Shortly after breakfast, the driver (aka Mario Andretti) brought the car around to the front of the house and Basu and I were driven to Rotary House – the building where the various clubs meet in Biratnagar and which is owned by them. There is only one Rotary Clubhouse in our district and that is in Boothbay Harbor, so I was interested in learning the Rotarians in Biratnagar use this common meeting place for their weekly gatherings, as well as eye camps and health clinics throughout the year. It was a pleasure to meet so many new friends, and to have them explain how they waited and waited for me to arrive the night before. Basu explained my difficulty in entering their country at all, so they were a little easier on me. There were some other Rotarians from California attending the meeting, as one of them has helped to raise funds for a women’s hospital that should be completed in two more years. Both Carol and I were invited to speak to the members of the two clubs gathered. There were also some Rotarians, who were surgeons by profession, who are working with Carol to offer cleft palate and cleft lip reconstruction free of charge to the neediest of people throughout the country. I spoke with them following the meeting and told them about our district’s participation over the past ten years in Rotaplast.
Following the meeting, Basu and the incoming presidents for the two clubs met with me to discuss why I was here. I had already explained during my remarks to the general membership about the NID – Work Project Groups I have had the honor of leading for the past five years and the one I am leading this year. I told them I was interested in learning about potential projects in Nepal where I might bring a team in the coming years. I further detailed the projects over the period from 2007 to the present in Chahalka. I indicated it made good sense to begin with a small scale project and build upon that to establish a sustainable relationship with the village over a period of three or four years. We agreed to meet after lunch and to visit a few areas where Rotary might be able to make a difference.
As we were driving along, it seemed everyone was on his mobile phone – with Basu sometimes speaking on two mobile phones simultaneously. I am beginning to catch a few words and phrases in Hindi, so when one of the incoming club presidents was speaking over his mobile, and told us he had been speaking with his wife, I figured out that we were all going to his house for lunch and that he expected his wife to prepare a luncheon for five hungry men, and “oh, by the way, we will be there in five minutes!” We in fact arrived in about three minutes, because there was virtually no automobile traffic, and we met his wife who had prepared lunch in the minutes before she had to leave for her own Rotary Club meeting. I told him it is lucky his wife is also a Rotarian, so at least she understood. However, when lunch was served, I was astounded at what was placed before us – plate after plate and serving dish of one VEG dish or another.
Following lunch, we all piled into Basu’s SUV and off we went to a remote village where the children are suffering from dysentery. There are about 150 people in this village, and once I took a walk about, I saw one of the chief reasons the kids were getting sick -some of them had died in the past few months. The location of the hand-pump tube well was literally five feet from the toilet. Even though I was also told not many people use the toilets because they do not have sides and a roof to provide privacy and shelter from rainstorms, you could not prove it by me. There always seems to be the telltale stench of stale urine which assaults the nasal passages of those not accustomed to such odors. Such was the case here. The toilets were comprised of a porcelain plate – about two feet square, with places for one to place one’s feet and an oblong hole in the center. Beneath the hole was a scooped out hole with a possible capacity of two or three gallons. Trust me, these were bring used, and recently too!
As it turns out, one of the Rotarians with us told us his father had given this land to the villagers and had actually deeded each tiny parcel to the person who was then allowed to build his house and enjoy it with his family. There was also common land for gardens and area for pens for goats and chickens. We asked about education and were told nobody goes to school because they must stay in the home and work at farming. Some of the teenaged boys did work in local factories. In speaking with the Rotarian, I discovered that if asked by us (meaning by me and those in future groups) he would be willing to deed additional land to the villagers who would build and maintain a proper bath facility – perhaps a tiny scale of what we are presently doing in Chahalka.
Since I was leaving the following afternoon to fly to Kathmandu, I wanted to view as many potential projects as we could in that afternoon. We visited a larger town and across the road from where the townspeople were celebrating a religious holiday (I think there are more Hindu holidays or holy days than in any other religion) we visited a government school for boys. At present, about half of the rooms are being used, while the others remain empty, unproductive and stinking. After some discussion with the teacher (who was also incidentally a judge for a contest or competition across at the holy day celebration) we determined we should be able to have the government deed over to us one double room and one single room, in exchange for our creating a computer training center, much the same as we had done with the derelict building in Chahalka this past year. The small room would be converted into an efficiency studio apartment for an instructor, whom we would have to hire and pay wages for them. Basu and I walked from the small room over around the veranda to what would be the best location for a computer lab, so to speak. As we turned the corner, he pointed out, “That is the toilet room” and as quickly as possible, I informed him he did NOT have to tell me where the toilets were located – I could and had already smelled them several yards prior. As we spoke with the instructor, about two- dozen of the boys who are students at this school, began to gather round us to hear what we might be able to plan for the future. They all seemed very eager and promised if we were successful in mapping out such a project, then they were going to study harder so they could get into the school and excel in computer training classes. It was heartening to find out how enthusiastic they all were to improve their lives. We departed from the school and headed back to Biratnagar. Basu wanted to drop off the other Rotarians, meet another one, and show me the hotel accommodations our team might enjoy if we were able to put a project or two together. Basu seemed to have his finger in a lot of pies – being a sponsor of one of the local banks, being a sweater manufacturer, being involved in the plastics industry, being a part owner of the hotel, etc.
That evening, we were to meet some folks from New Zealand and the UK, who were visiting SHELTER BOX projects nearby. First, however, Basu and I were to attend an event hosted by the local ROTARACT Clubs. This was a JUNIOR PRINCE AND PRINCESS BEAUTY AND TALENT CONTEST, being held at one of the vacated government buildings. I think I mentioned previously, perhaps in an earlier posting the visible lack of automobiles on the roads in and around Biratnagar. When I questioned Basu about this and why we seemed to always be driving down back alleys and side roads, he explained some of the locals were upset with the government for not paving the roads which are located directly in front of their homes or businesses, creating clouds of dust with every passing car or truck. He assured me this was not an unusual occurrence but that I should not be concerned. Famous last words…
We did, in fact attend the event. Basu was driving us. We had stopped at the home of another Rotarian to have him join us for the Rotaract event. There are laws both in India and Nepal that state if one is caught driving while using a mobile phone, the person can be arrested and forced to pay a sizable fine to the government. I guess Basu was not too worried, though, because evidently a law had yet to be written where it states the punishment for someone talking on TWO mobile phones at the same time, all the while driving using both of his elbows for steering! We arrived at the function and the auditorium was packed – both with Rotaractors, as well as families and friends of the contestants. The decibel level of the PA system was anything but healthy. I mean to say, the eardrums were assaulted and in some cases may have even burst. If a normal decibel level for loud music is 500, then this had to be at least 10,000. That is no exaggeration. I could not even hear what was being sung, let alone what the man next to me was trying to say.
MORE ABOUT THIS LATER... am off to catch a plane, but will return to BLOG soon.
Friday, February 27, 2009
FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH - PART TWO
After dodging bicycle rickshaws with no lighting or reflectors, and occasional cow wandering along the side of the road that decided it was a good time to cross it just when our car was approaching, or trying to miss the potholes in the road (but being more like a giant magnet attracted to them) we made it to Biratnagar and to the home of my host, Rotarian Basu Dev Golyan. The driver honked the horn of the car was we approached a gate and I certainly did not expect to see the size home that loomed on the landscape as we rounded the corner and parked under the port cachere. The driver got out of the car and hollered for the houseman. He continued hollering until a man in his late twenties or early thirties emerged from the back of the house, rubbing the night's sleep from his eyes. He turned on one or two lights and we entered the foyer of what was to be my home for the next three days. Basu joined us and instructed the houseman to carry my bags to the upstairs where I was to sleep.
"We must now have dinner, my friend," he said. I checked my mobile phone (that incidentally stopped working as we crossed into Nepal - being an Indian phone, only) and the dial told me it was well after eleven-thirty - just a bit late to address a Rotary Club meeting. I told Basu I would much prefer to sleep, that I was not hungry, that I ate on the plane. Basically, I offered every excuse to him for not wanting to eat at that late hour. He insisted, and I finally said, "No, Basu, I am going to bed, and I must go now!" The message penetrated and he asked me to follow him upstairs and that he would show me to my room. As I mentioned before, this was quite a house, for all I could see from the outside in the near-total darkness. We climbed the marble staircase - first twenty-four stairs to a landing and then another twenty-three stairs. High-posted, ya think? We walked down one hallway, turned into another and then opened a door into another passageway, and finally opened the door into a huge bedroom (about 25' x 30', if I were to guess). A king-sized bed awaited my tired body, but Basu insisted upon showing me the rest of the suite - the dressing area and the enormous bathroom with a marble tub that was easily six feet in length and about two feet in depth. He told me he was going to open the windows, but that they had screens and that I really needed some fresh air to sleep well. I assured him I would probably not remember anything within two minutes of my head hitting the pillows. Basu bid me a good night’s rest and I settled down onto the bed.
Although it seemed like I had slept for hours, in checking the clock on my mobile phone, I had actually slept for perhaps forty-five minutes. I awakened to the sound of a commando raid attacking me! Mosquitoes were out on the town for dinner and I was the entrée. Both in India, as well as in Nepal, at least in private homes, beds come with a bottom sheet and a comforter. There was no escaping these winged bandits. I pulled the comforter up over my head, totally wrapping myself into a cotton cocoon, and I waited and I listened. Another raid began in a matter of a few seconds. It is difficult to swat at mosquitoes, or anything else for that matter, when one is wrapped like a mummy. I did try to reposition myself within my envelope, but the tricky little helicopter pilots were able to located the only opening and glide in to attack me again and again. These little beasts were relentless in their sorties, coming in for a landing and the kill for hours.
Every half-hour, the bell tower peeled out the time – 2:00 a.m., 2:30 a.m. and on until dawn broke. Every fifteen minutes or so, I had to come out from beneath the comforter in order to keep from suffocating. It would have been so much easier if there were only a top sheet – at least I might have not feared suffocating, to say nothing of baking in my own body heat. Frustration set in after the first twenty-minutes. Where the devil were these carnivores originating? How were they entering the room? For a while, I decided to go into the bathroom, close the door and hopefully escape the barrage of attacks. This worked but not for long. Within about fifteen minutes, the commandos found there way through the exhaust fan, which did not have a screen on either the outside or the inside. Finally, when it got light enough to see outside, and the bell clock tolled 6:30 a.m., I went back into the room, only to discover the source of my grief and frustration – a tear in the screen about the size of a soccer ball. The little buggers had free entry throughout the night. If only I had been able to see that during the night, I could have remedied the situation by closing the window. One fact I learned however, in Nepal, or at least in Biratnagar, the electricity is shut down completely for between eight and sixteen hours each day or night, depending upon the schedule for your city or village and at Basu’s home, the time for no power was from about midnight until eight in the morning. Since he had not left me with a flashlight (or torch, as they say) I was helpless to see much of anything, since it was just not the power to the house, but the streetlamps and factory buildings, as well.
With only a few winks of sleep, I got up, took a shower (once I figured out the faucet idiosyncrasies) and got dressed. I descended the marble staircase, noticing there was a similar one leading up to another story. As I surmised when I arrived the night before, this was one huge house. I heard Basu in one of the rooms on the main floor so made myself known and he asked how I slept. I did not want to insult him by telling him that due to his concern for my health by providing an unlimited supply of fresh air I had been unable to sleep more than a total of less than one hour. We enjoyed breakfast in the formal dining room. I asked whether this was his permanent home or whether he lived in Kathmandu. He told me this was his home, that his mother still lived there with Basu and his wife. Both his mother and wife were away on an extended trip to India, so I would not be meeting them. I asked him about his business and he told me he owned a factory (immediately next to the side yard) where he produces pashmina sweaters for companies like Benneton. He said we would tour the factory probably the following day. I walked outside for a few minutes, waiting for Basu to finish puja and then we would be off to meet the members of two of the Rotary Clubs in Biratnagar.
Hopefully, the night was an anomaly and Valentine’s Day would be better.
"We must now have dinner, my friend," he said. I checked my mobile phone (that incidentally stopped working as we crossed into Nepal - being an Indian phone, only) and the dial told me it was well after eleven-thirty - just a bit late to address a Rotary Club meeting. I told Basu I would much prefer to sleep, that I was not hungry, that I ate on the plane. Basically, I offered every excuse to him for not wanting to eat at that late hour. He insisted, and I finally said, "No, Basu, I am going to bed, and I must go now!" The message penetrated and he asked me to follow him upstairs and that he would show me to my room. As I mentioned before, this was quite a house, for all I could see from the outside in the near-total darkness. We climbed the marble staircase - first twenty-four stairs to a landing and then another twenty-three stairs. High-posted, ya think? We walked down one hallway, turned into another and then opened a door into another passageway, and finally opened the door into a huge bedroom (about 25' x 30', if I were to guess). A king-sized bed awaited my tired body, but Basu insisted upon showing me the rest of the suite - the dressing area and the enormous bathroom with a marble tub that was easily six feet in length and about two feet in depth. He told me he was going to open the windows, but that they had screens and that I really needed some fresh air to sleep well. I assured him I would probably not remember anything within two minutes of my head hitting the pillows. Basu bid me a good night’s rest and I settled down onto the bed.
Although it seemed like I had slept for hours, in checking the clock on my mobile phone, I had actually slept for perhaps forty-five minutes. I awakened to the sound of a commando raid attacking me! Mosquitoes were out on the town for dinner and I was the entrée. Both in India, as well as in Nepal, at least in private homes, beds come with a bottom sheet and a comforter. There was no escaping these winged bandits. I pulled the comforter up over my head, totally wrapping myself into a cotton cocoon, and I waited and I listened. Another raid began in a matter of a few seconds. It is difficult to swat at mosquitoes, or anything else for that matter, when one is wrapped like a mummy. I did try to reposition myself within my envelope, but the tricky little helicopter pilots were able to located the only opening and glide in to attack me again and again. These little beasts were relentless in their sorties, coming in for a landing and the kill for hours.
Every half-hour, the bell tower peeled out the time – 2:00 a.m., 2:30 a.m. and on until dawn broke. Every fifteen minutes or so, I had to come out from beneath the comforter in order to keep from suffocating. It would have been so much easier if there were only a top sheet – at least I might have not feared suffocating, to say nothing of baking in my own body heat. Frustration set in after the first twenty-minutes. Where the devil were these carnivores originating? How were they entering the room? For a while, I decided to go into the bathroom, close the door and hopefully escape the barrage of attacks. This worked but not for long. Within about fifteen minutes, the commandos found there way through the exhaust fan, which did not have a screen on either the outside or the inside. Finally, when it got light enough to see outside, and the bell clock tolled 6:30 a.m., I went back into the room, only to discover the source of my grief and frustration – a tear in the screen about the size of a soccer ball. The little buggers had free entry throughout the night. If only I had been able to see that during the night, I could have remedied the situation by closing the window. One fact I learned however, in Nepal, or at least in Biratnagar, the electricity is shut down completely for between eight and sixteen hours each day or night, depending upon the schedule for your city or village and at Basu’s home, the time for no power was from about midnight until eight in the morning. Since he had not left me with a flashlight (or torch, as they say) I was helpless to see much of anything, since it was just not the power to the house, but the streetlamps and factory buildings, as well.
With only a few winks of sleep, I got up, took a shower (once I figured out the faucet idiosyncrasies) and got dressed. I descended the marble staircase, noticing there was a similar one leading up to another story. As I surmised when I arrived the night before, this was one huge house. I heard Basu in one of the rooms on the main floor so made myself known and he asked how I slept. I did not want to insult him by telling him that due to his concern for my health by providing an unlimited supply of fresh air I had been unable to sleep more than a total of less than one hour. We enjoyed breakfast in the formal dining room. I asked whether this was his permanent home or whether he lived in Kathmandu. He told me this was his home, that his mother still lived there with Basu and his wife. Both his mother and wife were away on an extended trip to India, so I would not be meeting them. I asked him about his business and he told me he owned a factory (immediately next to the side yard) where he produces pashmina sweaters for companies like Benneton. He said we would tour the factory probably the following day. I walked outside for a few minutes, waiting for Basu to finish puja and then we would be off to meet the members of two of the Rotary Clubs in Biratnagar.
Hopefully, the night was an anomaly and Valentine’s Day would be better.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
San Antonio Team on its way !
Here is a story about the SA team which appeared in our daily newspaper, the San Antonio Express-News, the morning before our departure on Feb 27, 2009:
By Elizabeth Allen - Express-News
When administering vaccine to a struggling child while crowded by curious onlookers in a remote Indian village, it's important not to touch the medicine vial to the child's lips.
That's one of the tips that Boone and Dianne Powell brought back to fellow Rotarians this month as the others prepare to join an international effort to eradicate polio.
A member of the Rotary Club of San Antonio, Dianne Powell and her husband joined the teams of Rotary Club International, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the World Health Organization and UNICEF in the fight. Their trip and a two-week journey launching Friday from San Antonio were organized by local Rotarian and past district president Jim Berg.
Rotarians have long fought polio, but until this year, nobody from South Texas District 5840 has gone to India, Berg said.
“We've sent money that way, but we've never sent people that way,” he said. “I decided that I had heard about it long enough, and I wanted to go ... and show everybody with my camera and with my blog.”
Berg, John and Judy Hutcherson of the Fredericksburg Morning Rotary Club and Nora Turner of the Wimberley Rotary Club expect to arrive in India, jetlagged and exhausted, just in time for the next National Immunization Day, on March 1. Aided by the Greehey Family Foundation and NuStar Energy, they'll join a massive effort led by Indian health workers.
“There are far more Indians involved than Rotarians from Western countries,” Berg said. “We happen to go there only to be boots on the ground.”
