I forgot to mention that during our visit to Chennai, we visited the famous Kanchi matha in Kanchipuram. A matha is a Hindu or Jain religious establishment that is known to be more hierarchical and structured than an ashram (communities formed usually with a religious head for the purpose of spiritual uplifting of its members). Kanchi matha sure did seem pretty structured, you’d walk in to see many students all wearing the same robes and all reciting/memorizing from religious texts in small groups as they sat on the floor. Reminders of past swamis (spiritual masters) clogged every wall space in the matha with their giant portraits and thoughtful quotes. It was actually kindof terrifying, everyone doing the same thing, looking the same way, dressed the same way, and memorizing religious texts verbatim.

Part of the reason the matha has become so famous is because a recent murder of a previous Kanchi matha employee in 2004 was linked to it. I think there was a story involved about the Indian government keeping millions of dollars at the matha in hopes of laundering it over time, but when they asked for the money back, the matha refused to return it which led to tensions that facilitated the public exposure of the murder and accusations against the matha authorities. The past employee apparently had been speaking out against the misdeeds and monetary mishandlings of the matha before his murder. There was lots of bribery and corruption involved in the whole mess along with influence from the conservative BJP political party. Anyone see the similarity to a mafia? That’s mostly the story I gathered and brought to my attention some part of the significance of the matha we were standing in.

We also got to speak personally with the head swami there who was willing to meet with us. He was interested in things like differences in systems of education and our experiences thus far in India; I asked him for some wise parting words and he responded with something about the importance of devotion. It was an interesting experience, and we felt very privileged to meet with him, but also it’s possible that he wanted to see us mainly for publicity reasons. As Indians were coming up and offering things to him and kissing is feet, he was also engaged in cultural exchange that not only demonstrated his power but also his understanding of diversity. Basically it was likely special treatment for the sake of publicity. Don’t get me wrong everyone in our group loved it though. In any case, the Kanchi matha offered a unique experience and a glimpse into a certain way of life here, including what seemed to me as a good deal of homogeneity, structure, and lack of expression/critical thinking among the place’s members which left a sour taste in my mouth as I left.

So fast forward now…There has been absolutely no time this past week and a half. Two weekends ago I was mostly at the hostel studying and preparing for all my academic pursuits for the following week. Sunday was the culmination of the ten day Ganesh festival, and there was to be a huge crowd in the city with thousands of idols being submerged including the massive +40 foot one, but I decided to stay in and continue to study. Although it would have been a lot of fun to go into the city with my friends (who ended up having a really good time), I don’t regret continuing to work because if I hadn’t put in all the hours I did that weekend (I think it was at least 14), there would have been no way to finish all of it.

On Monday there was a test in history on the historiography of medieval India and social history; I thought that it went very well, I mean I kindof knew exactly what it was going to be on anyway, the questions were predictably “define social history” and “give an account of the Persian method of historiography in medieval India.” No sweat.

Tuesday was my seminar. I’ve been excited for this day for quite a while; a seminar is basically a 20-30 minute presentation about a research topic and involves reading directly from a report to the class. My topic of choice was the music of medieval India (could you have guessed maybe?), and it was a ton of fun to compare Indian and Western musical foundations while I was researching, they’re so incredibly different and based on entirely separate principals. I was eager to present not only because the subject matter interested me, but for the presentation too. No student except one up to that point in the presentations had even made eye contact with the class. And most students read their reports like motors with no inflection and no pause in between sentences. I was ready to wow them with my presentation skills including eye contact and hand motions, but ended up actually just reading like everyone else, the report was written well anyway and I hadn’t had time to really familiarize myself with the information to the point of memorization. I did have great inflection though; and I paused significantly between paragraphs (as if to say “see? it helps to know that there’s a new idea coming…”). I was also kindof nervous for it, the professor has totally shot down previous students, claiming that their research wasn’t pertinent or they didn’t cover a particular topic well enough or missed some crucial detail; fortunately she was pleased with the seminar, only pointing out one composer that I missed. Can’t be perfect right?

Wikipedia is getting me through history. Not only did it help tremendously in my seminar research but it’s a great tool to look up random words and terms that you haven’t heard of before, of which there are a great deal. In a third semester upper graduate-level history class in a different country, certain presumptions can be made about the knowledge the students already possess, namely about India’s past with which I, probably also like you, am completely unfamiliar.

