side of military affairs. From my attendance at a conference at West Point Academy, to an involved paper on the relationship between Boston and the Army, I have and hope to continue to connect myself to the missions of the American military.

But back to India, and to our steadily-improving Delhi tour. From the Tomb we travelled to a Sikh temple on the site at which an important Sikh martyr was murdered many centuries ago. Not only was I wowed by the stunning and luxe interior of the temple, but I also admired the communal atmosphere of the nearby kitchen and eating area in which Sikhs could receive meals for only a donation. We got to walk around the kitchen and even help prepare some bread!

We stopped by at a souvenir shop after the temple (from the spiritual to the worldly in a hot minute), and I picked up more fab presents for the fam.

We drove through the disgustingly trashy streets of Delhi; literal piles of waste were accumulating in the street because the waste workers are on strike. Some people had even started burning the trash in the middle of the street, and a sickeningly acrid stench wafted through the air. It actually made me miss Ahmedabad—which is only the fourth most polluted city in the world. (Upon our arrival, a guest lecturer advised us “not to breathe” for the entire month we were here—awesome, yah, thanks a ton.)

We were relieved to finally arrive at Humayan’s Tomb, another inspiration for the Taj Mahal. Built with rusty-red sandstone and milky marble, the tomb holds 136 bodies. WOW! It looked and felt much more earthy and natural than the heavenly Taj, which actually made me feel comfortable and intrigued as opposed to overwhelmingly awestruck (but still amazed at the construction!). We all really enjoyed exploring the tomb, and the nearby mausoleum for some high-ranking officers. Its stony exterior and influence from Hindu temples reminded me of an Indiana Jones temple, and I finally got some other people to agree with me! It looked like it belonged in a jungle, and I felt like I should have had to whack my way through miles of vines and trees, batting monkeys and leopards to stumble upon it. Instead, I’d just ridden in a rickshaw with a scarf over my face to protect me from the smog and the incessant pictures taken by random people of the first white person they’d ever seen.

After the tomb, we drove to lunch (Italian—woah!) then arrived at our final site of the trip: Qutb Minar. The gigantic victory pillar soared hundreds of meters in the air and commemorated the Muslim victory over Delhi two thousand years ago. In the complex, there were also mosques built from stones and pieces of Hindu and Jain temples from the area. The conglomeration of the three religious architectural styles was fascinating, and I marveled at its alluring appearance.

I actually took a year-long art history class in high school, and the only monument I have recognized on this entire trip is the Taj Mahal. Isn’t that absurd? It made me realize how Western-centric my learning has been thus far, and it made me very thankful that I’ve been given the opportunity to travel to places and to world-renowned sites of which I may not have otherwise learned! Plus, it’s actually kind of cool to see things for the first time without the spoiler of having seen pictures beforehand. It adds to my awe!

After the tour of the Qutb Minar complex, our van drove us to the airport, where Sally and I lounged for FIVE HOURS because of our later flight. We boarded around 9:50 PM and embarrassingly endured more photographs IN THE PLANE by these creepy old men. Our sassy friend Eli actually got out of her seat, several rows behind us, and strode up to the creeps to tell them off. I later flipped out on them (and may or may not have flipped them off) when they continued to take pictures of Sally while she was sleeping. GROSS! Another man attempted to explain to me that we were the first white people they’d ever seen—but in my opinion, that does not excuse the rudeness and inhumanity of treating other people like digestible spectacles that can be ogled at and photographed without permission.

Being in a place so different from home, and from any other place I’ve been, for such an extended period of time has forced me to question my definition of morals and politeness and acceptability. At what point do we draw the line between cultural difference and downright rude ignorance? Is it at a not-so sneaky photo taken of teenage girls by middle-aged men? Is it at the derogatory remarks made about a member of a different race or religion? Or, do we simply shrug and refuse to decide whether there are certain rules of respect and humanity that must transverse cultural divides? I haven’t decided yet. Let me know if you do.

We ignored the numerous aggressive rickshaw drivers crowding us at the airport attempting to attract our patronage and chose the quiet old man wrapped in a blanket on principle. We finally got home at 1 AM, did our homework until 2 AM, and passed tf out.