But the presence of Westerners, combined with thousands of bright yellow advertising banners, draw attention to the event, according to the blog of Maine Rotarian Elias Thomas, whom Berg and the others will join.
Each push will vaccinate millions of children in a few days. Over 20 years, such efforts have helped reduce the annual world polio infection rate from more than 300,000 to about 2,000.
Dianne Powell grew up in Fort Worth, a world away from Chahalka, the Muslim village near Delhi where the Powells spent much of their visit hauling bricks to build bathrooms.
But she shares a physical link with them.
“I had polio when I was about 8 years old, and I had friends that I got to know in the hospital that didn't make it,” Powell said.
For many Americans younger than 40, polio is a storybook illness afflicting children of the past. But it's an ongoing reality in India, Nigeria, Pakistan and Afghanistan.
Poliomyelitis attacks the nervous system and can lead to permanent paralysis, usually in the legs. Sometimes it kills its sufferers by immobilizing their breathing muscles. It usually affects children and spreads most aggressively in communities with poor sanitation systems.
Not that many years ago, it was a terrifying reality in the U.S., affecting thousands of people a year. President Franklin D. Roosevelt contracted it in 1921 at age 39.
Dr. Jonas Salk developed the first polio vaccine, in 1954, and a 1962 aerial photo shows a long line of people snaking around San Antonio's Municipal Auditorium waiting for immunization.
Powell's memory of getting polio was as a sudden strike.
“I woke up one morning and I couldn't move,” she said. “They took me to the hospital and they did a spinal tap, which was excruciating.“Polio meant nothing to me. All I knew was there was this very painful procedure, and the next thing I knew, I was in a ward with all these kids, and my mother and father went away.”
It was the early 1950s, and Powell was treated with hot towels, baths and physical therapy. She watched as other children whose respiratory systems were attacked were placed in iron lungs, the large metal cylinders that acted like a bellows to regulate breathing.
“They were horrible-looking things, these big tubes, and you'd see a child's head sticking out of them,” Powell said.
When the Powells returned from India this month, they sat down with Berg, Turner and John Hutcherson.
“I just didn't realize how rough it was going to be, and how primitive our quarters were going to be, and how hard the work was going to be,” Dianne Powell said. On the other hand, she said, the group was generously fed and hosted.
She and her husband offered practical travel tips — hats, hand sanitizer, patience — as well as a description of immunization day, when crowds surrounded health workers.
Boone Powell spoke of the shock of seeing very young children in charge of infants.
“So you see the crowd kind of stirring in an area, and then, plop! This baby comes through the crowd carrying another baby,” he said.
For Hutcherson, the difficulties of third-world travel aren't new. Both Hutchersons have been on service trips, he said, with Judy Hutcherson recently back from Afghanistan.
“It's an opportunity to serve, and it's an opportunity to ... establish relationships with people around the world, and I believe that's how you do peace in the world,” he said. “It changes my view, and it also has an influence on their view.”
By Elizabeth Allen - Express-News
When administering vaccine to a struggling child while crowded by curious onlookers in a remote Indian village, it's important not to touch the medicine vial to the child's lips.
That's one of the tips that Boone and Dianne Powell brought back to fellow Rotarians this month as the others prepare to join an international effort to eradicate polio.
A member of the Rotary Club of San Antonio, Dianne Powell and her husband joined the teams of Rotary Club International, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the World Health Organization and UNICEF in the fight. Their trip and a two-week journey launching Friday from San Antonio were organized by local Rotarian and past district president Jim Berg.
Rotarians have long fought polio, but until this year, nobody from South Texas District 5840 has gone to India, Berg said.
“We've sent money that way, but we've never sent people that way,” he said. “I decided that I had heard about it long enough, and I wanted to go ... and show everybody with my camera and with my blog.”
Berg, John and Judy Hutcherson of the Fredericksburg Morning Rotary Club and Nora Turner of the Wimberley Rotary Club expect to arrive in India, jetlagged and exhausted, just in time for the next National Immunization Day, on March 1. Aided by the Greehey Family Foundation and NuStar Energy, they'll join a massive effort led by Indian health workers.
“There are far more Indians involved than Rotarians from Western countries,” Berg said. “We happen to go there only to be boots on the ground.”
But the presence of Westerners, combined with thousands of bright yellow advertising banners, draw attention to the event, according to the blog of Maine Rotarian Elias Thomas, whom Berg and the others will join.
Each push will vaccinate millions of children in a few days. Over 20 years, such efforts have helped reduce the annual world polio infection rate from more than 300,000 to about 2,000.
Dianne Powell grew up in Fort Worth, a world away from Chahalka, the Muslim village near Delhi where the Powells spent much of their visit hauling bricks to build bathrooms.
But she shares a physical link with them.
“I had polio when I was about 8 years old, and I had friends that I got to know in the hospital that didn't make it,” Powell said.
For many Americans younger than 40, polio is a storybook illness afflicting children of the past. But it's an ongoing reality in India, Nigeria, Pakistan and Afghanistan.
Poliomyelitis attacks the nervous system and can lead to permanent paralysis, usually in the legs. Sometimes it kills its sufferers by immobilizing their breathing muscles. It usually affects children and spreads most aggressively in communities with poor sanitation systems.
Not that many years ago, it was a terrifying reality in the U.S., affecting thousands of people a year. President Franklin D. Roosevelt contracted it in 1921 at age 39.
Dr. Jonas Salk developed the first polio vaccine, in 1954, and a 1962 aerial photo shows a long line of people snaking around San Antonio's Municipal Auditorium waiting for immunization.
Powell's memory of getting polio was as a sudden strike.
“I woke up one morning and I couldn't move,” she said. “They took me to the hospital and they did a spinal tap, which was excruciating.“Polio meant nothing to me. All I knew was there was this very painful procedure, and the next thing I knew, I was in a ward with all these kids, and my mother and father went away.”
It was the early 1950s, and Powell was treated with hot towels, baths and physical therapy. She watched as other children whose respiratory systems were attacked were placed in iron lungs, the large metal cylinders that acted like a bellows to regulate breathing.
“They were horrible-looking things, these big tubes, and you'd see a child's head sticking out of them,” Powell said.
When the Powells returned from India this month, they sat down with Berg, Turner and John Hutcherson.
“I just didn't realize how rough it was going to be, and how primitive our quarters were going to be, and how hard the work was going to be,” Dianne Powell said. On the other hand, she said, the group was generously fed and hosted.
She and her husband offered practical travel tips — hats, hand sanitizer, patience — as well as a description of immunization day, when crowds surrounded health workers.
Boone Powell spoke of the shock of seeing very young children in charge of infants.
“So you see the crowd kind of stirring in an area, and then, plop! This baby comes through the crowd carrying another baby,” he said.
For Hutcherson, the difficulties of third-world travel aren't new. Both Hutchersons have been on service trips, he said, with Judy Hutcherson recently back from Afghanistan.
“It's an opportunity to serve, and it's an opportunity to ... establish relationships with people around the world, and I believe that's how you do peace in the world,” he said. “It changes my view, and it also has an influence on their view.”
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH - PART ONE
Since meeting Basu Dev Golyan, the Rotarian from Nepal, at our farewell dinner on the 8th, I had arranged to travel to Nepal, primarily to determine if there might be some projects to consider for our teams of Rotarians in future years. Through the help of Sanjiv and his office, I was able to purchase a ticket on a flight leaving from Delhi at 9:30 a.m. on Friday, the 13th. Not that I am suspicious or anything, but as the day unfolded, perhaps a few of the doubts I may have had became reality.
First, Sanjiv's driver was not too keen about meeting me at such an early hour to take me to the airport within the required two-hour pre-boarding time constraint. Well, Badal did arrive at the house to meet me. I had packed all of my clothing into my carry-on, but also had my laptop along, just in case I might have an opportunity to access the Internet at a WI-FI location. When we arrived at the airport, at about 8:00 (not quite the two hours required) I went to the entrance for KINGFISHER AIRLINES and checked in at the ticket counter. The attendant checked my bag through to Bagdogra (an airport in Bengal, not too far a drive from the border with Nepal). I asked if the flight would be on-time and was told it would be. This is great. Things are rolling along just fine. I then passed through security, trying to explain why every time the wand passed by my left knee, the lights flashed and the buzzer went off. I finally rolled up my pant leg, showed my scar and rapped on my knee a few times and said, "Titanium". The attendant smiled and let me pass through. I collected my laptop bag and jacket and proceeded to the waiting area.
Waiting area? What an understatement! Almost as soon as I reached that area, the departure screen indicated our flight had been postponed until 11:00. Not so bad. I could continue to read the book that Sean Dolter had loaned to me. The next announcement over the PA system indicated 12:30 p.m. Well, I guess I can live with this, I thought. Within minutes there was another announcement: "The flight on Kingfisher Airlines has been postponed until 2:30." There was never any explanation, and due to that fact, when an unsuspecting gate attendant from Kingfisher strolled down to the gate area, he was accosted by about two dozen very angry and VERY vocal passengers - all of them from India. I have never seen quite such an unruly crowd in an airport. I mean, they screamed and yelled and pushed and shoved and hollered epithets and expletives UN-deleted! Evidently, when I spoke to a man who had come to sit beside me because he noticed the Rotary emblem on my shirt, the crowd was getting more and more upset, due to the fact that supposedly since Bagdogra is also a military air base, no commercial flights are allowed into or out of that airport after 5:00 in the afternoons.
I decided to get something to eat and again experienced a rather unruly crowd of hungry passengers. Finally, I was able to get something VEG and returned to my seat in the waiting lounge. I ate my breakfast-lunch-whatever meal and settled in with my book. Then more yelling and screaming. I mean you cannot even make up fiction that plays out like this scene was doing. I was then informed that Kingfisher Airlines would allow passengers to go to the food counter and get some lunch at no further cost to the passenger, so I sallied forth to join the queue at the lunch counter. I was able to get a wrap of some kind because the veggie burgers were not available. The back of my ticket was endorsed by the attendant and I returned to my seat. Would you believe… at 4:00 that afternoon, we were allowed to leave the terminal and proceed to awaiting buses that would take us to the plane? Well, not so fast! We boarded the buses (with mostly windows) and the doors closed. Unfortunately, we stood for a good fifteen minutes without being able to leave, to open windows or, heaven forbid, to have the driver turn on the air conditioning. Remember the smell of wet winter clothes steaming on the radiators at school, when you were a little kid? Well multiply that smell exponentially and you MIGHT get an idea as to how the bus stunk by the time we began to roll. To say the passengers were not pleased would be to put it mildly. Again more pushing and shoving, and for what? Did these folks really believe the plane would leave without them? Did they really believe that someone else would sit in their assigned seats? Once all were boarded and settled into seats, we began to taxi and lift-off came at about 4:45 p.m. Not bad… only seven plus hours late, and not a cloud in the sky! I was so looking forward to a free Kingfisher beer or two, but that was not about to happen.
The flight was not too bumpy and I guess when all is said and done, perhaps the company wanted us all to be able to appreciate the magnificence of the views of the sunset reflecting its crimson rays on the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas. Doubtful, but it gave me hope. Upon landing, I picked up my checked bag and proceeded out to the parking lot and was met by a driver holding a piece of paper with some semblance of my name on it. He was a pleasant, older man, who took my bag and we proceeded to the car. I got in and was disappointed that darkness had encroached to the point it would be very difficult to see much of the countryside on the way to Biratnagar - the home of my host, Basu. The driver tried to communicate to me that the trip would take about two hours. Since I had been scheduled to address a joint meeting of two Rotary Clubs in Biratnagar, I thought anything is possible and if they met like so many other clubs meet, later in the evening, I could still make it there. Again, not so fast!!!
Although the driver really tried to make up for lost time - I mean for all seven hours of lost time - there was more in store for us along the way. We drove through totally blacked out areas - I mean not so much as a flickering candle or oil lamp, and then through some very noisy villages where open-air markets were still crowded despite the darkness of the hour. There always seems to be an inherent bustle about the villages in India, almost as though going to market is as much a social event as it might be for buying a few eggs or some fresh produce. I also noticed lots of bicycle rickshaws - I mean literally hundreds and hundreds of them, not only in the towns and villages, but also being pedaled along the main roads leading out of the villages, and with no safety features such as lights or reflectors. In the USA, OSHA would have a field day…
We finally reached an area where I began to notice signs that we were approaching the border with Nepal. We might still reach the meeting. Nay, nay, not so fast!!! First, we had to stop at the checkpoint on the Indian side of the border so I could legally exit the country and get my passport stamped. Unfortunately, the driver had forgotten this little tidbit of a requirement, so we had first driven to the border, only to be turned back so I could get the passport stamped. In what was close to total darkness, with an occasional single low-watt light bulb dangling from a frayed and spliced wire to interrupt what seemed like we were inside a large pocket, I was directed by a rather spirited military officer to go back to a hut in the rear of the compound and someone would come to meet me. I am sure I was the attraction, being rather large and white. I entered what I thought would be the right hut and was told to wait. Why not? After having left the safe haven of Sanjiv's home some twelve hours before, what is another few minutes? The officer finally came and asked me what I wanted. Although somewhat unsure as to what I really wanted, I told him I would be grateful if he would stamp my passport so I could proceed into Nepal. After fishing through the pages of my passport to find a clean page and to locate my current visa, he finally stamped it with such pronouncement that I am surprised it was simply stamped, rather than embossed.
Now, back to the car and my driver who was eagerly awaiting, ready to transport me to his master's house. We approached the international border between India and Nepal and were stopped again. I expected this, since one must check in at an immigration office to enter a country. He driver left me in the car to locate the right office. This location was even darker than the checkpoint on the Indian side, if that is possible. Not so much as two street lamps that seemed to flicker, almost in a pulsing rhythm. The few cars passing did not have headlights lit. Night vision in Nepal must be fantastic! About ten minutes later, the driver returned and got into the car. He looked upset. I asked him if there was a problem and he tried to explain we could not cross the border. "This is just ducky," I thought to myself. Here I am in the middle of nowhere, unable to speak Hindi or Nepalese, in near total darkness, wondering if I was to have the pleasure of camping out in the back seat of my sub-compact limousine. Ah, for the sake of adventure…
The driver tried several times to call on his mobile, presumably to Basu. He was finally able to get through, although the connection seemed a bit sketchy. He told me to wait in the car again, but this time he left the interior light on, and I really became the attraction - with passersby peering in the windows as though I were a giant white fish in a tiny fishbowl. Fifteen minutes later the driver returned to the car, seeming even more frustrated than before. He tried calling about a dozen times but to no avail. He got out of the car again and told me to stay there. Like I was about to go for an evening stroll or something??? Another fifteen minutes passed, and he returned to the car, rapped on the body of the car and motioned me out. He explained the Immigration Office was CLOSED!!! Oh joy. So where was he directing that I should proceed? A military officer was walking along the other side of the street, in the same general direction I was headed and I thought we should just about meet one another from perpendicular starting points. I guessed he was military, although his uniform was a bit suspect - typical army green jacket with a name tag and a medal, not buttoned; a relic of a rifle slung over his right shoulder; and a pair of dirty white cargo-type shorts and bare feet. "Oh well, go with the flow," I thought. The principal gate - a ten foot wall of steel, was closed and bolted shut. However, a tiny door opened into the yard of this outpost. I was invited to step in. I suddenly remembered a childhood story where the last part of the line flashed into my head, "said the spider to the fly". Was this going to be where I was encamped for the night? Would this be my ticket into the country? What was going to happen next?
Inside the building, and I swear this is true, there was an office with a processing counter. Perched atop the counter was a single lighted candle, about the thickness of a Bic pen, providing absolutely the ONLY light in the room. There were three men, including my barefooted, cargo shorted military officer, behind the counter. I was asked to produce my passport and in order to expedite this process; I opened it to the page where the Indian officer had pounded my exit information indelibly onto the page. He did not seem to be impressed with this and handed me a 3" x 5" piece of paper, an entry form, that I was required to fill out. I did so, and then a horrible thought crept into my mind. The previous day, I was supposed to have had two passport-sized photos taken, so I could provide them to the Nepalese Immigration officer, in order to obtain a visa and enter the country. That never happened. What to do now? Wait until I was asked for the photos. I handed the completed visa application form to a plain-clothes guy, who in turn handed it to the other man who then handed it to the barefooted, white cargo shorts guy. Each had to take a look at it, but how could they see any of the writing, since the candle was on my side of the room? One man produced a penlight and held it in his mouth, while he read over my visa application. He then asked the sixty-four thousand dollar question, "Photos?" Such a simple question. I thought to myself, "Elias, you are in SOOOOOOOOOOO much trouble!" Just as I was about to tell them I had no photos, I remembered my Rotary business card that has a photo of Jane and me on it. I reached into my pocket, produced two of these cards (the photo is only about an inch by and inch, but it is a photo) and handed them to the first guy, who guided his mouth-held penlight onto this new prize, then passed them onto guy number two who held them in front of the first guy's mouth with light, and finally passed them onto white shorts barefoot guy. (Do you see a Bollywood movie script in my future?) "Where is Madam?" he asked assertively. "Madam is at home shoveling snow," I informed him. "We must have Madam here with you to process," he said. I then told him to cut the picture in half so Madam did NOT have to be with me in order for me to enter Nepal, and Ripley, are you ready for this??? He took out a pair of manicure scissors, cut Madam out of the photo, stapled the two cards to my visa application, stamped my passport, peeled off a peel-and-stick-visa form from his book and slapped it into my passport. The flickering candle was extinguished and I was then escorted out of the building, through the tiny opening in the steel wall, and proceeded to my car, where no driver was to be seen. He appeared soon and we were off for Biratnagar, where presumably the Rotarians had long-since departed from their meeting. We got to the pike, which was only partially lowered, so we just drove underneath it and, huzzah, we were in Nepal. On to PART TWO.