The next day was an Indian Philosophy exam; and the question was probably as open-ended as you could be: “formulate a question on Indian Philosophy and answer it in an essay.” It was so funny to see the other SIP students freaking out about the test because they had no idea of the professor’s expectations; in the States you usually know the material to study for an exam…here, well, it’s different. It’s like *ok, you have two months of lecture notes on Indian Philosophy at your disposal, so ask a question you have and answer it by writing for an hour.* I ended up comparing and contrasting two schools of Philosophy and thought I did well but you never can be too sure about anything here. In any case, I was finished for the week finally and after 5 days packed full of studying, I was off to Goa.

Goa is a prime tourist destination in India; it was a previous Portuguese colony and is known for its great beaches. And also being full of hippies in the 60s and 70s. Melissa, Ben, Harrison, Molly, and I left for Goa on Wednesday evening so we could be there by Thursday and have all of Friday and Saturday before heading back on Sunday. The train was about 12 hours overnight, and we ended up in Hubli, a city on the western edge of Karnatika. From there we were taking a bus to Panaji (Panjim), the capital of Goa (there was no direct train to there from Hyderabad).

I remember the bus station in Hubli being relatively empty and also looking like a haunted house. The ticket stand had its sign painted in front with red paint that bled like a horror movie title; the ceiling was also splotched with dirt and mold, and the glass of the small chandelier in the middle was cracked, opaque with grime, and covered in cobwebs. Such sights aren’t uncommon and we remained pretty unphased by the sight, joking that we were actors in the next “Saw” movie.

The bus to Panjim fortunately arrived within a few minutes and was the only bus we had seen at the station so far. Getting on the bus, I remember touching the head of a seat and feeling wetness, thinking that someone must have been sweating a ton; when I sat down in my seat (carefully selected next to a good window for sightseeing) I realized though that my seat and everyone else’s was soaked like wet sponges. The windows were open and it must have monsooned on the bus’s way to the station or earlier that day; the seats smelled too, like mildew or something, and your butt and back was soaked and smelly all the same. Whatever, I had a seat with a good view and was excited to head out.

I remember Ben saying he’d heard that the roads were awful here. That ended up being an understatement; the roads were indescribably ridiculous to the point of being funny. The potholes were more accurately described as ditches that the driver tried to avoid, but rarely he could physically succeed; the road was full of them, and you could never quite guess how deep one was because all were filled with opaque water (the mud there was actually a bright shade of orange). The bus would rock back and forth to what I would imagine would be its tipping point, and there was no way that you could stay in your seat unless you gripped the bar in front of you firmly. It probably as jostling as many roller coaster rides I’ve been on for the specific purpose of throwing you around.

There were lots of construction trucks also travelling with us who were having just as much trouble as we were, and we spotted at least a few that had broken down alongside the road. Some had even slid off into trenches and been left there for evidently a while, their windows were all smashed and metal rusting. I was hoping this wasn’t our fate, but reassured myself that rides like this happen every day back and forth multiple times and the driver must know how to handle it. Then I wondered how much the bus could take, I mean nothing could indefinitely withstand the punishment we were taking. After particularly huge jolts, the conductor who collected our ticket money would peer out the back of the bus to see if we had left any parts behind.

The scenery was amazing though, we were travelling through high mountains most of the way and you could see forever. When there wasn’t a view I tried to catch up on the readings for the next test I had coming up, but you could imagine how tough that was. If that didn’t work, I’d listen to music or try to sleep, but that failed as well after I hit my head pretty hard. You need to actually ride the bus, like a bull or something and ready for anything; if you simply sit there you will be injured. I was kindof glad anyway that the bumpy ride provided some from of entertainment (you couldn’t help but actually laugh out loud at how ridiculous at times the ride got), as the ride was longer than we had expected. We arrived at Panjim almost 8 hours after we left Hubli. Stepping off the bus a little disoriented and still wet and smelly but excited to be on stable ground, we found the first restaurant we saw to eat and go to the restroom (there’s no way to relieve yourself on the bus, you have to hold it).

I was looking forward to seeing some of Panjim’s sights, including an old cathedral built by the Portuguese (that had an organ as well), but the group was deciding to head to the beaches of North Goa. When you travel with others you have to make compromises, and I was excited to get to a beach anyway. So we got on another bus. This ride was more comfortable though and only about an hour and a half.

We arrived in Baga, a popular beach destination, by nightfall and spotted a café with pies and pastries, delicacies that we sorely missed in Hyderabad. There I tried a Goan curry called Xacuti made from coconut and also had some sips of feni, a Goan spirit distilled from cashews or coconut. Feni is the most vile beverage that I’ve ever willingly tried; strong alcohol is harsh to begin with, now fold into your imagination the bitter/sour taste and smell of actual vomit and you have Feni. It was an interesting experience though and is a specialty of Goa!