I have many more stories to tell from today (including the tragic mistake of mixing up vegetables, Discovery Channel-induced tears, and cross-linguistic connections), but they will have to wait for another day, because I am EXHAUSTED and I’m sure you’re tired of reading by now.
Thanks for sticking with me through such a LONG post. It’s been one of the most exciting and wonderful weekends of my life.

Until next time,
Traveller Aubs

Finding My Happy

Travelling exposes and demands many things. It shows your misconceptions, your expectations, your internalized stereotypes, and a multitude of hidden, sometimes subconscious ideas that lurk in your mind. It demands of you energy, investment (physical, monetary, psychological and emotional), and so much immersion. Travelling gives, and travelling takes. The past two days gave me the chance to attempt to level this difficult balance and extract what I need to from this experience in order to “find my happy.”

 As I stated, this trip has been difficult on me. The abject poverty, the conditions of the humans and animals that I see, and the fact that I can’t do much to change it have all really drained me. What I didn’t realize til yesterday, though, was the fact that the city and urban environment themselves had also taken their toll.

Yesterday (which as I’m writing this was Wednesday), I finally figured out a way to communicate with my family reliably and regularly.

HALLELUJAH!!

It has legitimately changed the way I approach every situation and hardship; knowing that I can message my parents gives me the comfort and security I absolutely craved. So although I may be far in distance from my family, I can now contact them whenever I want. Take and give.

Because of my abstention from spending all class attempting to connect to WiFi, I actually paid attention!! (Kidding, I always pay attention.) But class rocked; the topics of history and Ahmedabad housing fascinated me. After lunch, the entire group mobbed to a stunning, five-century-old mosque called Sarkhej Ruza that was built on the outskirts of the city. Built of limestone and constructed with Hindi influence, it was unlike any of the mosques I’d seen in Istanbul. It looked and felt so much like the entrance to the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland, but since nobody in our group is even from the West Coast, I couldn’t share or revel in its similarity to the Forbidden Temple.

We were given some time at the beginning of our visit to wander the grounds on our own. I peeled off from the main group to check out a museum off to the side of the mosque that overlooked a gigantic field (which, in the wet season, is a lake). I marveled at its beauty, and just as promptly, burst into tears.

It was as if the shock of the city had kept my emotions and feelings and shock completely pent up; my consistent state of being overwhelmed hadn’t allowed me to express my homesickness and sadness and frustration. It was super therapeutic. I cried a little bit, then rejoined the group feeling much more refreshed.

I think this confirmed for me a notion that I’d discussed with one of my best friends back at school. There are some people that thrive on the energy and bustle of a crowded city; I, on the other hand, crave and need open space, nature, an expanse of water and land. I find that even in Boston and New York, I get claustrophobic; I thrive in the forests of Maine, and on the beaches of the Mediterranean, and even in the suburbs of Southern California, which, I have come to realize, treasure their pieces of “wild” land. For those of you who don’t know, I grew up with a canyon nature preserve as a backyard, but it wasn’t until going to school in Cambridge (in which I feel most comfortable on the banks of the Charles River) that I realized how much I internalized and fed off of this peace and tranquility of my mini “wilderness.” So, I may be exhausted and overwhelmed by the pollution and buzz and crowding of Ahmedabad (and almost definitely will be by Sao Paulo as well), but I now know that I one hundred percent need to live in a place that prizes and preserves its nature. Take, give.

Today, I finally found a zoo that I didn’t like—an occasion which I never believed would come about. A few of us went to Konkaria Lake for the day, a man-made reservoir from the 15th century that is now encircled by little restaurants, an amusement park, gardens, and a zoo. Honestly and frankly, I don’t know what I expected a zoo to be like in a city that can’t even house a million people in its population and keeps them in shacks on the street, but I was not expecting what I saw. Small cages for panthers and tigers that let in little light; concrete enclosures with no trees or grass or even dirt; and, the worst of all, a lone elephant in a gated area, who was incessantly shaking its head, which is apparently a sign of boredom and loneliness. God, I’m about to cry all over again writing this down.

