How to Survive a Monsoon
Hooooooly crap. This is what happens when I don't write in here every single day; I go into overload and want to write about absolutely everything that's happened. So, this entry will either be about 28926906 pages long, or else I'll crash in the middle (or my internet will crash) and it'll be pitifully short. Let's find out, shall we?
First of all, I'm so much better now. I realized that I left my blog on sort of a depressing note for about a week, when in reality I pulled an emotional 360 degree turn the day after. I realized that most of the problem wasn't actually culture shock, my rather my overly-politically-correct self getting angry and my still-a-real-person self for getting upset at the differences. The whole group had a sort of cry-and-share the day after. It was very 70's, and I loved it. When everything boils down, I've always been taught to be culturally understanding. It's very easy to say "oh, how original" about a culture when I'm reading about it in my history book or watching some special on TV. I have open-mindedness standards for myself that I never want to cross. What I needed to realize is that it's ok to freak out. It's ok to desperately want Kraft Macaroni and Cheese even when I have a delicious dahl in front of me. It's ok to silently whimper about the blisters on my feet, my endless quests for toilet paper, and everything that's actually significant. As my dad told me, if I didn't get upset, something would be wrong. I'd be passively observing a culture, instead of getting my fingers dirty (really) and living it. This is no trip to the Smithsonian, and I don't have to happily coo at everything I see.
That being said, life's crazy, in a wonderfully cosmopolitan way. We went to the village of Rajmachi on Saturday. Waking up at 4:30 AM (yes, kids, Sarah Lee actually woke up before noon) left me disoriented, but a two-hour train ride (boarding and exiting the trains is like a mosh pit. Seriously. We rode in the ladies' compartment on the way back, and there were women slapping and pushing at the few men who tried to board with us. I had to clutch onto the pole as the train pulled out of the station) and the following trek certainly woke me up. It's driving me crazy that I can't post pictures now, but I should have a USB cord tomorrow. Once the pictures are up, I'll post them in another entry with corresponding numbers. It'll be great, I promise.
So! Rajmachi. We walked through a village on our way to the mountain, and I was thrown at how different the rural areas are from the city. All that I'd seen of India so far was Mumbai and Pune, two of the larger and more prosperous cities. A mere train ride away, and people were gawking at the blonde freaks walking past. I know that I'd mentioned being stared at, but this was a whole different ball game. The stares in the city are more curiosity or sexual interest, whereas here they were more "what the hell are you?" looks, as my friend Danielle put it. It probably didn't help that I'd cropped my hair really short the day before (pictures soon, I promise). Anyway, we made it through the village, stopping to devour the Indian breakfast sandwich (ridiculously spicy potato, spinach, and who knows what else pressed between two halves of a bun) on our way. We walked a few hundred yards up a hill, and everything changed.
It started raining, lightly at first, and didn't stop (it still hasn't, actually). The heat on the ground mixed with the cold rain, and a San Francisco-worthy fog sprouted up, covering everything in a ghostly layer of wetness. We walked across a stone bridge over a lake, and the fog seeping down the sides of the bridge and onto the lake gave the impression that we were walking over a bottomless pit. It wasn't the last time on the trek that I thought of Lord of the Rings. We walked for the next five hours, climbing over boulders and across waist-deep streams. When the fog cleared for a split second, we could see waterfalls as tall as skyscrapers completely surrounding us. As we climbed higher, it rained harder. What started out as a light drizzle was now a complete downpour. If you've seen the movie Jumanji, you might remember the scene where a monsoon invaded the suburban house. It's actually not that far from the truth. The dirt paths turned to silty streams then actual rivers.