We found cheap rooms by walking and asking around. Finally being able to put our stuff down after 30 or so hours or travel, we headed to the beach (we could already hear waves crashing and smell salt). Although it was dark, it was great to be at a beach staring at an ocean that you’ve never come across. This wasn’t even the other side of the Atlantic or something; this was an entirely different ocean, and I was facing the opposite side of the African continent. There’s something thrilling about dipping your toes in that.

The next morning we checked out before heading to breakfast on the beach. You could tell that the place we went to was a big tourist place, with tons of tables and a great view coupled with high prices. It was eerie though how no one else was there (except for one woman from New Zealand that we met); evidently the whole place turns into something like a ghost town during the off-season, and tourist season doesn’t begin until October/November. I had come to Goa with exciting, Lonely Planet guidebook-inspired, notions of scuba diving, ayurvedic herbal health clinic visits, and crowded parties, but actually none of it was taking place at all. Even though it was different than I expected, the beach was still nice and that means you can always find something to do, even if it’s just to unwind for a while on the sand and listen to the waves crash.

That afternoon we headed to Mapusa, a city about half an hour east, to shop at the weekly market there. I’ve never been assaulted for money as much as I was there. Ever. There were SO many things to look at and to buy and EVERY vender was SO EAGER to have you look at their stuff. The trip to that market was interesting, but also constituted the worst part of the trip for me. There was a ton of unique stuff to buy, and that meant great souvenirs but also unfamiliar prices that lead to me being really ripped off, which of course I found out later after becoming familiar with the market and how it functioned. I figured it would be a good deal to cut an offered price on some things into a third during haggling. With the prices they were asking for though, usually it wasn’t an acceptable price unless it was under a tenth of the original price. This I found out after someone offered me a blanket that I’ve seen before in Hyderabad (priced at maybe rs.200 ($5)), and asked for rs.3000 ($75) for it. There was loads of deception present there too.

Venders would walk up to you as excited as ever to meet you and talk to you, but they always got you to come back to their shop to look. Whether or not they’re actually interested in talking to you, selling is at least one of their objectives, and you never know if or if not it’s their only objective. In such a case friendly acquaintances you make are really just violating ploys for money, and I discovered this firsthand by the end of the day.

Anita, John, and Anil found me at one of their friend’s stands and proceeded to talk to me, asking about things like how the day was going and how I was liking the market etc. They offered to take me to a restaurant for a break and we talked there further. John was only 14 or so and was excited to answer all my questions about his school and siblings etc. Anita was maybe 19 and told me a lot about her son. Anil was older and more quiet. I wasn’t oblivious, I mean I knew they were wanting me to visit their shops at some point, but I never promised to buy anything and whether or not their stories were true, enjoyed listening to them and having some kind of conversation. Of course the conversations were spotted with *so make sure to visit my shop, I’ll show you* The stories of all the venders seem to be somewhat the same, how they have different merchandise than the other, better quality than another, more variety than another, better prices than another, even stories like *my husband beats me because I don’t bring in enough profit.* It’s all meant to draw you in and feel guilty. Anita also never missed the chance to keep calling me *brother* as if we were family and to issue claims that we were close friends and that she’d like to have my address to write to me after I leave India. This didn’t come out of nowhere, I mean I spent practically the whole afternoon with them and we were talking, laughing, and having a good time just like close friends would.

I willingly visited each of their shops but was disappointed to hear obnoxious prices even at the proposal that they’d each offer me the best price in the whole market. Each also claimed that either they had made their merchandise or some authentic homely figure had, like their grandmother, even though what they were selling was identical to the products I had seen so much already that day. Anita also claimed that the rust I pointed out on one of her anklets was “color” that she had purposefully added for appeal. Whatever it takes to make your merchandise more appealing, right? I bought something small from each of them for prices that I had fortunately negotiated down to being reasonable, even though I could get it in Hyderabad for a little less. Anything in Hyderabad would be less, Goa is a tourist destination. After I had said goodbye to them and was turning to leave, I got a quick glimpse of Anita. She looked at Anil with a sense of exasperation, anger, and disappointment on her face, as if her time had been wasted that I hadn’t bought more or fallen for obnoxious prices.