First, Sanjiv's driver was not too keen about meeting me at such an early hour to take me to the airport within the required two-hour pre-boarding time constraint. Well, Badal did arrive at the house to meet me. I had packed all of my clothing into my carry-on, but also had my laptop along, just in case I might have an opportunity to access the Internet at a WI-FI location. When we arrived at the airport, at about 8:00 (not quite the two hours required) I went to the entrance for KINGFISHER AIRLINES and checked in at the ticket counter. The attendant checked my bag through to Bagdogra (an airport in Bengal, not too far a drive from the border with Nepal). I asked if the flight would be on-time and was told it would be. This is great. Things are rolling along just fine. I then passed through security, trying to explain why every time the wand passed by my left knee, the lights flashed and the buzzer went off. I finally rolled up my pant leg, showed my scar and rapped on my knee a few times and said, "Titanium". The attendant smiled and let me pass through. I collected my laptop bag and jacket and proceeded to the waiting area.
Waiting area? What an understatement! Almost as soon as I reached that area, the departure screen indicated our flight had been postponed until 11:00. Not so bad. I could continue to read the book that Sean Dolter had loaned to me. The next announcement over the PA system indicated 12:30 p.m. Well, I guess I can live with this, I thought. Within minutes there was another announcement: "The flight on Kingfisher Airlines has been postponed until 2:30." There was never any explanation, and due to that fact, when an unsuspecting gate attendant from Kingfisher strolled down to the gate area, he was accosted by about two dozen very angry and VERY vocal passengers - all of them from India. I have never seen quite such an unruly crowd in an airport. I mean, they screamed and yelled and pushed and shoved and hollered epithets and expletives UN-deleted! Evidently, when I spoke to a man who had come to sit beside me because he noticed the Rotary emblem on my shirt, the crowd was getting more and more upset, due to the fact that supposedly since Bagdogra is also a military air base, no commercial flights are allowed into or out of that airport after 5:00 in the afternoons.
I decided to get something to eat and again experienced a rather unruly crowd of hungry passengers. Finally, I was able to get something VEG and returned to my seat in the waiting lounge. I ate my breakfast-lunch-whatever meal and settled in with my book. Then more yelling and screaming. I mean you cannot even make up fiction that plays out like this scene was doing. I was then informed that Kingfisher Airlines would allow passengers to go to the food counter and get some lunch at no further cost to the passenger, so I sallied forth to join the queue at the lunch counter. I was able to get a wrap of some kind because the veggie burgers were not available. The back of my ticket was endorsed by the attendant and I returned to my seat. Would you believe… at 4:00 that afternoon, we were allowed to leave the terminal and proceed to awaiting buses that would take us to the plane? Well, not so fast! We boarded the buses (with mostly windows) and the doors closed. Unfortunately, we stood for a good fifteen minutes without being able to leave, to open windows or, heaven forbid, to have the driver turn on the air conditioning. Remember the smell of wet winter clothes steaming on the radiators at school, when you were a little kid? Well multiply that smell exponentially and you MIGHT get an idea as to how the bus stunk by the time we began to roll. To say the passengers were not pleased would be to put it mildly. Again more pushing and shoving, and for what? Did these folks really believe the plane would leave without them? Did they really believe that someone else would sit in their assigned seats? Once all were boarded and settled into seats, we began to taxi and lift-off came at about 4:45 p.m. Not bad… only seven plus hours late, and not a cloud in the sky! I was so looking forward to a free Kingfisher beer or two, but that was not about to happen.
The flight was not too bumpy and I guess when all is said and done, perhaps the company wanted us all to be able to appreciate the magnificence of the views of the sunset reflecting its crimson rays on the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas. Doubtful, but it gave me hope. Upon landing, I picked up my checked bag and proceeded out to the parking lot and was met by a driver holding a piece of paper with some semblance of my name on it. He was a pleasant, older man, who took my bag and we proceeded to the car. I got in and was disappointed that darkness had encroached to the point it would be very difficult to see much of the countryside on the way to Biratnagar - the home of my host, Basu. The driver tried to communicate to me that the trip would take about two hours. Since I had been scheduled to address a joint meeting of two Rotary Clubs in Biratnagar, I thought anything is possible and if they met like so many other clubs meet, later in the evening, I could still make it there. Again, not so fast!!!
Although the driver really tried to make up for lost time - I mean for all seven hours of lost time - there was more in store for us along the way. We drove through totally blacked out areas - I mean not so much as a flickering candle or oil lamp, and then through some very noisy villages where open-air markets were still crowded despite the darkness of the hour. There always seems to be an inherent bustle about the villages in India, almost as though going to market is as much a social event as it might be for buying a few eggs or some fresh produce. I also noticed lots of bicycle rickshaws - I mean literally hundreds and hundreds of them, not only in the towns and villages, but also being pedaled along the main roads leading out of the villages, and with no safety features such as lights or reflectors. In the USA, OSHA would have a field day…
We finally reached an area where I began to notice signs that we were approaching the border with Nepal. We might still reach the meeting. Nay, nay, not so fast!!! First, we had to stop at the checkpoint on the Indian side of the border so I could legally exit the country and get my passport stamped. Unfortunately, the driver had forgotten this little tidbit of a requirement, so we had first driven to the border, only to be turned back so I could get the passport stamped. In what was close to total darkness, with an occasional single low-watt light bulb dangling from a frayed and spliced wire to interrupt what seemed like we were inside a large pocket, I was directed by a rather spirited military officer to go back to a hut in the rear of the compound and someone would come to meet me. I am sure I was the attraction, being rather large and white. I entered what I thought would be the right hut and was told to wait. Why not? After having left the safe haven of Sanjiv's home some twelve hours before, what is another few minutes? The officer finally came and asked me what I wanted. Although somewhat unsure as to what I really wanted, I told him I would be grateful if he would stamp my passport so I could proceed into Nepal. After fishing through the pages of my passport to find a clean page and to locate my current visa, he finally stamped it with such pronouncement that I am surprised it was simply stamped, rather than embossed.
Now, back to the car and my driver who was eagerly awaiting, ready to transport me to his master's house. We approached the international border between India and Nepal and were stopped again. I expected this, since one must check in at an immigration office to enter a country. He driver left me in the car to locate the right office. This location was even darker than the checkpoint on the Indian side, if that is possible. Not so much as two street lamps that seemed to flicker, almost in a pulsing rhythm. The few cars passing did not have headlights lit. Night vision in Nepal must be fantastic! About ten minutes later, the driver returned and got into the car. He looked upset. I asked him if there was a problem and he tried to explain we could not cross the border. "This is just ducky," I thought to myself. Here I am in the middle of nowhere, unable to speak Hindi or Nepalese, in near total darkness, wondering if I was to have the pleasure of camping out in the back seat of my sub-compact limousine. Ah, for the sake of adventure…
The driver tried several times to call on his mobile, presumably to Basu. He was finally able to get through, although the connection seemed a bit sketchy. He told me to wait in the car again, but this time he left the interior light on, and I really became the attraction - with passersby peering in the windows as though I were a giant white fish in a tiny fishbowl. Fifteen minutes later the driver returned to the car, seeming even more frustrated than before. He tried calling about a dozen times but to no avail. He got out of the car again and told me to stay there. Like I was about to go for an evening stroll or something??? Another fifteen minutes passed, and he returned to the car, rapped on the body of the car and motioned me out. He explained the Immigration Office was CLOSED!!! Oh joy. So where was he directing that I should proceed? A military officer was walking along the other side of the street, in the same general direction I was headed and I thought we should just about meet one another from perpendicular starting points. I guessed he was military, although his uniform was a bit suspect - typical army green jacket with a name tag and a medal, not buttoned; a relic of a rifle slung over his right shoulder; and a pair of dirty white cargo-type shorts and bare feet. "Oh well, go with the flow," I thought. The principal gate - a ten foot wall of steel, was closed and bolted shut. However, a tiny door opened into the yard of this outpost. I was invited to step in. I suddenly remembered a childhood story where the last part of the line flashed into my head, "said the spider to the fly". Was this going to be where I was encamped for the night? Would this be my ticket into the country? What was going to happen next?
Inside the building, and I swear this is true, there was an office with a processing counter. Perched atop the counter was a single lighted candle, about the thickness of a Bic pen, providing absolutely the ONLY light in the room. There were three men, including my barefooted, cargo shorted military officer, behind the counter. I was asked to produce my passport and in order to expedite this process; I opened it to the page where the Indian officer had pounded my exit information indelibly onto the page. He did not seem to be impressed with this and handed me a 3" x 5" piece of paper, an entry form, that I was required to fill out. I did so, and then a horrible thought crept into my mind. The previous day, I was supposed to have had two passport-sized photos taken, so I could provide them to the Nepalese Immigration officer, in order to obtain a visa and enter the country. That never happened. What to do now? Wait until I was asked for the photos. I handed the completed visa application form to a plain-clothes guy, who in turn handed it to the other man who then handed it to the barefooted, white cargo shorts guy. Each had to take a look at it, but how could they see any of the writing, since the candle was on my side of the room? One man produced a penlight and held it in his mouth, while he read over my visa application. He then asked the sixty-four thousand dollar question, "Photos?" Such a simple question. I thought to myself, "Elias, you are in SOOOOOOOOOOO much trouble!" Just as I was about to tell them I had no photos, I remembered my Rotary business card that has a photo of Jane and me on it. I reached into my pocket, produced two of these cards (the photo is only about an inch by and inch, but it is a photo) and handed them to the first guy, who guided his mouth-held penlight onto this new prize, then passed them onto guy number two who held them in front of the first guy's mouth with light, and finally passed them onto white shorts barefoot guy. (Do you see a Bollywood movie script in my future?) "Where is Madam?" he asked assertively. "Madam is at home shoveling snow," I informed him. "We must have Madam here with you to process," he said. I then told him to cut the picture in half so Madam did NOT have to be with me in order for me to enter Nepal, and Ripley, are you ready for this??? He took out a pair of manicure scissors, cut Madam out of the photo, stapled the two cards to my visa application, stamped my passport, peeled off a peel-and-stick-visa form from his book and slapped it into my passport. The flickering candle was extinguished and I was then escorted out of the building, through the tiny opening in the steel wall, and proceeded to my car, where no driver was to be seen. He appeared soon and we were off for Biratnagar, where presumably the Rotarians had long-since departed from their meeting. We got to the pike, which was only partially lowered, so we just drove underneath it and, huzzah, we were in Nepal. On to PART TWO.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
PLAYING CATCH-UP… (Feb. 9-12)
...or is it ketchup???
Beginning on Monday, February 8, I worked with Sanjiv to update the information regarding our second group of team members scheduled to arrive on February 28. There were rooming arrangements to be made for the time we would be working on the project, as well as final information to share with the team members as to what they might expect for weather conditions, possible gifts to bring to the children in the village among other things. However, since our group had basically monopolized Sanjiv’s time and that of the rest of his family, there were more important items on his agenda which needed to be addressed – the MARRIAGE OF HIS SON, GAURAV, taking place on March 28 and 29!
Since I consider myself as a part of their family and they feel likewise, it was a pleasure and an honor for me when Sanjiv and Jyotsna invited me to go with them as they shopped for the chairs and tenting to be used for both days of the ceremonies – different for each day! On Monday, we visited a company that offers an amazing selection of tenting materials, colors, chair covers, table dressing and lighting. It seemed that Sanjiv, Jyotsna, Olie, Pallavi and I spent about three hours at this one vendor, but in the end were able to agree upon colors to be used, whether or not the chair covers should also have bows tied around the backs, and if so, what fabric and color would be used for this. We decided upon the setting for the bar as well as the food table, and a few suggestions I made that were accepted and will be implemented. Once we concluded this exercise, we went to a South Indian restaurant for lunch – after all, it was only 4:15 in the afternoon. One of the difficult situations to be addressed is the fact that the wedding ceremonies and festivities will take place at the “farm”, rather that in Delhi, so everything needs to be hauled there – and this will take a minimum of two hours to bring from Delhi.
Following lunch, Pallavi and I decided it would be great fun to visit the local Baskin-Robbins and pick up a number of varieties of ice cream to have for dessert at dinner later that evening.
The next day, we went shopping for jewelry and lehengas – the traditional dress for the bride to wear on the marriage day. The embroidery work and the beadwork on some of these garments were truly amazing – all done by hand, rather than machine. Some of the skirts were so heavily beaded that I would guess the weight exceeded thirty pounds. Pallavi, as the sister of the groom, also wanted to find a lehenga for herself. After all, she had the right to wear one since she is the groom’s sister. This day, it was just Pallavi, Sanjiv and I who were looking for the jewelry and the lehengas. I think we must have visited about fifteen different shops – many of them designer shops, and really did not find anything to purchase for Tatiana – the bride. You see, Gaurav lives in San Francisco, as does Tatiana. Additionally, neither she nor her family has ever traveled to India. Since time is compressed and Gaurav and Tatiana will only be arriving one week prior to the wedding, everything needs to be found, bought and delivered between now and the time they arrive. Final fittings will occur in that one week. Talk about stress!!!
Somehow, Sanjiv seemed to have been stricken with food poisoning, and landed flat on his back, with chills and nausea, etc. This coupled with his already bad back left him somewhat helpless and confined to the house. In addition, following Indian tradition, Jyotsna was packing to travel to Assam, from where she originated, to personally deliver all of the wedding invitations to five of her sisters, as well as their families, and to do some shopping for the wedding. To describe the household as one of hustle and bustle would clearly be a gross understatement.
Not only were we involved with shopping and making arrangements for the marriage, but I was also trying to rekindle some former relationships with friends in India, as well as make necessary arrangements for me to travel to Nepal toward the end of the week. I was able to speak with Raj Bardeja, who had been one of my hosts when I was in India as the Group Study Exchange team leader in 2003. I also visited with Yogesh Sikand. She and her husband and their son had also hosted me that same year. It was wonderful to catch up on these past several years. Rishi, her son, was studying for his final examinations. It is hard to believe that much time had passed since I had stayed at their home.
Ravi Dayal, who was one of my first Rotarian friends in India called and invited me to have lunch with him at Habitat – a wonderful complex in Delhi, that included fine accommodations and a wonderful roof-top restaurant. Following lunch, Ravi and I went to the section of the city where he had been raised. He needed to purchase tires for his wife’s van. It was kind of neat to see that all of the tire places were located on the same street, more or less next door to each other. Comparison-shopping was certainly easy. Once Ravi decided upon the vendor and the type tire (spelled tyre, here) then he said we needed to walk several blocks to a section of the city where crockery and glassware are sold. Ravi, who is an architect, had been contracted to not only draw the plans for the rehabilitation project for a building that will house the offices of the Congress Party, but to oversee the implementation of those plans, including the purchase of furniture and other accessories, including china, glassware, flatware, etc. He and I visited a number of shops in the basement of what I would probably term a wholesale house for that type of product, and we decided upon a china pattern, a flatware pattern, an everyday china pattern and glassware. After purchasing all of the crockery and other goods, we then had everything packed to be taken back to where he was having the tyres changed. Once all of this stuff was packed, only a few minutes expired before the packed boxes were all upstairs at the curb awaiting two bicycle rickshaws to take us and our purchases to the place where the van was getting some “new shoes”. What a sight – Ravi and I riding in one rickshaw, with a half-dozen carton boxes strapped to the undercarriage of the rickshaw, and one of the shopkeepers on another one, along with about a dozen more carton boxes. And this was not all of the stuff, either. The shopkeeper had to return to the building for twelve boxes of glassware that had not made it in the first shipment! Once the tyres were changed on the van, we went to the Congress Party Headquarters to see the project and to deliver the goods. It was fun for me to see the extent of the project and to see what work had been completed, and what furniture purchased, as well as hauling our purchases to their final destination. Once done there, Ravi and I went to meet his daughter, Mahima, whom I had not seen for about five years. She is already in University and also studying for her final examinations. We met her near the exit for the underground railway system and then drove to Sanjiv’s house. It was time to enjoy some R&R, as well as to be brought up to date with Ravi and his family. He even worked with Sanjiv to choose the ultimate food selections for the marriage – choosing veg and non-veg, continental, Chinese and traditional dishes. Ravi actually was quite good at this exercise.
When we returned to Sanjiv’s house, Pallavi and one of here cousins were working on the plans for the marriage, including a skit that would parody Gaurav and his bride-to-be. Mahima has some practice in this, so she and Pallavi, as well as Olie and another cousin worked on the skit. When they left, Ravi and Mahima were totally involved in the wedding and all of its parts. After a few hours, Ravi and his daughter left for home and we set about eating dinner – this late night dinner stuff really has to go. I have tried to convince Sanjiv that having a full dinner at eleven at night is not healthy, but have not gotten very far. This is especially true since I was to be getting up very early the next morning to go to the airport to catch a flight to Bagdogra – located in Bengal, near the border with Nepal.
Beginning on Monday, February 8, I worked with Sanjiv to update the information regarding our second group of team members scheduled to arrive on February 28. There were rooming arrangements to be made for the time we would be working on the project, as well as final information to share with the team members as to what they might expect for weather conditions, possible gifts to bring to the children in the village among other things. However, since our group had basically monopolized Sanjiv’s time and that of the rest of his family, there were more important items on his agenda which needed to be addressed – the MARRIAGE OF HIS SON, GAURAV, taking place on March 28 and 29!