I promise that I’ve been moved by the slums and by the conditions of the poor children I see in Ahmedabad, but for some reason the sight of a single elephant (one of the most social creatures on this planet) alone and feeling its loneliness broke me. Maybe it’s because back home, going to the San Diego Zoo with my dad and watching the gigantic elephant herds roam around their huge enclosures together is one of my favorite traditions. Maybe because I empathized with an animal separated from its family, in a place it doesn’t understand. Maybe I’m just an emotional wreck. But it reaffirmed my dedication to improving the well-being of every person and animal I come across, and it made me want to donate to an animal charity ASAP. Lots of take, and only a little give for this one.

After the lake, all four of us were craving an American dish—something that would taste like home. So… We went to Domino’s!

We experienced something absolutely hilarious, though. When we walked in to the Dominos around the corner from the lake, we found a few other classmates already sitting and eating their pizza!!!! With no communication between our two groups, we’d all been feeling like a good ol’ slice of American-brand pizza. It was really funny, and made me feel less alone in that I knew I wasn’t the only homesick person on this trip.

After pizza, Sally and I flexed our bargaining muscles a few times for rickshaws and a flower market, getting our drivers down from 50 rupees (75 cents) to 30 rupees and 40 rupees each way. My mom would be proud. However, I think our bargaining pissed off our first driver, as he dropped us off at a weird location five minutes from where we actually told him to take us, and while walking through the crowded street, we both got “bumped” by a motorcycle. This place is freaking insane.

At the flower market, we bought two small bouquets for our host mom after some haggling. They’re super pretty, but we got slightly worried that they might symbolize like funeral or death or something in Indian culture. I think we’re good, though.

We’re now back at our homestay, and while Sally goes shopping tonight, I think I’ll be hanging around the house doing homework, reading, and watching more Discovery Channel. I have to rest up, because tomorrow… We fly to Delhi, and on Saturday, we’re visiting the Taj Mahal!!!! WAHOO! I am so excited to see the most beautiful monument of love ever built (a sultan built this as a mausoleum for his wife). Meanwhile, I can’t even get a text back from a boy… (Kidding.) (Kinda.)

I’m super stoked for the adventure ahead of me, and I think that getting out of Ahmedabad for a few days will refresh me a lot.

I’m continuing to carve out my happy places and find my way in this dizzying, bright, overwhelming city.

Signing off,
Philosophical Aubs

Visits and Keeping It Together

(From February 2)

UGH friends, I promise that I haven’t abandoned you!!! My homestay has no WiFi, and the school’s WiFi is quite fickle. For instance, I brought my laptop yesterday to post my blog from two days ago, but WiFi only worked on phones. So, I brought my phone today in order to get connected—but only laptops connected today.

It doesn’t make any sense, I know, so please don’t ask me to explain.

It’s been a long couple of days. Getting used to a new bed (which Sally and I share), new sounds and sights, a new neighborhood… It’s exhausting. Couple that with school hours of 9 AM to 5 PM, and you’ve got yourself a tired Aubs falling asleep during guest lectures.

I sucked up my exhaustion to explore the street markets yesterday with a few friends. I bought myself a couple of items, and also bought gifts for some family… (looking at you, Si and Grams!!!)

More fun than the actual buying was watching Caitlin haggle. Vendors would insist that a frock be sold for 800 rupees (about $12). Caitlin would look them straight in the eye and say, “200.”

They would act appalled, shocked, disturbed, angered, and the entire time, Caitlin would look at them with cold, heartless eyes.

I even got a little bit uncomfortable during some of her bargaining, thinking that these obviously were worth more than $2.50, but guess what—after a few shops, she got them down to 200 rupees.

Also in exciting news—I took my first bucket shower yesterday!! WOW! Instead of standing underneath a wasteful flood of water from a shower nozzle, I went the ~Indian way~ and filled a giant bucket with hot water and used a tiny small cup to actually wash myself. I was worried it would be cold, or inconvenient, or difficult, but I actually didn’t mind it at all. 10/10 would recommend again (especially if that’s the only way to get flicks of cow poop off of your feet).