Although I was disappointed that my money was probably the objective all along, I had had an enjoyable time with them that afternoon, whether or not a genuine acquaintance was made on the other side. They should have realized from the beginning that there’s a risk involved on both ends: It’s a risk for me to get to know you because maybe all you want is my money, at the same time it’s a risk for you because I’m not actually physically obligated to buy any of your stuff, and you may just be wasting your time away if money is the only thing that matters to you. Yeah money is an important endeavor, and a living. Why would you actually say that you got your products from some other seller if everyone else says that they made their own, (making it more appealing to a market-goer)? You can have your priorities arranged in any way, but the problem is that you never know what someone else’s priorities really are—centered on genuine interaction like it seems or on ploys for money like it always may be. It’s just like I have no way of actually knowing if your grandmother made what you’re selling me. I feel really bad for first-time-in-India tourists there; they would have no perspective of how expensive things actually are and may think that the prices they’re paying are actually sane.

Heading back from Mapusa, we decided to go to Anjuna, a beach just a few kilometers north of Baga; the ocean views there are superb, and you can see the angry water smashing into the steady rocks at the feet of cliffs. After dinner and chai, we headed down the beach in search of lodging. So many girls on the beach were eager to sell to us, having trinkets like ankle bracelets and necklaces in nearby shops. Here’s a typical conversation we’d have at least several times everyday: *Hello, sir!* “Hi.” *First time in India?* “Not really, we study in Hyderabad.” *OH, Hyderabad…you are liking India?* “Yep.” *Good! What is your name?* “Matt.” *Hi Matt! My name is Anita* “Hi, Anita.” *Hi! So can I tell you one thing?* “Ok.” *You just come look my shop, right over there* “No, thanks.” *Just look, no price for looking* “No.” *There is no charge for looking* “I have no more rupees with me.” *That’s fine, you can just have a look, then maybe you can buy something later* “I told you, I have no more money” *Just look then, there’s no fee for looking! Go ahead and have a look and then maybe you can buy later* “Ok, bye” *Sir! Sir! I make you VERY good price* “No, thanks.” *You name your price, I make it for you* “I have no more rupees, goodbye” *Ok well I make you good price later then, you will come by tomorrow?* “Maybe” *Ok you have free looking tomorrow and I make a good price for you* “Bye” *Ok promise you’ll come by tomorrow?* “Bye, Anita” *Ok see you later then, you come look my shop* “…”

It’s that bad. And there’s dozens of them. Learning how to ignore is a must.

We eventually found cheap rooms ($5 a night for 4 people) just a short walk from the beach and reserved several, there was a lot more people coming. So far there was only 5 of us, but that evening Batia, Thy, Rachel, Tori, Cat, Tes, and Spencer were due to arrive in Goa and were planning on meeting up with us. We felt incredibly sorry that they were going to have to endure +24 hour journeys each way for just like one day in Goa, and imagined what their reactions were going to be about the bus ride to Panjim from Hubli.

I remember Batia calling me on my cell phone: *MATT I’m so glad I got a hold of you.* “Hi Batia!” *HEY, so we just arrived in Panjim…where are you guys exactly?* “Ok, so we’re at a place called Anjuna, you’ll need to get a bus here, probably through Mapusa, then to Anjuna” *You mean we have to get on ANOTHER bus?* “Haha, yeah, it’s only like another hour or two” *Oh my GOD I can’t believe we’re getting on another bus…* I was cracking up the whole conversation just imagining the look on their faces when they realized that their journey wasn’t quite over yet.

When we started walking to meet them it was already dark; with all the venders gone, Anjuna was like a ghost town and we had to use the flashlights on our phones to navigate the narrow paths in between the town buildings up to the bus junction. Although walking in blackness with dogs rustling around at your feet and cows periodically blocking the path that you wouldn’t see until you were face to face was actually pretty terrifying, I was really excited to meet up with the other people; it felt kindof like waiting for the rest of your family to arrive for a holiday.

The other half of the group was as excited to meet us as we were to meet them, and they were eager to see the beach too, having had time to anticipate it for well over a day of travel. After everyone had their stuff settled in the rooms, we all headed to the beach and made a bonfire. That night was a ton of fun, talking and laughing around the fire, listening to the ocean in front of us, and peering at the stars. We also met some Indians, Ankit, Virod, Ashu, and “Ok” (easy-to-remember nickname) from Jaipur who were touring around the beaches. They were so much fun to talk to; none of them had known each other either before coming to Goa, they just met up randomly and found that they were all from Jaipur. Anyway I can’t even remember all that we talked about specifically, but it sure did include everything. We were talking on the beach until maybe 6 in the morning before heading back to our rooms.