About three-quarters of the way through, we came to the first actual river (when I say actual, I mean that it had a name. We'd gone through half a dozen or so legit rivers, in my opinion), and our guide, Anju, said we could stop and have a "nice time." "Nice" is probably the most-used English word in India, by the way. So, since we were all completely soaking anyway, we plunged in. Most people waded in slowly, but I'd had enough of that. I dove in headfirst, plunging upstream against the fairly strong current. The water ranged from ankle-deep to over my head, but we found a group of rocks that were just below the surface. The rain continued to pour down, and the whipping branches and churning water was unbelievable. I say "unbelievable," because I honestly can't describe it. It was partially like something out of a movie, out of a fantasy novel, out of a Larium-induced dream, and partially something I can't even describe. We stood on the rocks, as we out of the water as in it. We slid down algae-covered rocks, splashing and falling and laughing harder than I thought possible. For lack of a non-cliche to explain it, it's something I'll never forget. Ever.
We continued on our trek, drenched more from the rain than from the river. The rain came down even harder, to the point where it felt like hail. We finally stumbled into the village where we flopped into a house owned by a family who our guide knew. We dried off, sort of, and collapsed until the evening. After dinner, our guide took us out to the forest to see a special fungus. In certain areas of Maharashtra, a phosphorescent fungus grows in the forests. Villagers used to see the glow-in-the-dark patches in the night and think that ghosts were appearing before them. I can certainly see why. We headed back to the house, stepping over mini-streams that popped up as we walked. Sprawled spread-eagle on the cow dung floor, I fell asleep almost instantly. As my eyes closed and my heartbeat slowed, the rain continued to fall.
When we woke up the next morning, it was still raining. The villagers said that it was the most rain they'd had in years, and that we probably wouldn't be able to cross the river. We walked down to the river anyway and saw a group of people using a rope to cross. Assembly line-style, about a dozen people crossed the waist-deep water. After some words of caution from our guide, we fought against the current with the help of several local men, making it safely to the other side.
The rest of the trek passed similarly to the first day, except we had a few more blisters and no more dry clothes. There was no turning back now, and fortunately we made it to the train station in time. One mostly-female mosh pit later, we collapsed onto the seats. A hot bucket shower never sounded so good.
Once again, I appologize for the lack of pictures. I took about 80 yesterday, so the highlights will be up tomorrow. Definitely.
Thanks to those of you who have sent me letters or e-mails.. I appreciate them more than you know. Keep fighting the good fight. I know I will.
Love,
Sarah!
First of all, I'm so much better now. I realized that I left my blog on sort of a depressing note for about a week, when in reality I pulled an emotional 360 degree turn the day after. I realized that most of the problem wasn't actually culture shock, my rather my overly-politically-correct self getting angry and my still-a-real-person self for getting upset at the differences. The whole group had a sort of cry-and-share the day after. It was very 70's, and I loved it. When everything boils down, I've always been taught to be culturally understanding. It's very easy to say "oh, how original" about a culture when I'm reading about it in my history book or watching some special on TV. I have open-mindedness standards for myself that I never want to cross. What I needed to realize is that it's ok to freak out. It's ok to desperately want Kraft Macaroni and Cheese even when I have a delicious dahl in front of me. It's ok to silently whimper about the blisters on my feet, my endless quests for toilet paper, and everything that's actually significant. As my dad told me, if I didn't get upset, something would be wrong. I'd be passively observing a culture, instead of getting my fingers dirty (really) and living it. This is no trip to the Smithsonian, and I don't have to happily coo at everything I see.
That being said, life's crazy, in a wonderfully cosmopolitan way. We went to the village of Rajmachi on Saturday. Waking up at 4:30 AM (yes, kids, Sarah Lee actually woke up before noon) left me disoriented, but a two-hour train ride (boarding and exiting the trains is like a mosh pit. Seriously. We rode in the ladies' compartment on the way back, and there were women slapping and pushing at the few men who tried to board with us. I had to clutch onto the pole as the train pulled out of the station) and the following trek certainly woke me up. It's driving me crazy that I can't post pictures now, but I should have a USB cord tomorrow. Once the pictures are up, I'll post them in another entry with corresponding numbers. It'll be great, I promise.