Last night, after another scrumptious dinner by Host Mother Shiman, Sally and I settled into the couch to watch the Discovery Channel show called “Belief,” narrated by the one and only Oprah. The show uses case studies around the world to display global religions and faith systems. It’s a fascinating show, and I really enjoyed it, but even cooler than the actual show was realizing how blessed I’ve been to visit so many of the sites they display!! Flashes of the Wailing Wall, Dome of the Rock, and Indian Hindi festivals felt familiar, while photos of Christ the Redeemer excited me for next month’s travels. I continue to be awed by the incredible fortune I’ve been lucky enough to stumble upon in my ability to travel and explore. The hard work, love, and support of my parents, my Israeli host family, my grandmother, my sisters, my friends who encouraged me to take a chance, follow my wanderlusting itch, and study abroad… I would have neither the bravery nor the foundation of love necessary to achieve my dreams without all of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Even though I’m kind of finding out.

I have to admit, I’ve been a sourpuss these past two days. The struggles with internet, my inability to take advantage of the texting plan that my parents bought me, my “off-the-grid” status from 5 PM to 9 AM... People probably think I’m a spoiled brat.

But honestly, it’s not about social media, or planning trips, or even following the results of the Iowa caucus. I’m just absolutely desperate to be in touch with my family. Being in such an unfamiliar, overwhelming, shocking place in conjunction with the isolation from my loved ones (physically, verbally, etc. etc. etc.) is breaking me down, man. I’m kind of a mess. I’m seriously doing my best to hold it together, but I’m only myself when I have access to my fam. Probs because I need their constant teasing and ridicule to keep my head from getting too big (only partially kidding). I really do miss them, though. Hoping that communications improve and that I’m able to get ahold of them soon.

Today, I visited a public school on the outskirts of Ahmedabad. It was absolutely heartbreaking. Located less than a half-mile from a trash-burning dumpsite, the school is regularly unattended due to the constant illnesses of the children because of the heavy pollution. In the “backyard” of the school is another trash-sorting dump site, and murders take place often in the streets between the school and the children’s homes.

How does one emotionally and mentally comprehend the tragedy of such a situation? How can I even begin to understand the hardships a fourth grader has to endure in order to sit down in a classroom when her mother and father work as contracted laborers and may not make enough money for her dinner? How does a fourth-grade boy function in an academic setting when his entire family has been uprooted from its home due to government rezoning and placed in a slum forty minutes away? Comparisons are impossible; I find myself standing in shock and disbelief, desperate to think of a solution. What can be done? How can I help? What can I do?

At the beginning of our program, we were told that we would be shielded from dangerous things but not from disturbing things. I have come to understand what that means. I know that it is for the best. I know that I’m learning lessons and meeting people that will forever imprint themselves on my mind when I make decisions in my career and personal life. I continue to believe that individuals can make a difference: for example, we met a woman today who began her own informal school called “Slum Shine” that meets on the side of the street in completely impoverished areas and teaches children that may not otherwise have access to education.

How can one not believe in miracles and goodness and action when one hears a story like that?

So, despite the hardship and despite my discomfort and despite my lack of access to WiFi, I am glad I am here. This is, for the moment, the place and the program and the mindset in which I belong.

Ending on a ~cool~ note: this past summer in Israel, I read a few books (historical fiction, non-fiction, the Bible, everything!) set in Israel or about the country. It was absolutely one of the coolest things about my experience. I felt immersed in the culture and history; I would read a passage about a Jerusalem marketplace while settling in at my rooftop hostel overlooking the Dome of the Rock and feel completely at one with my world. SO, I decided to do the same thing here! Shoutout to JStodds (aka my dad) for finding one incredible novel about each of the countries to which I’ll be travelling. I’ve started with Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie, a novel set in the early years of Indian independence (1947 onwards). I’ve already noticed that words from the book are tossed around in daily life, and that the information I learn in classes directly contributes to my understanding of the novel’s background. It’s basically the coolest thing I’ve ever done.

Tonight, Sally and I will be finishing some homework (maybe) and watching TV and reading (way more likely). Hope that all of you have had a fabulous few days!

Finding my way,

AubStod

Moving In and Moving On

(From January 31)

Hi, friends.

First of all apologies for the lack of GIFs. I had so many that I planned on inputting, but the WiFi is SO unstable that I literally can't even google things. SO, hope you enjoy my super boring blog post.