On the way back, Ankit and crew took some of us back to the rooms by bike. We approached an intersection of town with a circular flowerbed in the middle and made a right through the intersection by going counterclockwise around the circle for part of the way. Well, the police would have none of that. You were to go clockwise around it to maintain staying on the left hand side of the street (even if there was absolutely no one else around), and just as we were about to leave the intersection, we heard whistling from the police. Our three bikes stopped, two officers came over to us, and I have no idea what was said the whole time; I just stood aside and watched. A lot of arguing went on, Ankit and them were trying to make the argument that it was their first time in the area and they didn’t know the city rules etc. The police were remarkably uncompromising, especially because we didn’t have licenses with us (just what they were hoping for). Our rented bikes were “impounded” and we were to go to the station to pick them up later, each for rs.1000 ($25); with bureaucratic processing though, it was going to be at least a month or more before we’d be able to retrieve them. The bikes were rented; we were leaving in a few days…that wasn’t going to work at all. One of the officers took a key from us, started the bike, and drove away as we begged him to accept a bribe. The remaining officer issued an offering bribe of rs.1000 (only a third of what we were going to have to pay but still ridiculous, usually bribes don’t go above a few hundred…I think in Delhi there’s a legislated cap on police bribes at only rs.600). After some time, he agreed to rs.700 and called back the officer who had driven away.

Although I didn’t say anything, I was really angry at the officers for not being more accommodating and for making such a big deal out of the situation. It doesn’t seem like they’re as interested in enforcing the law as they are catching easy targets on the hope they can charge them on some violation and get a bribe in return. The Indians with me were just as angry, but more accustomed to the whole process. I guess the officer at least brought the bike back finally and didn’t make us go through the whole impounding process…for a price. Maybe I should be thankful? No, no not really I don’t think. You could also smell alcohol on the officers’ breath. I guess they get pretty bored sitting up all night waiting for pour souls like us to turn at a wrong angle.

The next day Melissa, Ben, Harrison, and I hiked over this mountain on the coast; its base was right at the ocean and the views were spectacular. Sometimes we stopped for some time just to take it all in. We happened upon some coastal resorts which were for the most part empty; they looked like fine places, very secluded and not too developed, sitting on the steep hill that began at the beach and continued up the face of the mountain. We were approached by some venders; they really have nothing to do. For like 8 months of the year, nothing to do. Believe me, I’ve talked to them, they save up during the tourist season (November through February) and then wait for the next season to start up. At the end of the off-season, I bet they’re pretty excited to see some white faces (aka, potential buyers).

There wasn’t that much trash along the beach, but walking along it you could see shiny oil residue over the footprints you just made; sometimes you could kindof notice oil in the water too. Some beaches are worse than others; the part we had been swimming in was fortunately less polluted. We stopped to eat at this oceanfront restaurant that was terraced and had tables directly facing out to the ocean…perfect. It wasn’t difficult to enjoy our banana lassis, spinach cashew curries, and pizzas with such a view in front of us. The manager (from Scotland actually) was telling me that the monsoon season washes away the beach sand and exposes all the boulders underneath; that’s why it was so rocky. During the tourist season though, the ocean brings the sand back to the shoreline and the beaches become flat (covering the rocks) and completely white. He said that the beach makes its way right up to the edge of his restaurant and sometimes the waves lap in. After sufficiently enjoying the scenery (in addition to the herd of cows sunbathing in the sand) and feeling like we were actually on vacation, we headed back across the mountain back to Anjuna.

After enjoying the waves crashing into the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff in Anjuna, Harrison, Tori, Batia, Rachel, and I ate in an open-air restaurant; the malai kofta there was delicious, the vegetable balls had a hint of peanut butter flavor and the curry sauce tasted a tad like candy. We spent a lot of time talking, especially about grievances that I’ve heard SIP girls make before about socializing in India. First of all, the Indian girls here are used to not being as vocal as we were and it can be pretty difficult to start up an interesting conversation with them sometimes, let alone forge a friendship. Additionally and more upsettingly, it can never be known for sure why exactly an Indian man is talking to you (if you were a female). So many times SIP girls have had conversations with Indian men and realized at some point that verbal interaction was not exactly what they were after… It was hard for me to imagine really, I mean I (being a guy) have more conversations with people than I need with no such problem (although you have to keep in mind a vender’s potential deceit). The girls explained it to me by putting me in the hypothetical scenario of talking to someone all the while noting in the back of your mind that the other person doesn’t really think of you as another human being. I’m sure not all men here are this way, but at the least many men here do stereotype the American girl to be significantly more promiscuous than those in India. I guess you never really do know what someone else is actually thinking.