Since I consider myself as a part of their family and they feel likewise, it was a pleasure and an honor for me when Sanjiv and Jyotsna invited me to go with them as they shopped for the chairs and tenting to be used for both days of the ceremonies – different for each day! On Monday, we visited a company that offers an amazing selection of tenting materials, colors, chair covers, table dressing and lighting. It seemed that Sanjiv, Jyotsna, Olie, Pallavi and I spent about three hours at this one vendor, but in the end were able to agree upon colors to be used, whether or not the chair covers should also have bows tied around the backs, and if so, what fabric and color would be used for this. We decided upon the setting for the bar as well as the food table, and a few suggestions I made that were accepted and will be implemented. Once we concluded this exercise, we went to a South Indian restaurant for lunch – after all, it was only 4:15 in the afternoon. One of the difficult situations to be addressed is the fact that the wedding ceremonies and festivities will take place at the “farm”, rather that in Delhi, so everything needs to be hauled there – and this will take a minimum of two hours to bring from Delhi.
Following lunch, Pallavi and I decided it would be great fun to visit the local Baskin-Robbins and pick up a number of varieties of ice cream to have for dessert at dinner later that evening.
The next day, we went shopping for jewelry and lehengas – the traditional dress for the bride to wear on the marriage day. The embroidery work and the beadwork on some of these garments were truly amazing – all done by hand, rather than machine. Some of the skirts were so heavily beaded that I would guess the weight exceeded thirty pounds. Pallavi, as the sister of the groom, also wanted to find a lehenga for herself. After all, she had the right to wear one since she is the groom’s sister. This day, it was just Pallavi, Sanjiv and I who were looking for the jewelry and the lehengas. I think we must have visited about fifteen different shops – many of them designer shops, and really did not find anything to purchase for Tatiana – the bride. You see, Gaurav lives in San Francisco, as does Tatiana. Additionally, neither she nor her family has ever traveled to India. Since time is compressed and Gaurav and Tatiana will only be arriving one week prior to the wedding, everything needs to be found, bought and delivered between now and the time they arrive. Final fittings will occur in that one week. Talk about stress!!!
Somehow, Sanjiv seemed to have been stricken with food poisoning, and landed flat on his back, with chills and nausea, etc. This coupled with his already bad back left him somewhat helpless and confined to the house. In addition, following Indian tradition, Jyotsna was packing to travel to Assam, from where she originated, to personally deliver all of the wedding invitations to five of her sisters, as well as their families, and to do some shopping for the wedding. To describe the household as one of hustle and bustle would clearly be a gross understatement.
Not only were we involved with shopping and making arrangements for the marriage, but I was also trying to rekindle some former relationships with friends in India, as well as make necessary arrangements for me to travel to Nepal toward the end of the week. I was able to speak with Raj Bardeja, who had been one of my hosts when I was in India as the Group Study Exchange team leader in 2003. I also visited with Yogesh Sikand. She and her husband and their son had also hosted me that same year. It was wonderful to catch up on these past several years. Rishi, her son, was studying for his final examinations. It is hard to believe that much time had passed since I had stayed at their home.
Ravi Dayal, who was one of my first Rotarian friends in India called and invited me to have lunch with him at Habitat – a wonderful complex in Delhi, that included fine accommodations and a wonderful roof-top restaurant. Following lunch, Ravi and I went to the section of the city where he had been raised. He needed to purchase tires for his wife’s van. It was kind of neat to see that all of the tire places were located on the same street, more or less next door to each other. Comparison-shopping was certainly easy. Once Ravi decided upon the vendor and the type tire (spelled tyre, here) then he said we needed to walk several blocks to a section of the city where crockery and glassware are sold. Ravi, who is an architect, had been contracted to not only draw the plans for the rehabilitation project for a building that will house the offices of the Congress Party, but to oversee the implementation of those plans, including the purchase of furniture and other accessories, including china, glassware, flatware, etc. He and I visited a number of shops in the basement of what I would probably term a wholesale house for that type of product, and we decided upon a china pattern, a flatware pattern, an everyday china pattern and glassware. After purchasing all of the crockery and other goods, we then had everything packed to be taken back to where he was having the tyres changed. Once all of this stuff was packed, only a few minutes expired before the packed boxes were all upstairs at the curb awaiting two bicycle rickshaws to take us and our purchases to the place where the van was getting some “new shoes”. What a sight – Ravi and I riding in one rickshaw, with a half-dozen carton boxes strapped to the undercarriage of the rickshaw, and one of the shopkeepers on another one, along with about a dozen more carton boxes. And this was not all of the stuff, either. The shopkeeper had to return to the building for twelve boxes of glassware that had not made it in the first shipment! Once the tyres were changed on the van, we went to the Congress Party Headquarters to see the project and to deliver the goods. It was fun for me to see the extent of the project and to see what work had been completed, and what furniture purchased, as well as hauling our purchases to their final destination. Once done there, Ravi and I went to meet his daughter, Mahima, whom I had not seen for about five years. She is already in University and also studying for her final examinations. We met her near the exit for the underground railway system and then drove to Sanjiv’s house. It was time to enjoy some R&R, as well as to be brought up to date with Ravi and his family. He even worked with Sanjiv to choose the ultimate food selections for the marriage – choosing veg and non-veg, continental, Chinese and traditional dishes. Ravi actually was quite good at this exercise.
When we returned to Sanjiv’s house, Pallavi and one of here cousins were working on the plans for the marriage, including a skit that would parody Gaurav and his bride-to-be. Mahima has some practice in this, so she and Pallavi, as well as Olie and another cousin worked on the skit. When they left, Ravi and Mahima were totally involved in the wedding and all of its parts. After a few hours, Ravi and his daughter left for home and we set about eating dinner – this late night dinner stuff really has to go. I have tried to convince Sanjiv that having a full dinner at eleven at night is not healthy, but have not gotten very far. This is especially true since I was to be getting up very early the next morning to go to the airport to catch a flight to Bagdogra – located in Bengal, near the border with Nepal.
DILLY HUT? DELHI HAT? DELHI HAAT? - (Feb. 8)
Following checkout from our hotel in Agra, we boarded the bus with Suresh at the wheel and now three riding shotgun – Ragu was joined by Crissie and Cassandra. This new seating arrangement provided the two women with an “up close and personal” view of everything which was aiming toward our bus, and at the same time gave the rest of us a bit more legroom. We were hoping to be able to beat some of the morning traffic into Delhi, but it is very difficult to determine whether or not we succeeded. Who knows when it comes to traffic in Delhi?
We stopped at a rest stop along the way, purchased some snacks and cold drinks and sat outside in the garden. We were the first ones out there, but when subsequent bus groups arrived, they too wanted to sit out in the garden in the warm sun. I guess we set the standard. Some of us purchased various trinkets to take home to friends and family. We were back on the road, and eventually stopped for our lunch at India’s example of a fast food restaurant chain – Halduram’s. When looking at the huge menu (one could purchase North Indian, South Indian, Chinese and several other ethnic foods) several of us decided upon a less traditional fare – namely veggie burgers! Actually, the veggie burgers were a good deal better than the ones we are able to purchase at home, either at Burger Kind or at the supermarkets. These were served with French fries and ketchup, so other than the setting, who would have known where we were eating?
After finishing up our lunch with a sinful sweet, gooey, sticky pastry treat, we headed into Delhi. I had contacted a fellow Rotarian, Brian Fulp from the Homesdale, Pennsylvania Rotary Club, who was traveling in India at the same time. He is affiliated with the Himalayan Institute and that group was bringing a few hundred devotees to India for two weeks, working with them in Assam, where the institute has a facility. It happened that Brian and I had been playing telephone tag, but finally caught up with one another an arranged to meet somewhere later that afternoon. Some of the group wanted “free” time; others wanted to visit Fab-India, a store that sells clothing for men, women and children; and still others were still light on gifts to take home. The bus dropped off most of us at Fab India, and the others hired tuk-tuks (auto-rickshaws) to take them into the Connaught Circus area of the city. Sean, in particular, wanted to purchase a gift for all of us to give to Sanjiv and his family for the amazing bit of hosting they provided to us. It was not simply feeding us, but providing toilets, providing Internet access, providing R&R, and providing rooms to serve as Sick Bay, when one or another of us fell victim to Delhi Belly.
I checked out a few things at Fab India and was actually able to find a vest and shirt for my grandson. Boone, Dianne, Kim, Nancy and Pallavi stayed back for a while, and I left in a tuk-tuk to be driven over to Delhi Haat (or Dilly Hut). This is a wonderful open-air market, where artisans from all parts of India have booths for two or three weeks and sell their products, only to be replaced by others from different regions when the first folks return to their homes. Prices at Delhi Haat are also considered pretty reasonable and the variety one sees is considerable. (Haat in Hindi means open market.) I had already made arrangements to meet Brian Fulp and the easiest place to find was Delhi Haat. Brian had never been there prior to today, but he was certainly agreeable to meet there and share experiences and concerns. When we met, Brian and I picked up from where we had left off several months back when I spoke at a District Conference in Pennsylvania this past October. It was enjoyable meeting someone I knew who was also halfway around the world and comparing notes with him about his experiences.
After being at Delhi Haat for a while, the remainder of the group arrived and split up to take in the wide variety of the shops and handicrafts from every state in India. Dianne retained her title of being the very BEST shopper of our team – having found some goodies at Fab India, as well as Delhi Haat. When the appointed time arrived, we gathered at the gate and waited for the bus to meet us. This was to be the last trip we would be taking in the bus, under the very able direction and control of Suresh and Ragu. We worked our way through the throngs of cars, auto-rickshaws, tuk-tuks, trucks, buses and whatever else managed to crowd the streets and clog virtually every intersection in the city. Finally, we made it to Safdarjung Enclave, Sector B, block 1 and number 22 – the home of Sanjiv, Jyotsna, Pallavi, Olie and of course, granddad (Sanjiv’s father, who is a very spry eighty-seven years young). We off loaded all of our bags from the bus, because following dinner, we would be splitting the group and sending them off in different directions: Chris Parkinson and Cassandra Bradley, along with Dianne and Boone Powell would be departing for the airport for the fifteen plus hour flight back to Newark, and then on either to New Hampshire, Boston or San Antonio. Sean and Kim would be going to a hotel for the night, then flying on up to Kathmandu, Nepal for a week. Nancy Day and Crissie Day would be staying at a different hotel from Sean and Kim, and the following day would be flying back to Seattle. Linda Nicol was not with us, as she had remained on in Mewat to offer her services as a massage therapist to polio victims for a couple of weeks. I was the only remaining member of the team and moved into my old bedroom at Sanjiv’s house.
During dinner, each member of the team spoke of impressions of the trip, experiences to and from, as well as within the village. Chris Parkinson talked about composing and singing his own compositions at his three daughters’ weddings. Sanjiv asked if he would sing for us, and he said he really needed a guitar. Did I ever mention the MAGIC OF ROTARY??? It is alive and well in Delhi, in the personage of Sanjiv Saran. He told Chris he would just take a minute and when he returned, he produced a dusty guitar case, but a nice guitar inside! Chris entertained us with one of the wedding songs. Dinner was drawing to a close – schedules needed to be met – and we needed to pause for a few moments to thank Sanjiv, Jyotsna and Olie, as well as Pallavi, for all they had done to make our stay a wonderful experience. We had all agreed to purchase a gift for them and left that task to Sean Dolter. He presented a packed and heavy sack to Sanjiv and Jyotsna, and asked them to open it. The content was uncovered and revealed a magnificent hand-carved statue of Lord Ganesh. This is going to be taken to the farm and placed in the niche in the entry hall of the house, where it will serve as the overseeing god of the household. Lord Ganesh or Ganesha or Genesha (take your pick of the spellings) is the elephant god and if you are interested in learning of the story about what seems to be the most popular manifestation of the Hindu gods, I suggest you try researching in Wikipedia, Google or Yahoo or some other search engine. Sanjiv and Jyotsna seemed to be overwhelmed with the gift and thanked each of us. Not only did they have tears in their eyes, but most of us did, as well. It was time to depart and say our farewells, at least for now. The SUV was waiting out in front of the house to take the four fly-home members to the airport. Other vehicles took Sean and Kim, and Nancy and Crissie. We were about to shut off the lights, when the doorbell rang. The gentleman who was at the door was Basu Dev Golyan, a Rotarian from Nepal, with whom Sanjiv and I had been speaking regarding meeting to discuss the potential of projects in Nepal in future years.
More on this later, but it is time for me to close this off and shut down my laptop, and kiss another night goodbye.
We stopped at a rest stop along the way, purchased some snacks and cold drinks and sat outside in the garden. We were the first ones out there, but when subsequent bus groups arrived, they too wanted to sit out in the garden in the warm sun. I guess we set the standard. Some of us purchased various trinkets to take home to friends and family. We were back on the road, and eventually stopped for our lunch at India’s example of a fast food restaurant chain – Halduram’s. When looking at the huge menu (one could purchase North Indian, South Indian, Chinese and several other ethnic foods) several of us decided upon a less traditional fare – namely veggie burgers! Actually, the veggie burgers were a good deal better than the ones we are able to purchase at home, either at Burger Kind or at the supermarkets. These were served with French fries and ketchup, so other than the setting, who would have known where we were eating?
After finishing up our lunch with a sinful sweet, gooey, sticky pastry treat, we headed into Delhi. I had contacted a fellow Rotarian, Brian Fulp from the Homesdale, Pennsylvania Rotary Club, who was traveling in India at the same time. He is affiliated with the Himalayan Institute and that group was bringing a few hundred devotees to India for two weeks, working with them in Assam, where the institute has a facility. It happened that Brian and I had been playing telephone tag, but finally caught up with one another an arranged to meet somewhere later that afternoon. Some of the group wanted “free” time; others wanted to visit Fab-India, a store that sells clothing for men, women and children; and still others were still light on gifts to take home. The bus dropped off most of us at Fab India, and the others hired tuk-tuks (auto-rickshaws) to take them into the Connaught Circus area of the city. Sean, in particular, wanted to purchase a gift for all of us to give to Sanjiv and his family for the amazing bit of hosting they provided to us. It was not simply feeding us, but providing toilets, providing Internet access, providing R&R, and providing rooms to serve as Sick Bay, when one or another of us fell victim to Delhi Belly.
I checked out a few things at Fab India and was actually able to find a vest and shirt for my grandson. Boone, Dianne, Kim, Nancy and Pallavi stayed back for a while, and I left in a tuk-tuk to be driven over to Delhi Haat (or Dilly Hut). This is a wonderful open-air market, where artisans from all parts of India have booths for two or three weeks and sell their products, only to be replaced by others from different regions when the first folks return to their homes. Prices at Delhi Haat are also considered pretty reasonable and the variety one sees is considerable. (Haat in Hindi means open market.) I had already made arrangements to meet Brian Fulp and the easiest place to find was Delhi Haat. Brian had never been there prior to today, but he was certainly agreeable to meet there and share experiences and concerns. When we met, Brian and I picked up from where we had left off several months back when I spoke at a District Conference in Pennsylvania this past October. It was enjoyable meeting someone I knew who was also halfway around the world and comparing notes with him about his experiences.
After being at Delhi Haat for a while, the remainder of the group arrived and split up to take in the wide variety of the shops and handicrafts from every state in India. Dianne retained her title of being the very BEST shopper of our team – having found some goodies at Fab India, as well as Delhi Haat. When the appointed time arrived, we gathered at the gate and waited for the bus to meet us. This was to be the last trip we would be taking in the bus, under the very able direction and control of Suresh and Ragu. We worked our way through the throngs of cars, auto-rickshaws, tuk-tuks, trucks, buses and whatever else managed to crowd the streets and clog virtually every intersection in the city. Finally, we made it to Safdarjung Enclave, Sector B, block 1 and number 22 – the home of Sanjiv, Jyotsna, Pallavi, Olie and of course, granddad (Sanjiv’s father, who is a very spry eighty-seven years young). We off loaded all of our bags from the bus, because following dinner, we would be splitting the group and sending them off in different directions: Chris Parkinson and Cassandra Bradley, along with Dianne and Boone Powell would be departing for the airport for the fifteen plus hour flight back to Newark, and then on either to New Hampshire, Boston or San Antonio. Sean and Kim would be going to a hotel for the night, then flying on up to Kathmandu, Nepal for a week. Nancy Day and Crissie Day would be staying at a different hotel from Sean and Kim, and the following day would be flying back to Seattle. Linda Nicol was not with us, as she had remained on in Mewat to offer her services as a massage therapist to polio victims for a couple of weeks. I was the only remaining member of the team and moved into my old bedroom at Sanjiv’s house.
During dinner, each member of the team spoke of impressions of the trip, experiences to and from, as well as within the village. Chris Parkinson talked about composing and singing his own compositions at his three daughters’ weddings. Sanjiv asked if he would sing for us, and he said he really needed a guitar. Did I ever mention the MAGIC OF ROTARY??? It is alive and well in Delhi, in the personage of Sanjiv Saran. He told Chris he would just take a minute and when he returned, he produced a dusty guitar case, but a nice guitar inside! Chris entertained us with one of the wedding songs. Dinner was drawing to a close – schedules needed to be met – and we needed to pause for a few moments to thank Sanjiv, Jyotsna and Olie, as well as Pallavi, for all they had done to make our stay a wonderful experience. We had all agreed to purchase a gift for them and left that task to Sean Dolter. He presented a packed and heavy sack to Sanjiv and Jyotsna, and asked them to open it. The content was uncovered and revealed a magnificent hand-carved statue of Lord Ganesh. This is going to be taken to the farm and placed in the niche in the entry hall of the house, where it will serve as the overseeing god of the household. Lord Ganesh or Ganesha or Genesha (take your pick of the spellings) is the elephant god and if you are interested in learning of the story about what seems to be the most popular manifestation of the Hindu gods, I suggest you try researching in Wikipedia, Google or Yahoo or some other search engine. Sanjiv and Jyotsna seemed to be overwhelmed with the gift and thanked each of us. Not only did they have tears in their eyes, but most of us did, as well. It was time to depart and say our farewells, at least for now. The SUV was waiting out in front of the house to take the four fly-home members to the airport. Other vehicles took Sean and Kim, and Nancy and Crissie. We were about to shut off the lights, when the doorbell rang. The gentleman who was at the door was Basu Dev Golyan, a Rotarian from Nepal, with whom Sanjiv and I had been speaking regarding meeting to discuss the potential of projects in Nepal in future years.