After a long sleep, multiple cups of coffee, and some music therapy, I’m feeling a little bit better about everything I’ve experienced. The poverty and confusion and noise (not even just sound) of India have overwhelmed every single person on my trip. It’s a lot to digest and explain and deal with, but I’m definitely trying my hardest.

Saturday’s schedule was full of classes and guest lectures. When we saw the full load for a weekend day, we were noooot happy. But due to our day-long delay in arriving in India, we had to make up time. The lectures were interesting, and I continue to feel like the academics of the program greatly supplement the experiences I have outside of the classroom.

After class, we jumped in rickshaws to visit the Gandhi Ashram, a museum commemorating the commune-style neighborhood established by Mahatma Gandhi about a century ago. You may not know this, but Gandhi actually began his peaceful agitating for Indian independence in Ahmedabad! The rich history of the site and its somber yet vibrant atmosphere provided an opportunity for inflection and introspection.

We gathered as a group on a grassy knoll on the museum land. We took the opportunity to discuss the more “human” side of the neighborhood visits we’d undertaken. It was, to say the least, quite moving. We had all experienced really profound feelings and shared our emotions.

One of the most uncomfortable experiences, however, was the ogling by the other museum patrons. 

They were taking pictures and literally sitting in our circle in an attempt to eavesdrop on our conversation. I’ve never before been such a spectacle. At Harvard, I’ve definitely experienced similar ogling; tourists I don’t know take my picture and grab me in attempts to maneuver me into their photos without even asking. However, it’s never been this brazen or exploitative. I continuously tried to hide my face (partly because I was crying, to be honest), just attempting to maintain a semblance of privacy and sense of dignity, in a sense. We are constantly stared at, prodded, shouted to, and photographed. I think it will impossible to ever feel at home here when I am constantly reminded of my inability to fit in.

Today has been really exciting—homestay move in day! Woo!

We had to be packed and ready by 11:30 AM, so naturally Caitlin and I decided to sleep and nap until 10:45 before tackling the mess that was our room. It had literally become a pigsty over the course of five days, most likely due to the fact that Caitlin and I have already become way too close over the past three weeks and have dropped all pretenses of ladylike-ness, cleanliness, and primness.

I’m actually really going to miss Caitlin these next few weeks—our homestays are about a half hour apart, so we will likely only see each other during class and on the weekends. This study abroad program is bizarre in that it creates deep friendships and bonds in short amounts of time. We experience inexplicable moments together, isolated from family and friends; we sleep and eat and study and talk together; we literally don’t get a break from one another.

Yet, even though we experience almost the same exact things and encounter similar difficulties, every individual absorbs his or her surroundings in a completely different way. I guess it’s true that the way you interpret other individuals and phenomena reveals much more about you than it does about what you’re observing.

ANYWAYS. Sally and I moved in with our host mother, Shiman, this afternoon. Shiman is a grandmother of five who (surprise!) speaks little to no English.

Sally and I have been struggling in our attempts to communicate with her about our food and our whereabouts, etc. etc. etc. Shiman’s daughter, who lives quite close by, has been assisting in translating, thank goodness. But as I noted in my last post—affection can be expressed without the medium of language. Shiman so clearly adores and is proud of her beautiful four daughters, and it’s been fun to connect with her over that source of love that she holds.

Her apartment has no WiFi, so Sally and I have attempted to find novel ways to amuse ourselves. Sally has begun a ~fun~ video game, while I’ve taken a nap and stared at the fan.

We are literally gonna finish, like, 10 books a piece over the next eighteen days.

Sally and I explored our neighborhood a tad until the constant staring and occasional picture pushed us back inside. We’re currently waiting for what smells like a delicious dinner—we’ve heard Shiman is the best cook around—while watching a Turkish soap opera. I have a feeling “Feriha” is about to become my new “Bachelor.”

Here’s to hoping that I can keep up with Ben and his plethora of women even in a home with no WiFi—oh, and to the eventual end to my constant state of panic. In that order.

By the way, thanks for hanging in there with me. Logging into my blog and seeing that hundreds of people are reading about my experiences and are thinking of me every once in a while keeps me sane, happy, and tethered to home (all three of them—California, Boston, and Israel!).

All my love,

Aubs