Oh I also met an Indian who was present in the Andaman Islands when the tsunami hit a few years ago. He recounted the story to me, saying how he had woken up early and saw the ocean rising up in the distance. As people began to realize that it was a massive wave, a frenzy erupted as people tried to wake their family and friends from sleep to search for high ground. He said he ran as fast as he could up the hill behind the village, just high enough to avoid the wave but in plain view of everything, including all his possessions and many people, being crushed by the wave or swept out to sea as it receded.

We spent the evening on the beach again (this time without the bonfire, it had gotten rained out several times the day before anyway), talking and soaking up the beach for the last time before the trip home. I slept pretty well in a bed scattered with sand in a room smelling of our mildew-reeking clothes, but we woke up at 7 am for our journey back home. First the bus to Mapusa, then another to Panjim where we had breakfast before boarding another bus to Hubli. We were all anticipating the +7 hour bus ride back through the bumpy mountains not only because of the great views but for the extreme turbulence as well. Actually maybe some weren’t excited for that part, but I kindof was. Fortunately the seats weren’t soaked this time, that was a big bonus.

Driving on a highway approaching Hubli, passengers from a bus next to us flagged at the driver to stop, pointing at our back wheel. Stopping alongside the road to investigate, we saw that the hubcap thing was bent and the tire was sliding off. Yes, the bus was falling apart. No big deal though, we had a spare underneath the bus and the whole situation only delayed us half an hour or so. The huge faulty tire had nowhere else to go but the aisle inside the bus, tied to a seat with a thin rope that looked ready to snap at any moment.

We made it to Hubli in time to eat some dinner, although most places didn’t start dinner until 7 pm. I was wiped out from the weekend and fell asleep really early on the train, even though everyone around me was awake with the lights on and the bed I had was one of the short ones on the side that was barely big enough for me to curl up on. Out like a light, I woke up 12 hours later at Lingampally train station in Hyderabad having slobbered all over my backpack that I was using for a pillow, a satisfying way to end a trip.

Goa had been the best of times and worst of times; although I was ripped off (at my own fault, I should have been more careful) and had experiences of people being much more interested in your money than the superficial conversations they were having with you, the coastal views were amazing along with the company, including our new friends from Jaipur who I’d like to visit at some point. It was an experience that was relaxing like a vacation, but at the same time was educational because we all learned something more about how to conduct ourselves in this country and how to perceive other people’s behavior as well. Getting acquainted with a completely different society like this one is an ongoing process that can take years, and you learn it best through direct experience.

We got back to the university in time for me to take an Indian Society test on the politics of caste and caste vs. class. I didn’t study as much for it as I did for the first test (also on the nature of caste), mostly because I wasn’t sure exactly what to focus on out of the thousands of pages of readings the professor had given us. My score on the first test was 11.5/20. I’m used to that being a failing grade, but I sure did see many that were much lower and my Indian friends were “wowed” at my 11.5. I just couldn’t get jazzed about it though, especially because I thought I did so well, having written a ton of stuff from the readings which is exactly what the professor claimed to expect. Quantity seems to be more of value here than quality; it’s more about ‘how much do you know’ as opposed to what I’m used to which is ‘how creatively can we discuss or communicate what we know in a pertinent way’. In any case, I thought I did better than an 11.5. It will be interesting to see my next grade. Will correlate with my lack of studying and be even lower? Or, maybe my practically meaningless fluff will be deeply appreciated by the professor? You can just never know for sure…

In any case, I was glad to be done with heavy academic work for the time being, in a week and a half I had prepared an entire seminar and taken three tests. Each class only has three tests in a semester, so I was already finished with a big chunk of grades. Finally I can take a break and unwind for a while (as if vacationing to famous beaches wasn’t relaxing enough).

So anyway it was also exciting to get back to my room and unpack, along with taking a shower. I was so dirty from Goa and the trip back that you could actually see the dirt in the water that was washing off of me. So refreshing. The first thing I noticed in my room as I was putting my backpack down was watermelon seeds on my desk. I didn’t think much of it, but it was confusing because there’s never been a watermelon near my room. It got more mysterious when I saw them scattered about my bed. Taking a closer look, I realized my watermelon seeds were actually rodent droppings, and they were everywhere. Shaking them out of my sheets and brushing them out of the room, I also found half eaten crackers, cookies, and slices of bread that had been dragged in from outside. Some lucky rat definitely had quite the party while I was away! It hadn’t mattered at all that I don’t keep available food in my room, my guest was happy to supply his own if there was space to scurry around in and comfy bed sheets to dirty up. Maybe it was a blessing that there were droppings on my bed, the sheets really needed to be washed anyway, and this forced me to do it alright. That night he came to visit me again, waking me up by crawling up my arm. Jumping up and throwing on the lights, I opened the door wide hoping he’d just leave. Within 30 seconds the papers under my bed started rustling and the rat in plain view waddled out from under the bed, across the room, out the door, and down the hallway. Simple as that. He was a big sucker with a body at least as long as your hand, but still he could squeeze under the doorframe. I noticed when I had to shoo him out on two separate occasions a few days later; he woke me up first by tickling my feet and then again my crawling next to my face, each time I opened the door and even verbally commanded it to leave. Each time it comically seemed to obey. I’m still finding droppings around my room sometimes, so it seems he comes in and out; I can’t find him during the day but maybe he’s a good hider. I’m working on taping my mosquito netting at the base of the door to let him know that he’s not welcome, more word later on whether or not that works out.