More on this later, but it is time for me to close this off and shut down my laptop, and kiss another night goodbye.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
SHAH JAHAN'S MONUMENT TO HIS BELOVED… (Feb. 7)
After another relatively early breakfast, we met Suresh and Ragu out in front of our hotel, for the ride to Agra. One fact people from outside of India sometimes fail to realize is distance and time to cover that distance. As I may have mentioned earlier on in this BLOG, the distance of one hundred miles in the US or Canada can generally be driven in well under two hours. However, in India, a distance of one hundred miles might well take some six hours to drive. So when traveling in a bus, sitting in seats that may not be anywhere near as comfortable as the front seat of your car or mine, distance and time may increase exponentially, at least to those experiencing the ride. Such was the case during many of our drives from one location to another. Today was no exception.
Although we left the hotel early by India standards, and were beyond the city limits of Jaipur, the ride seemed long. We stopped along the way at restaurants that offered washrooms and toilets. This gave us the chance to stretch our legs and possibly even get some of the kinks out of our backs or necks. During most of the week at the project, we generally gravitated to the same seats on the bus, but now, we ventured out of our comfort zones and dared to cross the aisle or move to the back of the bus. The perennial question asked by most kids of their parents, "Are we there, yet?" was most assuredly on the tip of the tongue of most of us at one time or another. Pallavi had suggested that we should just push right on through to the hotel, have some lunch, settle in and then go for our tour of one of the wonders of the world - the Taj Mahal.
The Howard Park Hotel was where we would be staying for the next twenty-four hours (actually about eighteen or nineteen hours) and when we arrived, we were greeted with a blue fruit drink as we waited to be assigned to our rooms. Our bags were brought into the lobby and once identified, were brought by the bellmen to our rooms. We were all assigned to rooms on the third floor. My room was very pleasant, although the smell of stale smoke permeated everything - sheets, upholstered couch and chairs, even the towels in the bathroom. I realize there is nothing worse than a reformed anything, but the smell was pretty intense. I asked if there were non-smoking rooms and was told that hotel did not provide for non-smokers. I turned on the air conditioner and the exhaust fan and figured out a way to have them remain on even when I was not in the room - since the key tag had to be inserted into the switch by the door in order for the power to be on in the room. I removed the key and left the tag in the switch.
During the trip from Jaipur to Agra, Pallavi and I were contacting Past District Governor (PDG) Naresh Sood from one of the Agra Rotary Clubs. Five years ago, I led about twenty-five Rotarians to India for a National Immunization Day against polio (NID) and while visiting Agra, we were shown a medical facility that had been donated by O.P Aggarwal and his family. The facility was where corrective surgeries were conducted - free of charge - for polio victims. Several members of that group committed to raise funds for a Matching Grant from The Rotary Foundation, to eliminate the list of one thousand patients who awaited surgery. With the cost of approximately $40.00 per surgery, we raised about $45,000 for the project. I wanted to visit the facility to see how the project was progressing. Therefore, I was disappointed when I learned that PDG Sood was out of station, attending the District Conference. In addition, the officers of the Club were also attending the same conference. After several calls, Naresh was able to contact two senior members of his club - Rotarian Jain and Rotarian Gupta, both past presidents. We arranged for them to meet me at the hotel after lunch and they would take me to visit the facility, and then on to the Taj Mahal gate so I could meet the rest of the team. We met in the lobby following lunch and left for the hospital.
As we proceeded to the hospital, I felt I recognized these two men. Finally, one of them spoke and said, "I believe we have met previously". I told him I felt the same and after a bit of conversation, we determined we had met several years before. We arrived at the hospital, now operated by a different surgeon. The chief medical officer of this tiny hospital (attached to his home) had retired from his private practice of orthopaedic surgery, and devoted his life to our project. His son and daughter-in-law are also surgeons. I learned every Thursday seven or eight (sometimes ten or twelve) patients who have paralyzed limbs come to the hospital or clinic for their corrective surgeries. Additionally, once they are healed, they may return to the clinic to be fitted for braces (or calipers) to help support them while they are undergoing a regimen of physical therapy. The restorative nature of these surgeries is tremendous. Imagine having been relegated to a chair or a hand-bicycle or crutches, and then learning that such a facility exists and you can have your surgery at no cost. Imagine being crippled one day and being able to live a far more "normal" life, able to find employment and to become a productive member of society. This is the opportunity our Matching Grant provides to each of these patients. Thus far, more than 700 surgeries have been performed. Although brief, my tour of the clinic was most satisfying. The two Rotarians accompanied me back to the car-park area near the east gate of the Taj Mahal, and we said our goodbyes. I met Pallavi and we were at the gate and entering within five minutes of the time the team had arrived. I was even able to jump into the group photo before we proceeded with the tour.
If you have never read or heard the story about the Taj Mahal and the undying love Shah Jahan had for his beautiful wife, take the time to read about it. It would not serve any purpose for me to attempt to relate the story here in this BLOG. Once one enters the gate, goes through security, and walks a few hundred yards to enter the main gate of red sandstone that somewhat obscures ones view of the Taj, and then enters through that gate, one's breath is literally taken away. I believe each and every time I have visited the Taj Mahal, something very special occurs and today was no exception. Whether taken by the incredible ornate simplicity of this mausoleum, or moved by a personal moment, one can not help but be affected by this wonder of the world.
We were provided with small bottles of mineral water, as well as booties to cover our feet or our shoes, if we chose not to go barefooted. We walked along through beautiful gardens and every few seconds we paused to appreciate the beauty of the monument that lay before us. Some of us went to the mosque adjacent to the Taj, while others walked back through the gardens. We looked across the river where Shah Jahan had intended to build the negative image of the Taj - the black Taj. This never happened and I fear would have detracted from the beauty of this monument, had it ever been built.
Restoration is taking place all the time, and artisans work as they would have hundreds of years ago, using hand wheels to sand down and polish precious and semi-precious stones they use to replace those that have been chiseled out and stolen from the walls.
That evening, we met in the lobby and walked to a nearby restaurant - The Silk Road, where we were served typical food of Rajasthan. Back to the hotel and sleep to prepare for another very full day.
Although we left the hotel early by India standards, and were beyond the city limits of Jaipur, the ride seemed long. We stopped along the way at restaurants that offered washrooms and toilets. This gave us the chance to stretch our legs and possibly even get some of the kinks out of our backs or necks. During most of the week at the project, we generally gravitated to the same seats on the bus, but now, we ventured out of our comfort zones and dared to cross the aisle or move to the back of the bus. The perennial question asked by most kids of their parents, "Are we there, yet?" was most assuredly on the tip of the tongue of most of us at one time or another. Pallavi had suggested that we should just push right on through to the hotel, have some lunch, settle in and then go for our tour of one of the wonders of the world - the Taj Mahal.
The Howard Park Hotel was where we would be staying for the next twenty-four hours (actually about eighteen or nineteen hours) and when we arrived, we were greeted with a blue fruit drink as we waited to be assigned to our rooms. Our bags were brought into the lobby and once identified, were brought by the bellmen to our rooms. We were all assigned to rooms on the third floor. My room was very pleasant, although the smell of stale smoke permeated everything - sheets, upholstered couch and chairs, even the towels in the bathroom. I realize there is nothing worse than a reformed anything, but the smell was pretty intense. I asked if there were non-smoking rooms and was told that hotel did not provide for non-smokers. I turned on the air conditioner and the exhaust fan and figured out a way to have them remain on even when I was not in the room - since the key tag had to be inserted into the switch by the door in order for the power to be on in the room. I removed the key and left the tag in the switch.
During the trip from Jaipur to Agra, Pallavi and I were contacting Past District Governor (PDG) Naresh Sood from one of the Agra Rotary Clubs. Five years ago, I led about twenty-five Rotarians to India for a National Immunization Day against polio (NID) and while visiting Agra, we were shown a medical facility that had been donated by O.P Aggarwal and his family. The facility was where corrective surgeries were conducted - free of charge - for polio victims. Several members of that group committed to raise funds for a Matching Grant from The Rotary Foundation, to eliminate the list of one thousand patients who awaited surgery. With the cost of approximately $40.00 per surgery, we raised about $45,000 for the project. I wanted to visit the facility to see how the project was progressing. Therefore, I was disappointed when I learned that PDG Sood was out of station, attending the District Conference. In addition, the officers of the Club were also attending the same conference. After several calls, Naresh was able to contact two senior members of his club - Rotarian Jain and Rotarian Gupta, both past presidents. We arranged for them to meet me at the hotel after lunch and they would take me to visit the facility, and then on to the Taj Mahal gate so I could meet the rest of the team. We met in the lobby following lunch and left for the hospital.
As we proceeded to the hospital, I felt I recognized these two men. Finally, one of them spoke and said, "I believe we have met previously". I told him I felt the same and after a bit of conversation, we determined we had met several years before. We arrived at the hospital, now operated by a different surgeon. The chief medical officer of this tiny hospital (attached to his home) had retired from his private practice of orthopaedic surgery, and devoted his life to our project. His son and daughter-in-law are also surgeons. I learned every Thursday seven or eight (sometimes ten or twelve) patients who have paralyzed limbs come to the hospital or clinic for their corrective surgeries. Additionally, once they are healed, they may return to the clinic to be fitted for braces (or calipers) to help support them while they are undergoing a regimen of physical therapy. The restorative nature of these surgeries is tremendous. Imagine having been relegated to a chair or a hand-bicycle or crutches, and then learning that such a facility exists and you can have your surgery at no cost. Imagine being crippled one day and being able to live a far more "normal" life, able to find employment and to become a productive member of society. This is the opportunity our Matching Grant provides to each of these patients. Thus far, more than 700 surgeries have been performed. Although brief, my tour of the clinic was most satisfying. The two Rotarians accompanied me back to the car-park area near the east gate of the Taj Mahal, and we said our goodbyes. I met Pallavi and we were at the gate and entering within five minutes of the time the team had arrived. I was even able to jump into the group photo before we proceeded with the tour.
If you have never read or heard the story about the Taj Mahal and the undying love Shah Jahan had for his beautiful wife, take the time to read about it. It would not serve any purpose for me to attempt to relate the story here in this BLOG. Once one enters the gate, goes through security, and walks a few hundred yards to enter the main gate of red sandstone that somewhat obscures ones view of the Taj, and then enters through that gate, one's breath is literally taken away. I believe each and every time I have visited the Taj Mahal, something very special occurs and today was no exception. Whether taken by the incredible ornate simplicity of this mausoleum, or moved by a personal moment, one can not help but be affected by this wonder of the world.
We were provided with small bottles of mineral water, as well as booties to cover our feet or our shoes, if we chose not to go barefooted. We walked along through beautiful gardens and every few seconds we paused to appreciate the beauty of the monument that lay before us. Some of us went to the mosque adjacent to the Taj, while others walked back through the gardens. We looked across the river where Shah Jahan had intended to build the negative image of the Taj - the black Taj. This never happened and I fear would have detracted from the beauty of this monument, had it ever been built.
Restoration is taking place all the time, and artisans work as they would have hundreds of years ago, using hand wheels to sand down and polish precious and semi-precious stones they use to replace those that have been chiseled out and stolen from the walls.
That evening, we met in the lobby and walked to a nearby restaurant - The Silk Road, where we were served typical food of Rajasthan. Back to the hotel and sleep to prepare for another very full day.
Dianne and Boone are home!
Elias and I spoke for about one hour on Monday, February 9th. Boone and Dianne were on their way home and were, perhaps, already settled into their pillows - adjusting.
On Tuesday, the Powells agreed to brief San Antonio team members, Nora Turner, John Hutcherson and me, about their experiences the following day after Rotary.
On Wednesday, before their private and in depth 1-hour talk, the Powells and I spoke to the Rotary Club of San Antonio - about 300 members at lunch - showing them my 8 min edit of Bill Gates' 40 min speech announcing his additional $255 million gift to the Rotary Foundation's efforts to eradicate polio. Then the Powells related in about 5 min their thoughts on their time in India. More from them later with pictures. They were wonderful!
We have our list of things to not forget and are looking forward to seeing Elias.
On Tuesday, the Powells agreed to brief San Antonio team members, Nora Turner, John Hutcherson and me, about their experiences the following day after Rotary.
On Wednesday, before their private and in depth 1-hour talk, the Powells and I spoke to the Rotary Club of San Antonio - about 300 members at lunch - showing them my 8 min edit of Bill Gates' 40 min speech announcing his additional $255 million gift to the Rotary Foundation's efforts to eradicate polio. Then the Powells related in about 5 min their thoughts on their time in India. More from them later with pictures. They were wonderful!
We have our list of things to not forget and are looking forward to seeing Elias.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
PROCEED TO THE PINK CITY… (Feb. 6)
After a full breakfast at Samode Bagh, we boarded the bus for a relatively short drive to Jaipur – the Pink City. We would be on the road for just under two hours, and the plan was to meet our guide at Amer Fort (also known as Amber or Ambar Fort). The last time I was in Jaipur was 2008, and our group was planning to visit and tour Amer Fort, as well. On the morning we arrived at the base of the road leading up to the fort, I recall it was about 10:30 in the morning. The waiting line to board our taxis wound around the entire courtyard, and if I remember correctly, it took well over two hours to get to the front of that line. This morning we arrived at about 9:30 and that made a huge difference. The line was not very long and within about twenty minutes we climbed the stairs to the loading platform. Our taxis were not your genuine Yellow Cab or in the case of most of India, the old Ambassador Cabs from more than a half-century ago. This morning, our taxis were elephants!
Brightly decorated elephants, covered with very ornate saddle blankets waited in their own lines, until called to the front for loading. The wooden basket saddles were constructed to hold up to four adults, but in recent years the drivers have been more considerate of the elephants and generally only allow two adults per ride. The rides are only to ascend the mountain because if one were to load up the basket with people coming down, the elephants could slip and lose their footing and cause accidents. In addition the drivers have also adopted a new policy, that the elephants can only work three hours a day in this routine of ferrying passengers to the top of the mountain at Amer Fort and are then taken back home to rest. This is far more humane than forcing six or eight hours of climbing and fully loaded.
PDG Chris Parkinson and I rode up together and as we ascended, the views became more spectacular. Looking out across the valley to the Aravali Hills (probably the oldest mountain chain in the world) and seeing distant fortress walls, one can not help pondering what life must have been like during the height of the time of the maharajahs. Jaipur seems to be a central location for when these men came to meet together from throughout all of Rajasthan. It is certainly the most glorious (or must have been) city in the area. Even today, the maharaja and his family live in the city palace and have for generations.
Riding up the winding mountain road atop our elephant, we also encountered several photographers who took many pictures of us. I had wanted to make sure that my grandson’s FREDDIE THE FROG was included in at least one picture so we were treated to two different sessions of photo-ops. The second photographer told us to make sure we met him at the bottom, near our bus, and told us his name was Laki, and not to forget it. Once we had all made it to the top, we climbed off our pachyderms and met off to one side with our guide, who provided a brief history of the fort. We then began our tour by climbing the ramp (they have added lots of handicap-accessible ramps this past year) to the top of the stairs. There, we were invited to enter a temple to view one of the gods and to offer prayers or simply remain in silence for a short while. A few of us accepted this invitation. It was the first time I had ever entered the temple, although I had visited Amer Fort a half-dozen times over the past years. The statue was actually that of a goddess, and was fully decorated and clothed, so all we could see was the face, which was black. There were priests behind what I would refer to as the altar rail, willing to sprinkle puffed rice or rose and marigold petals that people had brought to offer to the goddess. They also placed a garland around Pallavi’s neck and another around Dianne’s neck. They marked us all with tikkas on our foreheads, we remained for a few minutes and then exited to meet the rest of our group. Upon entering the temple, we were asked to remove our shoes, socks and any leather items we might be wearing.
Once outside and re-shod, we climbed further and entered through the old-fashioned turn-style and climbed a few more stairs. As we did so, we heard sounds that imitated beating drums. Once we entered that courtyard, we saw about one hundred women, of all ages, squatting on the ground, beating the surface with wooden clubs. These clubs looked somewhat like a flatiron with a handle extending from the back. The guide explained the commission responsible for the maintenance of the Amer Fort had determined the floor of this particular area had begun to seriously deteriorate, so first the surface was jack-hammered down about six or eight inches and then new sandstone mud (for lack of a better term) had been dumped into the void and spread evenly throughout the area. Rather than using a steamroller, the surface was tamped down or compressed using a method literally thousands of years old – having women beat on it with the wooden clubs. The racket drowned out some of what our guide was telling us, but it was fascinating to see how many people were employed in restoring this surface the old-fashioned way – first wetting it by sprinkling water and then beating it flat with the clubs.