So! Rajmachi. We walked through a village on our way to the mountain, and I was thrown at how different the rural areas are from the city. All that I'd seen of India so far was Mumbai and Pune, two of the larger and more prosperous cities. A mere train ride away, and people were gawking at the blonde freaks walking past. I know that I'd mentioned being stared at, but this was a whole different ball game. The stares in the city are more curiosity or sexual interest, whereas here they were more "what the hell are you?" looks, as my friend Danielle put it. It probably didn't help that I'd cropped my hair really short the day before (pictures soon, I promise). Anyway, we made it through the village, stopping to devour the Indian breakfast sandwich (ridiculously spicy potato, spinach, and who knows what else pressed between two halves of a bun) on our way. We walked a few hundred yards up a hill, and everything changed.
It started raining, lightly at first, and didn't stop (it still hasn't, actually). The heat on the ground mixed with the cold rain, and a San Francisco-worthy fog sprouted up, covering everything in a ghostly layer of wetness. We walked across a stone bridge over a lake, and the fog seeping down the sides of the bridge and onto the lake gave the impression that we were walking over a bottomless pit. It wasn't the last time on the trek that I thought of Lord of the Rings. We walked for the next five hours, climbing over boulders and across waist-deep streams. When the fog cleared for a split second, we could see waterfalls as tall as skyscrapers completely surrounding us. As we climbed higher, it rained harder. What started out as a light drizzle was now a complete downpour. If you've seen the movie Jumanji, you might remember the scene where a monsoon invaded the suburban house. It's actually not that far from the truth. The dirt paths turned to silty streams then actual rivers.
About three-quarters of the way through, we came to the first actual river (when I say actual, I mean that it had a name. We'd gone through half a dozen or so legit rivers, in my opinion), and our guide, Anju, said we could stop and have a "nice time." "Nice" is probably the most-used English word in India, by the way. So, since we were all completely soaking anyway, we plunged in. Most people waded in slowly, but I'd had enough of that. I dove in headfirst, plunging upstream against the fairly strong current. The water ranged from ankle-deep to over my head, but we found a group of rocks that were just below the surface. The rain continued to pour down, and the whipping branches and churning water was unbelievable. I say "unbelievable," because I honestly can't describe it. It was partially like something out of a movie, out of a fantasy novel, out of a Larium-induced dream, and partially something I can't even describe. We stood on the rocks, as we out of the water as in it. We slid down algae-covered rocks, splashing and falling and laughing harder than I thought possible. For lack of a non-cliche to explain it, it's something I'll never forget. Ever.
We continued on our trek, drenched more from the rain than from the river. The rain came down even harder, to the point where it felt like hail. We finally stumbled into the village where we flopped into a house owned by a family who our guide knew. We dried off, sort of, and collapsed until the evening. After dinner, our guide took us out to the forest to see a special fungus. In certain areas of Maharashtra, a phosphorescent fungus grows in the forests. Villagers used to see the glow-in-the-dark patches in the night and think that ghosts were appearing before them. I can certainly see why. We headed back to the house, stepping over mini-streams that popped up as we walked. Sprawled spread-eagle on the cow dung floor, I fell asleep almost instantly. As my eyes closed and my heartbeat slowed, the rain continued to fall.
When we woke up the next morning, it was still raining. The villagers said that it was the most rain they'd had in years, and that we probably wouldn't be able to cross the river. We walked down to the river anyway and saw a group of people using a rope to cross. Assembly line-style, about a dozen people crossed the waist-deep water. After some words of caution from our guide, we fought against the current with the help of several local men, making it safely to the other side.
The rest of the trek passed similarly to the first day, except we had a few more blisters and no more dry clothes. There was no turning back now, and fortunately we made it to the train station in time. One mostly-female mosh pit later, we collapsed onto the seats. A hot bucket shower never sounded so good.
Once again, I appologize for the lack of pictures. I took about 80 yesterday, so the highlights will be up tomorrow. Definitely.
Thanks to those of you who have sent me letters or e-mails.. I appreciate them more than you know. Keep fighting the good fight. I know I will.
Love,
Sarah!
posted by Sarah! at 1:40 AM
1 Comments:
Dear Ms Jumanji,
What an entry! Thanks for sharing so much- can't wait to see the photos! sounds like you are learning as much about yourself as you are about India! Keep up the good work! Love,M
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