Last weekend was a trip to Chennai (a city on the eastern coast in the state Tamil Nadu) and surrounding areas, organized by CIEE. I was very excited to spend time with the CIEE students; although many of the other SIP students are nice and interesting people, the CIEE students share a special connection with each other like students from the same elementary school or middle school share in a high school setting. It was going to be like a reunion from the Walden, the resort that all of us had stayed at upon initially arriving in the country. That was already two whole months ago.

Of course we had a motorcoach take us to the train station. I realized then that we'd have one wherever we go. I don't know whether or not that's the only transportation available for a group of 22+ people, or whether CIEE was just keen on providing a comfortable environment for us, but whatever the case I was always uncomfortable boarding and disembarking from such an obnoxious vehicle. Compared to the low-lying rickshaws, motorcycles, and rusty buses, a motorcoach ("a/c equipped" appropriately advertised on the side) was a message that those inside were pretty special people...or at least highly privileged. Now take the fact that it was full of white people in a sea of Indians. In a very noticeable way it separated us from the society, us peering down at passers-by either looking back at you to see who was inside or just going about everyday business.

Melissa and I talked a great deal on the train about traveling; she is disappointed in the structure that CIEE provides...or rather requires. I knew what she was talking about, I mean we're provided with food every meal even if we're not hungry, provided with train tickets and hotel rooms that are much nicer than what you'd get for "budget" prices, shuttled around without much say in where we were going or what we'd do when we'd get there, and much of the time prompted to participate in stereotypically "tourist" activities. At the same time the purpose of CIEE is to provide some kind of structured environment in which students can participate in other cultures, that's what makes participating in it different from traveling on your own. Additionally, because of the number of students involved, some generally comfortable baseline has to be established or else you're likely to get complaints. Not everyone in the world shares Melissa's and my "budget," anti-tourist attitudes. Lastly, think about how much of a pickle they would be in if a student were injured or worse; no one would want to participate in an organization with significant risks involved. For the sake of the continuity of the program, our protection needed to be surely ascertained, hence why they schedule enough to do so that we don't have much time to go on our own. This is also probably why the SIP guest house is so well protected with fences, watchmen, and curfew rules prohibiting non-SIP students from entering the grounds after 10 pm. Although I knew where Melissa was coming from, I also knew where CIEE was coming from and wanted to appreciate the trip for just what it was, not getting hung up on what I wanted it to be. You learn quite a bit about someone when you travel with them, and just knowing exactly how people like to travel and what they hope to glean from traveling is enough to expose much of any person's values and personal story.

So we were put in the a/c three tier train class. On these trains, there are many ways to travel. General seating is just benches (highly uncomfortable for rides that are dozens of hours long and overnight); sleeper class is what I've ridden in before and open to the environment unless you purposefully pull down the window; a/c three tier is of course air conditioned which also means that there is always glass between you and the outside, the beds are also slightly thicker (although arranged in the same way) and sheets, blankets, and pillows are provided; a/c two tier is basically just a nicer version with curtains that pull around the beds; first class is very comfortable (there are only maybe a dozen first class seats) and arranged differently, having separate compartments for each group of four people.

I must say I think I like sleeper class the best. First of all, it's a quarter of the price of the a/c three tier. Plus it's arranged in the same way and I can bring my own sheets anyway. I also like hearing what's going on outside including the clank of the train on the rails. It's soothing. As is the wind on your face. Also if you've had the privilege to talk to me about how I feel about air conditioning in general (that's another story), you could have guessed I'd prefer sleeper class.

There was a motorcoach in Chennai when we arrived the next morning to take us to a nearby hotel where we'd eat. Although we were provided with idli (fermented lentil and rice cakes) with chutney for breakfast on the train, CIEE is a fan of scheduling all-you-can-eat buffets (fortunately so am I). Also they reserved hotel rooms for us to "freshen up." Such an idea looks nice on paper, but when you've just arrived having already expected to spend the weekend wearing more-or-less the same clothes and maybe or maybe not showering, you're more excited to get out and see where you are. Of course I could tell Melissa was feeling the same way.