We were shown ancient toilet facilities, and truly in India, the design has not ostensibly changed in hundreds of years. The formal gardens are being restored and re-planted. The hall of mirrors has been vandalized over the years, with tourists prying loose some of the pieces of mirror and stealing them. My recollection is that the mirrors were originally coming from Belgium, and it is to Belgium that the restoration commission has looked for replacing the missing pieces. At one time, guides could take their groups into the hall of mirrors, close the door and with one single lighted match could totally illuminate the room – just with the myriad reflections from one flame. This practice has also been stopped due to the sulfur and carbon deposits left on the ceiling mirrors, eventually destroying them. We wandered into the area where there was a rooftop swimming pool; we saw how the original cooling system was constructed and how it functioned; we were able to walk around in the area where the maharaja’s numerous wives had their own living quarters – each with it own private courtyard and sleeping rooms; we walked up to one tower at the corner of one section of the fort, where we were able to observe how the water-lifting system functioned; and when we were finished with the tour, we encountered all of the hawkers, selling trinkets and musical instruments, photos and drinks, silk paintings and postcards and books. Only after we were able to penetrate the crowd of tourists and hawkers, did we locate the Jeep taxis that would take us to the bottom of the mountain and to our awaiting bus. One the way toward the parking area for the Jeeps, a crowd had gathered on the steps and the sidewall. We heard the strains of a high-pitched flute and looked over the wall to see a snake charmer and his assistant, poking at two giant cobras that were facing each other. One tourist even sat down next to the snake charmer and had one of the two cobras lifted out of its basket and lowered around his neck. I determined it was time for me to leave and head for the Jeeps. Once at the bottom, the Jeeps took us to our bus, where guess who was waiting for me? You are right – Laki, the photographer. Chris Parkinson and I had already declined to purchase any of the photos taken by the first two photographers, but gave in and purchased all of them from Laki, especially since some of them showed FREDDIE THE FROG, that I can later post to the BLOG, once I located a scanner.
We boarded the bus and headed for the central city area, where we would be shown the process for block printing on fabric, as well as the various steps for the creation of oriental carpets. After those demonstrations, we were escorted up to a viewing room, where we were shown carpets of various shapes, sizes, colors and designs. Some were made of wool on a cotton base, while others were made from Kashmiri wool, and still others made of silk on silk – the finest available in the world. After this demonstration, we were invited to walk throughout the entire emporium, to see clothing, bedspreads, tablecloths, carpets, jewelry, paintings on silk, carvings from sandalwood, antique reproductions and more. Some of the group wanted to walk a block up the street to visit the Silver and Jewelry Manufacturing Company, where a vast selection of gemstones of different size and quality may be purchased loose or in specific settings. After this, we went to a garden restaurant that was close-by and had a wonderful lunch. A few of the group members chose to go out on their own for shopping the remainder of the afternoon, while others of us toured the City Palace and the Observatory. The Observatory in Jaipur boasts the largest compass and tracking devices, and “clocks” in the world, including the world’s largest sundial. It was fascinating to learn that the maharaja at the time of the creation of the Observatory, sent scientists all over the world to learn of the most current theories and practices regarding tracking of stars and planets. He then had models of various astronomical instruments made from iron, bronze and other metals. Finally, he had his builders construct the full-size instruments, which we saw. One such clock was accurate to within two seconds – and the instrument itself had a curved surface about forty-feet across. Through calculations as to the time where the instrument originated, and then adjusting for the different latitude and longitude of Jaipur, one could actually read the sundial and determine the correct time.
After viewing about a dozen of these massive instruments, we walked to the City Palace, which I indicated previously is occupied by the royal family – Maharaja Man Singh II, and his family. While we were in the courtyard of the four seasons, we actually saw one of his granddaughters and his grandson riding their bicycles in the courtyard and inside the portico. It reminded me of my grandson, “J.T.” and how he worked hard this past summer to learn to ride his bicycle without training wheels. We visited the general audience room where the maharajah sometimes uses for meeting dignitaries. We saw the portraits of the succession of rajahs, one who was nearly seven feet tall and weighed over six hundred pounds! You can imagine the size of his pajama bottoms, worn under a kurta. We visited the weapons museum and saw some rather unsavory looking daggers that were equipped with reverse scissor handles, so that when one plunged the dagger into the belly of an enemy, he could them open the manipulate the handles to open the dagger like an open pair of scissors and pull the opened weapon out of his victim, thereby tearing out a good portion of the enemy’s insides. We saw the giant silver jars – the largest single creation of silver in the world, that were created to hold holy water from the Mother Ganga (Ganges River), when the maharaja visited the Queen of England, but needed to bring his own drinking water supply with him. We were told that the queen was offended by this gesture, but the maharaja had quelled her disgust by telling her that he would do the same if he were visiting his sister, and since he considered the queen as a sister, he was only honoring her by bringing her water from Mother Ganga. We could perhaps use some of this skill among our own politicians of the day.
Just before we left (since the palace closes to the public at six in the evening) we watched a rather fascinating procedure – that of sealing of the various buildings and rooms. A gentleman brought a brazier with burning charcoal to the main door of the building in the center of the courtyard that is used for displaying clothing and other textiles. He held a rather large wooden paddle, at the end of which was a glob of heavy sealing wax. He also had two signets – one on a ring and the other like a stamp, both made of gold. I showed him my signet ring that holds my family crest and he showed me the ring and the stamp, each having its own design from the family of the maharajah. He even allowed me to push my ring into the sealing wax. When the building was confirmed to be empty, the doors were closed and locked and then a red string was wound in and around the padlocks. It was then tied and a glob of the hot sealing wax was applied and then the two different seals were pressed into the material. “This way,” we were told, “will ensure that if anyone breaks the seal, we will know that someone has broken into the building”. I offered to allow my ring to be added to the other two, but the offer was respectfully declined.
After leaving the City Palace, Dianne and I took a “tuk-tuk” (auto-rickshaw) back to the shop where we had watched the block-printing demonstration. She wanted to possibly purchase an outfit of clothing. Since work can be completed in such a short length of time, she was assured that her garments would be at the hotel no later than five in the morning, in plenty of time before we were departing the following day. We concluded our business there, walked up the street to another shop where Dianne had seen a carving of an elephant earlier in the day. She was purchasing the elephant for her son. The carving was of a decorated elephant, with a maharajah and his maharani riding in a basket on top.
We were driven back to our hotel, so we could meet the others and check in at the registration desk before dinner. Some of the team had achieved the ultimate goal of accessing the Internet, while others were pleased with their shopping. Several had purchased spices from local vendors while others had bought clothing or shawls. Dinner was once again delicious. Our rooms were inside a havelli (summer palace) at the former residence of a maharajah. The décor in the rooms was typical of Rajasthan, having a good deal of color and plenty of mirrors.
So much for today… it was on to Agra in the morning. Remember, do not pass “GO” and do not collect two hundred rupees.
Brightly decorated elephants, covered with very ornate saddle blankets waited in their own lines, until called to the front for loading. The wooden basket saddles were constructed to hold up to four adults, but in recent years the drivers have been more considerate of the elephants and generally only allow two adults per ride. The rides are only to ascend the mountain because if one were to load up the basket with people coming down, the elephants could slip and lose their footing and cause accidents. In addition the drivers have also adopted a new policy, that the elephants can only work three hours a day in this routine of ferrying passengers to the top of the mountain at Amer Fort and are then taken back home to rest. This is far more humane than forcing six or eight hours of climbing and fully loaded.
PDG Chris Parkinson and I rode up together and as we ascended, the views became more spectacular. Looking out across the valley to the Aravali Hills (probably the oldest mountain chain in the world) and seeing distant fortress walls, one can not help pondering what life must have been like during the height of the time of the maharajahs. Jaipur seems to be a central location for when these men came to meet together from throughout all of Rajasthan. It is certainly the most glorious (or must have been) city in the area. Even today, the maharaja and his family live in the city palace and have for generations.
Riding up the winding mountain road atop our elephant, we also encountered several photographers who took many pictures of us. I had wanted to make sure that my grandson’s FREDDIE THE FROG was included in at least one picture so we were treated to two different sessions of photo-ops. The second photographer told us to make sure we met him at the bottom, near our bus, and told us his name was Laki, and not to forget it. Once we had all made it to the top, we climbed off our pachyderms and met off to one side with our guide, who provided a brief history of the fort. We then began our tour by climbing the ramp (they have added lots of handicap-accessible ramps this past year) to the top of the stairs. There, we were invited to enter a temple to view one of the gods and to offer prayers or simply remain in silence for a short while. A few of us accepted this invitation. It was the first time I had ever entered the temple, although I had visited Amer Fort a half-dozen times over the past years. The statue was actually that of a goddess, and was fully decorated and clothed, so all we could see was the face, which was black. There were priests behind what I would refer to as the altar rail, willing to sprinkle puffed rice or rose and marigold petals that people had brought to offer to the goddess. They also placed a garland around Pallavi’s neck and another around Dianne’s neck. They marked us all with tikkas on our foreheads, we remained for a few minutes and then exited to meet the rest of our group. Upon entering the temple, we were asked to remove our shoes, socks and any leather items we might be wearing.
Once outside and re-shod, we climbed further and entered through the old-fashioned turn-style and climbed a few more stairs. As we did so, we heard sounds that imitated beating drums. Once we entered that courtyard, we saw about one hundred women, of all ages, squatting on the ground, beating the surface with wooden clubs. These clubs looked somewhat like a flatiron with a handle extending from the back. The guide explained the commission responsible for the maintenance of the Amer Fort had determined the floor of this particular area had begun to seriously deteriorate, so first the surface was jack-hammered down about six or eight inches and then new sandstone mud (for lack of a better term) had been dumped into the void and spread evenly throughout the area. Rather than using a steamroller, the surface was tamped down or compressed using a method literally thousands of years old – having women beat on it with the wooden clubs. The racket drowned out some of what our guide was telling us, but it was fascinating to see how many people were employed in restoring this surface the old-fashioned way – first wetting it by sprinkling water and then beating it flat with the clubs.
We were shown ancient toilet facilities, and truly in India, the design has not ostensibly changed in hundreds of years. The formal gardens are being restored and re-planted. The hall of mirrors has been vandalized over the years, with tourists prying loose some of the pieces of mirror and stealing them. My recollection is that the mirrors were originally coming from Belgium, and it is to Belgium that the restoration commission has looked for replacing the missing pieces. At one time, guides could take their groups into the hall of mirrors, close the door and with one single lighted match could totally illuminate the room – just with the myriad reflections from one flame. This practice has also been stopped due to the sulfur and carbon deposits left on the ceiling mirrors, eventually destroying them. We wandered into the area where there was a rooftop swimming pool; we saw how the original cooling system was constructed and how it functioned; we were able to walk around in the area where the maharaja’s numerous wives had their own living quarters – each with it own private courtyard and sleeping rooms; we walked up to one tower at the corner of one section of the fort, where we were able to observe how the water-lifting system functioned; and when we were finished with the tour, we encountered all of the hawkers, selling trinkets and musical instruments, photos and drinks, silk paintings and postcards and books. Only after we were able to penetrate the crowd of tourists and hawkers, did we locate the Jeep taxis that would take us to the bottom of the mountain and to our awaiting bus. One the way toward the parking area for the Jeeps, a crowd had gathered on the steps and the sidewall. We heard the strains of a high-pitched flute and looked over the wall to see a snake charmer and his assistant, poking at two giant cobras that were facing each other. One tourist even sat down next to the snake charmer and had one of the two cobras lifted out of its basket and lowered around his neck. I determined it was time for me to leave and head for the Jeeps. Once at the bottom, the Jeeps took us to our bus, where guess who was waiting for me? You are right – Laki, the photographer. Chris Parkinson and I had already declined to purchase any of the photos taken by the first two photographers, but gave in and purchased all of them from Laki, especially since some of them showed FREDDIE THE FROG, that I can later post to the BLOG, once I located a scanner.
We boarded the bus and headed for the central city area, where we would be shown the process for block printing on fabric, as well as the various steps for the creation of oriental carpets. After those demonstrations, we were escorted up to a viewing room, where we were shown carpets of various shapes, sizes, colors and designs. Some were made of wool on a cotton base, while others were made from Kashmiri wool, and still others made of silk on silk – the finest available in the world. After this demonstration, we were invited to walk throughout the entire emporium, to see clothing, bedspreads, tablecloths, carpets, jewelry, paintings on silk, carvings from sandalwood, antique reproductions and more. Some of the group wanted to walk a block up the street to visit the Silver and Jewelry Manufacturing Company, where a vast selection of gemstones of different size and quality may be purchased loose or in specific settings. After this, we went to a garden restaurant that was close-by and had a wonderful lunch. A few of the group members chose to go out on their own for shopping the remainder of the afternoon, while others of us toured the City Palace and the Observatory. The Observatory in Jaipur boasts the largest compass and tracking devices, and “clocks” in the world, including the world’s largest sundial. It was fascinating to learn that the maharaja at the time of the creation of the Observatory, sent scientists all over the world to learn of the most current theories and practices regarding tracking of stars and planets. He then had models of various astronomical instruments made from iron, bronze and other metals. Finally, he had his builders construct the full-size instruments, which we saw. One such clock was accurate to within two seconds – and the instrument itself had a curved surface about forty-feet across. Through calculations as to the time where the instrument originated, and then adjusting for the different latitude and longitude of Jaipur, one could actually read the sundial and determine the correct time.
After viewing about a dozen of these massive instruments, we walked to the City Palace, which I indicated previously is occupied by the royal family – Maharaja Man Singh II, and his family. While we were in the courtyard of the four seasons, we actually saw one of his granddaughters and his grandson riding their bicycles in the courtyard and inside the portico. It reminded me of my grandson, “J.T.” and how he worked hard this past summer to learn to ride his bicycle without training wheels. We visited the general audience room where the maharajah sometimes uses for meeting dignitaries. We saw the portraits of the succession of rajahs, one who was nearly seven feet tall and weighed over six hundred pounds! You can imagine the size of his pajama bottoms, worn under a kurta. We visited the weapons museum and saw some rather unsavory looking daggers that were equipped with reverse scissor handles, so that when one plunged the dagger into the belly of an enemy, he could them open the manipulate the handles to open the dagger like an open pair of scissors and pull the opened weapon out of his victim, thereby tearing out a good portion of the enemy’s insides. We saw the giant silver jars – the largest single creation of silver in the world, that were created to hold holy water from the Mother Ganga (Ganges River), when the maharaja visited the Queen of England, but needed to bring his own drinking water supply with him. We were told that the queen was offended by this gesture, but the maharaja had quelled her disgust by telling her that he would do the same if he were visiting his sister, and since he considered the queen as a sister, he was only honoring her by bringing her water from Mother Ganga. We could perhaps use some of this skill among our own politicians of the day.
Just before we left (since the palace closes to the public at six in the evening) we watched a rather fascinating procedure – that of sealing of the various buildings and rooms. A gentleman brought a brazier with burning charcoal to the main door of the building in the center of the courtyard that is used for displaying clothing and other textiles. He held a rather large wooden paddle, at the end of which was a glob of heavy sealing wax. He also had two signets – one on a ring and the other like a stamp, both made of gold. I showed him my signet ring that holds my family crest and he showed me the ring and the stamp, each having its own design from the family of the maharajah. He even allowed me to push my ring into the sealing wax. When the building was confirmed to be empty, the doors were closed and locked and then a red string was wound in and around the padlocks. It was then tied and a glob of the hot sealing wax was applied and then the two different seals were pressed into the material. “This way,” we were told, “will ensure that if anyone breaks the seal, we will know that someone has broken into the building”. I offered to allow my ring to be added to the other two, but the offer was respectfully declined.
After leaving the City Palace, Dianne and I took a “tuk-tuk” (auto-rickshaw) back to the shop where we had watched the block-printing demonstration. She wanted to possibly purchase an outfit of clothing. Since work can be completed in such a short length of time, she was assured that her garments would be at the hotel no later than five in the morning, in plenty of time before we were departing the following day. We concluded our business there, walked up the street to another shop where Dianne had seen a carving of an elephant earlier in the day. She was purchasing the elephant for her son. The carving was of a decorated elephant, with a maharajah and his maharani riding in a basket on top.
We were driven back to our hotel, so we could meet the others and check in at the registration desk before dinner. Some of the team had achieved the ultimate goal of accessing the Internet, while others were pleased with their shopping. Several had purchased spices from local vendors while others had bought clothing or shawls. Dinner was once again delicious. Our rooms were inside a havelli (summer palace) at the former residence of a maharajah. The décor in the rooms was typical of Rajasthan, having a good deal of color and plenty of mirrors.
So much for today… it was on to Agra in the morning. Remember, do not pass “GO” and do not collect two hundred rupees.
DOES INDIA REALLY EVER SLEEP? (Feb. 5)
It really does not matter when you might choose to go to sleep; someone or something is always awake. After the campfire dinner at Tiger Moon in Ranthambore, we retired to the sounds of the jungle – warning calls from monkeys or spotted deer, letting us know their might be a hyena on the loose; distant calls from temples or mosques, calling the faithful to prayer at all hours of the day and night; horns blaring, whether or not there are people or cars or camels or cows or water buffaloes in the way, and without necessarily paying heed to distance; cows mooing; goats braying; or the almost-but-not-quite silent undercurrent of muffled voices of work staff; there is nearly always sound.
We awoke on Thursday morning, knowing we had to have our bags on the porch for the porters to bring to the bus and that if we were going to have breakfast, it would be early. Sleepy-eyed and not too bushy-tailed, we strolled to the dining building where the staff looked as though they had been working for hours to prepare breakfast for us. Whether we preferred omelets to order, with juices and fresh fruits or porridge or iddlies with dhal, we did not want for much. Then it was one last pit stop in our rooms or tents, before boarding the bus for our next chapter.
Suresh and Ragu welcomed us with their usual smiling faces, and we trundled through the village of Ranthambore, and on out to the highway toward Jaipur. This would be another longer ride of about five or six hours before we would reach our destination. We were going to be staying at Samode Bagh – a lovely resort complex, located not too far from Jaipur, but out in the countryside. The property itself is a havelli or summer palace for one of the maharajas, and bagh translates to garden. So roughly translated, the hotel is located in and around the summer palace, and boasts magnificent gardens. We were set to arrive sometime after one o’clock in the afternoon. When we did turn off the highway and wend our way down country lanes, we saw signage announcing Samode Palace and Samode Bagh. However, each drive Suresh turned down seemed to be the wrong one. We kept stopping before we hit a total dead end on three different roads. Finally, we realized Suresh was turning INTO a school playground area, driving straight on through! Believe it or not, he proceeded onward, turning onto a short drive and then stopped the bus. We got off the bus and were welcomed at the main entrance of Samode Bagh (not your typical grand entrance). Almost like stepping through Alice’s looking glass, we entered through a gate, only to be greeted by blaring trumpets and showered with thousands of rose and marigold petals, being tossed from above by two young men on the roof of the gate. What a welcome!
We walked along the raised pathway that lead us through beautiful gardens of varieties of flourishing plants. Reaching the reception area, which is housed in a tent-style building on a raised platform in the middle of the central garden area, we were handed cool damp face towels to wipe the dusty grime from our faces and hands, as well as glasses of cool fruit juices. Pallavi assigned us to our tents and the porters carried our bags, trailing behind us through the gardens to our home away from home. And such a home it was… tents with covered porches in the front, with two comfortable chairs and a side table; colorful yet calming painted designs on the interior walls, dressing rooms with more than adequate space for luggage, closet, coffee bar and a large window offering a closed garden area; and finally the Italian green marble floor of the bathroom with white marble tiled walls and shower area. Now THIS was living! Within moments of our check-in, two members of the team were already sitting at the desk where two computers were offered for wireless access to guests. This was not your typical business center, either, appearing more like a grand reception hall than a four-walls-of-glass cubicle. Just off to the left of that room was a beautiful swimming pool with white, cobalt blue and bright yellow tiles, filled to the brim with shimmering water, inviting us to enjoy respite or a brief dip. As it turns out, lunch was served shortly after our arrival, under tents in yet another garden. A wide range of veg and non-veg dishes to meet anyone’s palate were spread on a long buffet table, including black currant mousse for dessert. A few days before reaching Samode, I had asked Pallavi to check on the cost and the availability of camel rides through the village. During lunch, she told us the cost and the approximate duration of such a trip, and although some members initially said they would rather lounge around at the pool or in chairs in and around the gardens, in the end, we all indicated we would be ready in a half-hour for our attempt at Lawrence of Arabia…
We gathered at a side gate to meet our camel drivers and the drooling, slobbering, snorting, belching beasts of the desert. Colorful saddle blankets and shaved flanks and rumps presented quite an image. It was decided by the drivers who would ride which camels. They urged the beasts to lower themselves to the ground; we mounted our rides and then hung on for dear life as they once again returned to standing position. It was sort of like riding one of the bucking bronco machines we have seen in western movies, but in slow motion. Kim’s camel was wearing a muzzle but still managed to slobber and spit huge amounts of foam on the ground and to shake its head to spray some foamy saliva on anyone within ten feet. We sauntered along the road and then dusty paths, eventually reaching tiny pockets of buildings in the village. We passed by other untethered female camels with their babies, lunching on low-hanging branches of neem trees and almond trees. All of the riding camels are males, we were told, but with no further explanation. Children in distant houses called and waved to us, and local young men seemed to walk alongside of each of us, speaking very good English, and telling us about themselves. There was a method in their madness, as we would later learn. As we continued through narrow streets in the village, more children came near to us and called and waved, while older men and some women also smiled and waved. By the time we reached the Bagh, I think we were all ready for a few hours of relaxation and a nice hot (did I say HOT?) shower before leaving for dinner. We were not able to get down from our four-legged taxis and immediately enter the resort. Nay, nay… we had to be subjected to the high-pressure sales pitches of eight or ten young men who miraculously produced their paintings, both on silk and on pages of antiqued paper. It was amazing to me to hear that each one had a grandfather who had been a painter, followed by a father and then themselves and their brothers. It was also rather curious that each had almost identical paintings to the others, but they were all “originals”. Most of us were able to walk away unscathed, and returned to our abodes for R & B (and that is not Rhythm and Blues, but rather RELAXATION AND BATH!
At a pre-decided time, we met near the registration area to then walk to our bus to have Suresh and Ragu drive us up to Samode Palace, where we would be dining that evening. Pallavi and I had visited the palace in years past, but it was still the spectacular yellow building complex, perched on a promontory, standing majestically to welcome new friends. We took photos from the bottom of the grand staircase, thanking the bellman for turning on the strings of tiny lights that outlined the entire face of the main palace building.
Ascending the red-carpeted staircase, we entered one courtyard, and met a gentleman who was there to take us on an abbreviated tour of the palace. Following the tour, we returned to a second courtyard, where Rajasthani puppeteers were waiting to share their talents with us. We sat for a short performance and then walked back to the terrace for a starlit dinner. As we gazed heavenward, the moon was perfectly positioned overhead, with the MIR space capsule having drifted off to the side from previous sightings at the farm.
The buffet of starters would have been more than adequate for me, but like the rest of the team, I also enjoyed several entrée selections. After enjoying a most relaxing and delicious dinner, we returned to the bus and the ride back to our fairy tale existence, quietly hoping this did NOT have to end in the morning. I tried to read for a while, but was unsuccessful after about a half-page, so turned off the lights and drifted into a deep sleep.
We awoke on Thursday morning, knowing we had to have our bags on the porch for the porters to bring to the bus and that if we were going to have breakfast, it would be early. Sleepy-eyed and not too bushy-tailed, we strolled to the dining building where the staff looked as though they had been working for hours to prepare breakfast for us. Whether we preferred omelets to order, with juices and fresh fruits or porridge or iddlies with dhal, we did not want for much. Then it was one last pit stop in our rooms or tents, before boarding the bus for our next chapter.
Suresh and Ragu welcomed us with their usual smiling faces, and we trundled through the village of Ranthambore, and on out to the highway toward Jaipur. This would be another longer ride of about five or six hours before we would reach our destination. We were going to be staying at Samode Bagh – a lovely resort complex, located not too far from Jaipur, but out in the countryside. The property itself is a havelli or summer palace for one of the maharajas, and bagh translates to garden. So roughly translated, the hotel is located in and around the summer palace, and boasts magnificent gardens. We were set to arrive sometime after one o’clock in the afternoon. When we did turn off the highway and wend our way down country lanes, we saw signage announcing Samode Palace and Samode Bagh. However, each drive Suresh turned down seemed to be the wrong one. We kept stopping before we hit a total dead end on three different roads. Finally, we realized Suresh was turning INTO a school playground area, driving straight on through! Believe it or not, he proceeded onward, turning onto a short drive and then stopped the bus. We got off the bus and were welcomed at the main entrance of Samode Bagh (not your typical grand entrance). Almost like stepping through Alice’s looking glass, we entered through a gate, only to be greeted by blaring trumpets and showered with thousands of rose and marigold petals, being tossed from above by two young men on the roof of the gate. What a welcome!
We walked along the raised pathway that lead us through beautiful gardens of varieties of flourishing plants. Reaching the reception area, which is housed in a tent-style building on a raised platform in the middle of the central garden area, we were handed cool damp face towels to wipe the dusty grime from our faces and hands, as well as glasses of cool fruit juices. Pallavi assigned us to our tents and the porters carried our bags, trailing behind us through the gardens to our home away from home. And such a home it was… tents with covered porches in the front, with two comfortable chairs and a side table; colorful yet calming painted designs on the interior walls, dressing rooms with more than adequate space for luggage, closet, coffee bar and a large window offering a closed garden area; and finally the Italian green marble floor of the bathroom with white marble tiled walls and shower area. Now THIS was living! Within moments of our check-in, two members of the team were already sitting at the desk where two computers were offered for wireless access to guests. This was not your typical business center, either, appearing more like a grand reception hall than a four-walls-of-glass cubicle. Just off to the left of that room was a beautiful swimming pool with white, cobalt blue and bright yellow tiles, filled to the brim with shimmering water, inviting us to enjoy respite or a brief dip. As it turns out, lunch was served shortly after our arrival, under tents in yet another garden. A wide range of veg and non-veg dishes to meet anyone’s palate were spread on a long buffet table, including black currant mousse for dessert. A few days before reaching Samode, I had asked Pallavi to check on the cost and the availability of camel rides through the village. During lunch, she told us the cost and the approximate duration of such a trip, and although some members initially said they would rather lounge around at the pool or in chairs in and around the gardens, in the end, we all indicated we would be ready in a half-hour for our attempt at Lawrence of Arabia…
We gathered at a side gate to meet our camel drivers and the drooling, slobbering, snorting, belching beasts of the desert. Colorful saddle blankets and shaved flanks and rumps presented quite an image. It was decided by the drivers who would ride which camels. They urged the beasts to lower themselves to the ground; we mounted our rides and then hung on for dear life as they once again returned to standing position. It was sort of like riding one of the bucking bronco machines we have seen in western movies, but in slow motion. Kim’s camel was wearing a muzzle but still managed to slobber and spit huge amounts of foam on the ground and to shake its head to spray some foamy saliva on anyone within ten feet. We sauntered along the road and then dusty paths, eventually reaching tiny pockets of buildings in the village. We passed by other untethered female camels with their babies, lunching on low-hanging branches of neem trees and almond trees. All of the riding camels are males, we were told, but with no further explanation. Children in distant houses called and waved to us, and local young men seemed to walk alongside of each of us, speaking very good English, and telling us about themselves. There was a method in their madness, as we would later learn. As we continued through narrow streets in the village, more children came near to us and called and waved, while older men and some women also smiled and waved. By the time we reached the Bagh, I think we were all ready for a few hours of relaxation and a nice hot (did I say HOT?) shower before leaving for dinner. We were not able to get down from our four-legged taxis and immediately enter the resort. Nay, nay… we had to be subjected to the high-pressure sales pitches of eight or ten young men who miraculously produced their paintings, both on silk and on pages of antiqued paper. It was amazing to me to hear that each one had a grandfather who had been a painter, followed by a father and then themselves and their brothers. It was also rather curious that each had almost identical paintings to the others, but they were all “originals”. Most of us were able to walk away unscathed, and returned to our abodes for R & B (and that is not Rhythm and Blues, but rather RELAXATION AND BATH!
At a pre-decided time, we met near the registration area to then walk to our bus to have Suresh and Ragu drive us up to Samode Palace, where we would be dining that evening. Pallavi and I had visited the palace in years past, but it was still the spectacular yellow building complex, perched on a promontory, standing majestically to welcome new friends. We took photos from the bottom of the grand staircase, thanking the bellman for turning on the strings of tiny lights that outlined the entire face of the main palace building.
Ascending the red-carpeted staircase, we entered one courtyard, and met a gentleman who was there to take us on an abbreviated tour of the palace. Following the tour, we returned to a second courtyard, where Rajasthani puppeteers were waiting to share their talents with us. We sat for a short performance and then walked back to the terrace for a starlit dinner. As we gazed heavenward, the moon was perfectly positioned overhead, with the MIR space capsule having drifted off to the side from previous sightings at the farm.
The buffet of starters would have been more than adequate for me, but like the rest of the team, I also enjoyed several entrée selections. After enjoying a most relaxing and delicious dinner, we returned to the bus and the ride back to our fairy tale existence, quietly hoping this did NOT have to end in the morning. I tried to read for a while, but was unsuccessful after about a half-page, so turned off the lights and drifted into a deep sleep.
Monday, February 9, 2009
TIGER, TIGER IN THE NIGHT… (Feb. 4)
The train ride from Delhi was relatively uneventful. We were distributed throughout one train car of First Class sleepers, which only made it a bit difficult to shift from one section to another, to visit with other team members, that is, unless we wanted to carry our bag with us, each time we wanted to talk with a teammate. Pallavi, Cassandra and I were in the first berth – bunks 1, 3 and 5. There were all bottom bunks, and we were unsure as to who might occupy the upper bunks. Pallavi and I bought some snacks to share with the rest of the team from a vendor located out on the loading platform. Even the Lay’s Potato Chips had a bit of a zing to the taste. When Divan met us outside the train station, he had brought along some packed lunches, which contained sandwiches and boxed apple juice for each of us. The train was to depart the station at 7:00 p.m. and actually took off much closer to that than expected – at 7:15. A couple traveling with their little boy joined us in the compartment and another gentleman more or less drifted in and out of our section. Since Cassandra evidently decided to move to another section, and had left her bags on her bunk, the gentleman located onto her bunk and set up his office – complete with laptop computer, mobile phone and several file folders.
In conversation with the couple, I learned they lived in Udaipur and were traveling there on the overnight train. Since I had taken that same train a few years ago, I knew what they faced – jostling back and forth for the ensuing twelve hours. Their little boy was ten-and-a-half months old, and a very curious and active little boy. The dad is the food and beverage manager for the Oberoi Hotel in Udaipur, while the mom was working in human resources for the same hotel. This is located in the lake at Udaipur, and is rated to be the second most beautiful hotel in the world. The lake where the hotel is located is the same lake used in the filming of a James Bond thriller – OCTOPUSY. The mom’s job at the hotel is to train the staff. I offered to be a “training tourist” for her, willing to come to the hotel and to work with the staff in what western travelers want and how they wish to be treated. For some reason, she did not take me up on my offer. I did leave her with my card, so one never knows what might happen in the future.
Since our portion of the travel was to take about five hours, some decided to sit up and talk until we arrived. Pallavi had left to sit with other members of the team, but since she had placed her valuables on my bunk, I did not feel I should leave until or unless she returned. I decided to lie down and to catch a few minutes of sleep, but since I felt a responsibility to guard Pallavi’s belongings, I wedged those items between my body and the wall. This proved to be a challenge to maybe sleep for a while, and at the same time remain against the wall. I did drift off for a few minutes, but no serious sleeping time. The dad and the other gentleman climbed up into their bunks, and the mom and baby boy settled down onto Pallavi’s bunk. After what seemed to be ten hours, but was really five, Pallavi returned to tell me we would arrive in the train station in Ranthambore in about fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, the information she had from the conductor was a bit off, and in truth, about another hour passed before we came to a stop at the station.
We all filed out one end of the train car, bringing our bags with us and looked up and down the platform until, in the distance, we saw Ragu walking toward us. Even at 12:30 in the morning, it was nice to see a familiar face. We walked up the ramp and over the tracks to the other side, and along the platform until reaching the station house. When we exited, we saw Suresh bringing the bus around into the parking lot. We all greeted the two men and sat in what had almost become assigned seats over the past week, and they drove us to TIGER MOON, where we would sleep in for a few hours before going out on a chilly early morning safari to hunt for tigers.
The assistant manager at Tiger Moon welcomed me back and when we entered the reception area, I recognized the guide I had last year and five years before. I had taken a picture of the two of us last year, and when he came to ask for copies of our passports, I handed him a print of the photo, and he looked at it, looked up and me and then welcomed me with a big embrace. Rakesh was now working full-time at Tiger Moon. We were all assigned to our cabins or tents, and the porters brought our bags to us. I had opted for a tent, and actually was brought to the same tent I had shared the year before with Lawrence Furbish from my Rotary Club in Maine. It took me about five minutes to climb under the covers and fall sound asleep. This did not come before the winds began to strengthen, and I drifted off to the sounds of tent canvas flapping. The tent canvass used in this instance, however, was not your ordinary “army issue” drab olive green – these tents were khaki canvas on the outside, but the interiors were sort of a blue denim canvas with beautiful embroidery on the walls and the curtain flaps. The doors are zippable from the inside or the outside and for security; one has a padlock and key to catch both zipper pulls. The bathroom was to the left of the dressing room, and had marble floors and tile shower stalls. Was this to be my very first SHOWER? I would find out later that day. Up until now, I had taken bucket baths – sometimes warm and other times bone-chilling cold.
In only a few hours, I awoke to the quite “good morning, such” outside my tent. We were all going to go out on the early morning safari hunting for tigers. Last year I had seen four tigers on one such hunt, and was hoping my teammates and I would have a similar experience today. All bundled up, we wiped the sleepy seeds from our eyes and wandered the meandering paths to the registration office we had seen four or five hours previous, and waited for the open Jeep truck to meet us. Rakesh was already out at the gate, waiting for the truck to arrive, and suggested I might wish to sit in the front with the driver. I told him I would be fine in the back of the truck and that I wanted others to be able to enjoy that position. Memory was not kicking in as yet, and once we started careening down the village roads to the tiger preserve, I realized why my friend, Rakesh had suggested the front seat – the cold morning air, coupled with a velocity created by our speed, served as a reminder of the temperatures folks at home might be experiencing. Fortunately, I had a large scarf I had been given on one previous trip to India, and that kept me pretty warm, beneath my jacket.
The rest of the team boarded the truck, and we were off. It might just have been the INDY 500, the way we sped through the village. It is important to note, however, that the earlier one’s truck arrives at the gate and registration building at the tiger preserve, the more apt the guide is to be able to secure entry into the better sections of the preserve, maximizing the chance of seeing tigers. Even though the guides are in a lottery, there is no good reason why a bribe here or there might not also help the effort. We were assigned to enter Zone 4, and so began the incredible bumpy ride along dirt roads (?). It was still pretty dark, and a good time to be there, since movement of the tigers generally begins around sunrise. Just before turning into Zone 4, we were parked for a few minutes and the magpies or Indian Pies flocked to the trees above our heads. I held out my hand and one landed on my finger and stayed there for at least two minutes. I think it was waiting for me to produce some bread, or some seeds. I had none, so the bird finally flew away to another victim. These birds look somewhat like an Evening Grosbeak, but are about twice the size – almost like a small crow.
Once along the road, we saw lots of wildlife: spotted deer, Sambar deer, peacocks and their mates, partridge, pheasant, woodpeckers (a very rare sight, we were told by the guide) spotted deer and more spotted deer, crocodiles both large and small, kingfisher birds. At one point, we stopped to watch as two huge buck Sambar deer engaged in battle on the hill across the river. The clash of the antlers and the moans from each upon impact with his rival stirred our senses and most of us seemed a bit keener on observing the wildlife about us. We drove toward the fort in the distance – this fort having been built in the fifteenth century. We drove up steep hills and down into valleys near the river or the ponds. Most of the trees were void of foliage, and I cannot even imagine what it must be like to go out on safari when the trees are fully covered in leaves. We saw families of monkeys who stared at us almost as much as we stared at them. We listened for birds in the distance, monkeys in the distance and deer in the distance, ever hopeful we might catch a warning call being passed on through the jungle or across the plain. You have probably guessed by now that since I have listed all of the wildlife we DID see, we did not see any tigers that morning. We saw paw prints on the dusty roads, but no tigers. When we returned to Tiger Moon, we were greeted once more by the manager, and brought to the dining building for a hearty breakfast. Although the sun was fully risen, a hot cup of chai or coffee served to warm the bones. Following breakfast, we returned to our cabins or tents for hot showers and a bit of relaxation. A few of us wandered down to the shop just outside the main gate to the facility, and looked at the array of bedspreads, table cloths, clothing, jewelry and paintings on silk.
Pallavi had spoken with us and asked if any would be interested in a walk-about through the village, and most of us went. Rakesh served as our guide. Once out on the main road, we crossed and entered the schoolyard. The children were well dressed and sitting on the floor of their classrooms, learning math and other subjects. Outside in the courtyard or playground, a woman was cooking up what smelled like a wonderful and flavorful soup to feed to the children for their lunch. We poked our heads into various classrooms and were greeted first with questioning stares that broadened into typical Indian smiles. After leaving from the school, we wandered along the alleys and came to a Hindu temple. We were invited to enter, which some of us did, and smelled the incense burning, and heard the soft mantras being chanted by a priest or an elder from behind a masonry wall. A few of us were given tikkas by Pallavi, after she had offered prayers inside the temple. A tikka is the red spot or smear, placed just above the nose, in the center of one’s forehead. We resumed our walk, and came to an old woman at a well hand pump in front of her house. She and Pallavi began talking. She invited us into her house, but we did not wish to disturb her family, so declined her offer. The conversation was quite lively, as she told us that she was mixing some herbal medicines to smear on her arms. This medicine was to take away the aches and pains of arthritis and she was certainly convincing in her belief that the salve worked to relieve her discomfort. We then came around a corner and were taken by the lovely wall paintings indicating “Wel Come” outside the doors to the homes. There were other more native looking paintings of white on the terra cotta walls, depicting animals and people, flowers and peacocks. Another turn to our left and we were in the commercial district of the tiny village. We saw tailors working at their treadle sewing machines, while others ironed shirts or pants with coal-burning flatirons. We saw shops that offered food and others that offered jewelry. Dianne purchased a bracelet of silver beads, and
Sean took a picture of one tailor’s sewing machine that he promised he would print and send to the tailor, when he gets back to Newfoundland. The jewelry was mostly silver and very typical of Rajasthan. We made it back to Tiger Moon in time for lunch, and perhaps a Kingfisher beer or two. We met a couple from Scotland – she being a member of Rotary in Glasgow. They had been out on our early morning safari and had been the ones who got the seats in the front with the driver. We told them about what we were doing – a bit of travel following the NID and the work project. She gave me her card and indicated that perhaps they might be interested in next year’s trip, and to let her know the details.
Following lunch, we returned to the parking area to catch the next open truck into the preserve. This would be at least a three-hour journey. Guess what? We saw spotted deer, Sambar deer, Indian pies, partridge, pheasant, peacocks and peahens, jungle crows, crocodiles, more spotted deer and Sambar deer. When we came to a halt near one of the new pools being created by the government, to attract the tigers, we noticed the spotted deer almost frozen in their tracks. We listened intently and heard the warning cries of birds, monkeys and the spotted deer. We stayed there easily for ten minutes. Another Jeep arrived on the scene as the guide in that group had also heard those warning calls. We pushed on, deeper into the preserve, hoping to hear more calls and to be able to follow them to the source of agitation – the presence of a tiger or two. Our efforts were in vain, however, as no tigers were seen by any of the groups in the various zones. We did stop at a tent outpost, where guides are posted for a couple of weeks at a time. They had not seen any deer, either. Our friend, Rakesh, did procure some plaster castings of tiger prints along the roads and gave each of us one of them as a souvenir. I am not sure if this is the “next best thing”, but it was a kind gesture on his part. Finally, it was time to return back to Tiger Moon for relaxation, attitude adjustment and a campfire dinner. Just as we approached the last checkpoint, where all guides stop before entering the zones, we were startled to see everyone looking up to the top of the mountain. Way off in the distance, we could see the head of a leopard, which was lying down close to the precipice. He was in no hurry to depart, almost sensing the excitement generated by his appearance. We stayed there for almost a half-hour, since Jeep after jeep jammed into the area, thereby blocking any hope of extricating our Jeep from the tangle of twenty or thirty vehicles. That was to be it for the day. None of the guides had seen any tigers so views of the leopard through binoculars or sophisticated cameras would have to do it for all of us.
Back at Tiger Moon, we had some free time to shop or take a nap, before returning to the outside picnic area for a barbecue, Rajasthani style. As we gathered at the site, a few musicians from the area serenaded us. One of the young men, as well as a young woman, also served as dancers, sharing some typical dances from the area. We were served drinks and full plates of food, which again peaked our taste buds. The food was delicious. I finished my plate of food – a great selection of vegetables, and decided on an early night, since we would be getting up early the next day for breakfast and departure to our next destination. As I was about to leave the campfire, the dancing and the music, we were all informed that dinner would be served inside the dining room! We were all startled to learn the food up until now was starters and the entrée offerings were along the buffet table. Yet another surprise of our journey.
To bed in my tent for a really great sleep…
In conversation with the couple, I learned they lived in Udaipur and were traveling there on the overnight train. Since I had taken that same train a few years ago, I knew what they faced – jostling back and forth for the ensuing twelve hours. Their little boy was ten-and-a-half months old, and a very curious and active little boy. The dad is the food and beverage manager for the Oberoi Hotel in Udaipur, while the mom was working in human resources for the same hotel. This is located in the lake at Udaipur, and is rated to be the second most beautiful hotel in the world. The lake where the hotel is located is the same lake used in the filming of a James Bond thriller – OCTOPUSY. The mom’s job at the hotel is to train the staff. I offered to be a “training tourist” for her, willing to come to the hotel and to work with the staff in what western travelers want and how they wish to be treated. For some reason, she did not take me up on my offer. I did leave her with my card, so one never knows what might happen in the future.
Since our portion of the travel was to take about five hours, some decided to sit up and talk until we arrived. Pallavi had left to sit with other members of the team, but since she had placed her valuables on my bunk, I did not feel I should leave until or unless she returned. I decided to lie down and to catch a few minutes of sleep, but since I felt a responsibility to guard Pallavi’s belongings, I wedged those items between my body and the wall. This proved to be a challenge to maybe sleep for a while, and at the same time remain against the wall. I did drift off for a few minutes, but no serious sleeping time. The dad and the other gentleman climbed up into their bunks, and the mom and baby boy settled down onto Pallavi’s bunk. After what seemed to be ten hours, but was really five, Pallavi returned to tell me we would arrive in the train station in Ranthambore in about fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, the information she had from the conductor was a bit off, and in truth, about another hour passed before we came to a stop at the station.
We all filed out one end of the train car, bringing our bags with us and looked up and down the platform until, in the distance, we saw Ragu walking toward us. Even at 12:30 in the morning, it was nice to see a familiar face. We walked up the ramp and over the tracks to the other side, and along the platform until reaching the station house. When we exited, we saw Suresh bringing the bus around into the parking lot. We all greeted the two men and sat in what had almost become assigned seats over the past week, and they drove us to TIGER MOON, where we would sleep in for a few hours before going out on a chilly early morning safari to hunt for tigers.
The assistant manager at Tiger Moon welcomed me back and when we entered the reception area, I recognized the guide I had last year and five years before. I had taken a picture of the two of us last year, and when he came to ask for copies of our passports, I handed him a print of the photo, and he looked at it, looked up and me and then welcomed me with a big embrace. Rakesh was now working full-time at Tiger Moon. We were all assigned to our cabins or tents, and the porters brought our bags to us. I had opted for a tent, and actually was brought to the same tent I had shared the year before with Lawrence Furbish from my Rotary Club in Maine. It took me about five minutes to climb under the covers and fall sound asleep. This did not come before the winds began to strengthen, and I drifted off to the sounds of tent canvas flapping. The tent canvass used in this instance, however, was not your ordinary “army issue” drab olive green – these tents were khaki canvas on the outside, but the interiors were sort of a blue denim canvas with beautiful embroidery on the walls and the curtain flaps. The doors are zippable from the inside or the outside and for security; one has a padlock and key to catch both zipper pulls. The bathroom was to the left of the dressing room, and had marble floors and tile shower stalls. Was this to be my very first SHOWER? I would find out later that day. Up until now, I had taken bucket baths – sometimes warm and other times bone-chilling cold.
In only a few hours, I awoke to the quite “good morning, such” outside my tent. We were all going to go out on the early morning safari hunting for tigers. Last year I had seen four tigers on one such hunt, and was hoping my teammates and I would have a similar experience today. All bundled up, we wiped the sleepy seeds from our eyes and wandered the meandering paths to the registration office we had seen four or five hours previous, and waited for the open Jeep truck to meet us. Rakesh was already out at the gate, waiting for the truck to arrive, and suggested I might wish to sit in the front with the driver. I told him I would be fine in the back of the truck and that I wanted others to be able to enjoy that position. Memory was not kicking in as yet, and once we started careening down the village roads to the tiger preserve, I realized why my friend, Rakesh had suggested the front seat – the cold morning air, coupled with a velocity created by our speed, served as a reminder of the temperatures folks at home might be experiencing. Fortunately, I had a large scarf I had been given on one previous trip to India, and that kept me pretty warm, beneath my jacket.
The rest of the team boarded the truck, and we were off. It might just have been the INDY 500, the way we sped through the village. It is important to note, however, that the earlier one’s truck arrives at the gate and registration building at the tiger preserve, the more apt the guide is to be able to secure entry into the better sections of the preserve, maximizing the chance of seeing tigers. Even though the guides are in a lottery, there is no good reason why a bribe here or there might not also help the effort. We were assigned to enter Zone 4, and so began the incredible bumpy ride along dirt roads (?). It was still pretty dark, and a good time to be there, since movement of the tigers generally begins around sunrise. Just before turning into Zone 4, we were parked for a few minutes and the magpies or Indian Pies flocked to the trees above our heads. I held out my hand and one landed on my finger and stayed there for at least two minutes. I think it was waiting for me to produce some bread, or some seeds. I had none, so the bird finally flew away to another victim. These birds look somewhat like an Evening Grosbeak, but are about twice the size – almost like a small crow.
Once along the road, we saw lots of wildlife: spotted deer, Sambar deer, peacocks and their mates, partridge, pheasant, woodpeckers (a very rare sight, we were told by the guide) spotted deer and more spotted deer, crocodiles both large and small, kingfisher birds. At one point, we stopped to watch as two huge buck Sambar deer engaged in battle on the hill across the river. The clash of the antlers and the moans from each upon impact with his rival stirred our senses and most of us seemed a bit keener on observing the wildlife about us. We drove toward the fort in the distance – this fort having been built in the fifteenth century. We drove up steep hills and down into valleys near the river or the ponds. Most of the trees were void of foliage, and I cannot even imagine what it must be like to go out on safari when the trees are fully covered in leaves. We saw families of monkeys who stared at us almost as much as we stared at them. We listened for birds in the distance, monkeys in the distance and deer in the distance, ever hopeful we might catch a warning call being passed on through the jungle or across the plain. You have probably guessed by now that since I have listed all of the wildlife we DID see, we did not see any tigers that morning. We saw paw prints on the dusty roads, but no tigers. When we returned to Tiger Moon, we were greeted once more by the manager, and brought to the dining building for a hearty breakfast. Although the sun was fully risen, a hot cup of chai or coffee served to warm the bones. Following breakfast, we returned to our cabins or tents for hot showers and a bit of relaxation. A few of us wandered down to the shop just outside the main gate to the facility, and looked at the array of bedspreads, table cloths, clothing, jewelry and paintings on silk.
Pallavi had spoken with us and asked if any would be interested in a walk-about through the village, and most of us went. Rakesh served as our guide. Once out on the main road, we crossed and entered the schoolyard. The children were well dressed and sitting on the floor of their classrooms, learning math and other subjects. Outside in the courtyard or playground, a woman was cooking up what smelled like a wonderful and flavorful soup to feed to the children for their lunch. We poked our heads into various classrooms and were greeted first with questioning stares that broadened into typical Indian smiles. After leaving from the school, we wandered along the alleys and came to a Hindu temple. We were invited to enter, which some of us did, and smelled the incense burning, and heard the soft mantras being chanted by a priest or an elder from behind a masonry wall. A few of us were given tikkas by Pallavi, after she had offered prayers inside the temple. A tikka is the red spot or smear, placed just above the nose, in the center of one’s forehead. We resumed our walk, and came to an old woman at a well hand pump in front of her house. She and Pallavi began talking. She invited us into her house, but we did not wish to disturb her family, so declined her offer. The conversation was quite lively, as she told us that she was mixing some herbal medicines to smear on her arms. This medicine was to take away the aches and pains of arthritis and she was certainly convincing in her belief that the salve worked to relieve her discomfort. We then came around a corner and were taken by the lovely wall paintings indicating “Wel Come” outside the doors to the homes. There were other more native looking paintings of white on the terra cotta walls, depicting animals and people, flowers and peacocks. Another turn to our left and we were in the commercial district of the tiny village. We saw tailors working at their treadle sewing machines, while others ironed shirts or pants with coal-burning flatirons. We saw shops that offered food and others that offered jewelry. Dianne purchased a bracelet of silver beads, and
Sean took a picture of one tailor’s sewing machine that he promised he would print and send to the tailor, when he gets back to Newfoundland. The jewelry was mostly silver and very typical of Rajasthan. We made it back to Tiger Moon in time for lunch, and perhaps a Kingfisher beer or two. We met a couple from Scotland – she being a member of Rotary in Glasgow. They had been out on our early morning safari and had been the ones who got the seats in the front with the driver. We told them about what we were doing – a bit of travel following the NID and the work project. She gave me her card and indicated that perhaps they might be interested in next year’s trip, and to let her know the details.
Following lunch, we returned to the parking area to catch the next open truck into the preserve. This would be at least a three-hour journey. Guess what? We saw spotted deer, Sambar deer, Indian pies, partridge, pheasant, peacocks and peahens, jungle crows, crocodiles, more spotted deer and Sambar deer. When we came to a halt near one of the new pools being created by the government, to attract the tigers, we noticed the spotted deer almost frozen in their tracks. We listened intently and heard the warning cries of birds, monkeys and the spotted deer. We stayed there easily for ten minutes. Another Jeep arrived on the scene as the guide in that group had also heard those warning calls. We pushed on, deeper into the preserve, hoping to hear more calls and to be able to follow them to the source of agitation – the presence of a tiger or two. Our efforts were in vain, however, as no tigers were seen by any of the groups in the various zones. We did stop at a tent outpost, where guides are posted for a couple of weeks at a time. They had not seen any deer, either. Our friend, Rakesh, did procure some plaster castings of tiger prints along the roads and gave each of us one of them as a souvenir. I am not sure if this is the “next best thing”, but it was a kind gesture on his part. Finally, it was time to return back to Tiger Moon for relaxation, attitude adjustment and a campfire dinner. Just as we approached the last checkpoint, where all guides stop before entering the zones, we were startled to see everyone looking up to the top of the mountain. Way off in the distance, we could see the head of a leopard, which was lying down close to the precipice. He was in no hurry to depart, almost sensing the excitement generated by his appearance. We stayed there for almost a half-hour, since Jeep after jeep jammed into the area, thereby blocking any hope of extricating our Jeep from the tangle of twenty or thirty vehicles. That was to be it for the day. None of the guides had seen any tigers so views of the leopard through binoculars or sophisticated cameras would have to do it for all of us.
Back at Tiger Moon, we had some free time to shop or take a nap, before returning to the outside picnic area for a barbecue, Rajasthani style. As we gathered at the site, a few musicians from the area serenaded us. One of the young men, as well as a young woman, also served as dancers, sharing some typical dances from the area. We were served drinks and full plates of food, which again peaked our taste buds. The food was delicious. I finished my plate of food – a great selection of vegetables, and decided on an early night, since we would be getting up early the next day for breakfast and departure to our next destination. As I was about to leave the campfire, the dancing and the music, we were all informed that dinner would be served inside the dining room! We were all startled to learn the food up until now was starters and the entrée offerings were along the buffet table. Yet another surprise of our journey.
To bed in my tent for a really great sleep…
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