Whatever...it was what it was, and at the least it was time to socialize with the other students. We weren't in Chennai very long; right after breakfast we were shipped to Kanchipuram, a town a few hours a way famous for both the nearby temples and its high quality saris. There we visited the Kailasanathar temple, built in the 8th century and dedicated to Shiva. The temple's importance dwindled out after the king that built it fell out of power. The separation of church and state isn't really a honored concept here as it is in the States, the temple being an example as it had as much political significance as religious. There also I saw some of the oldest paintings known to India as well as many carvings of Shiva in many poses. We had a guide on our tours and on the bus who was a wealth of information and as interested in answering my questions as I was exited to ask them, a favorable combination. For lunch we ate at a local household that also functioned as a museum, displaying the way of life of a native Tamil Nadu household. That evening we also visited some sari weaving shops.

Sari weaving is completely fascinating. It's extremely difficult to describe and requires a loom the size of a room. Thousands of threads are lined up in the loom and alternated in their up/down positions with foot pedals every time the weaver threads back and forth, creating a weaved scarf. There are also eye-level strings that the weaver anchors every few threadings; these strings are connected intricately to other strings that raise or lower the threads of the sari on the edges of the scarf to generate specific and unique designs. It seemed analogous to playing a pipe organ: The act of threading back and forth generates the product, as does playing a keyboard generate sound; foot pedals are used to alter the position of the whole sari, as the feet are used with an organ to open and close the swell box which alters the volume of the whole keyboard; lastly the combination strings, located at the same position where stops would be, alter the quality of the sari by prompting a specific and unique design, just as stops on an organ create unique and specific qualities of sound. The end products of music and cloth in each activity is the sum of many precise actions that involve the whole body, making each very complicated but fun to watch/listen to.

That evening we stayed at a hotel in Mamallapuram, a coastal town also located in the Kanchipuram district, famous for its monolithic rock carvings which illustrate Dravidian Hindu architecture as it was influenced/prompted by similar Buddhist temple carvings. The hotel we stayed at was really nice and there were actually (but also understandably) other white foreigners there. The next day was Spencer's 21st birthday, and we all celebrated by sneaking into the outdoor pool at midnight; we didn't swim for long before someone came and told us we weren't allowed to be there, but that was fine because I was tired anyway.

The next day we saw many of the carvings of Mamallapuram including my favorite, the famous shore temple dedicated to Vishnu. The temple was carved right at the ocean (Bay of Bengal) coast and had to be reinforced during British rule with a surrounding wall to protect it from the encroaching waves, already having eroded much of the temple. The salty air also has done a number on the sharpness of the temple carvings over the years. The area was directly hit by the tsunami a few years ago and completely submerged, but the temple was strong enough to remain unscathed. Just before a tsunami hits, the water level lowers many feet for a few minutes as the wave approaches; right before the recent tsunami, remnants of other previous rock structures were exposed which currently are underwater. It is unknown how many coastal temples originally existed.

The temple was just like one of the sandcastles I make while vacationing at the beach, with an intricately carved central structure being protected from waves by walls. This temple was made of stone though with rock walls and was much bigger; also, while my castles last a few days, this has lasted for centuries. Not only were we at the beach, but I actually felt like I was at the beach, photographing another one of my sandcastles and wondering how long it would last against the ocean. Maybe I should try rock walls next time instead of feeble sand...

That afternoon we went to Dakshinachitra, a nearby center where traditional South Indian customs of folk culture, art, craft making, and architecture are displayed. I was able to observe a "traditional" folk dance (although the audience members aren't "traditionally" sitting and watching but standing and surrounding the performance, moving with the dancers) as well as more sari weaving (a good thing too, it took many times of observation to understand). Before long we were shipped back to Chennai to catch our evening train back to Hyderabad.

Although we didn't really see much of Chennai, the most noticeable difference to me from Hyderabad were murals of politicians on every wall you saw. Many politicians have participated in cinematic productions as well to become well-known, and maybe some of these paintings functioned as advertisements as well as political support. Some of the paintings could be huge and repetitive on a long wall; sometimes the people had beady-looking eyes and intense toothy grins also.

On the way back there were more discussions of India and traveling. Evidently many people didn't like the structure that CIEE provided; I knew it was going to be like that though, bracing myself earlier for tourist activities. I ended up really enjoying the things we got to see and was thankful in some ways that I didn't have to plan out anything, just enjoy.

Some people like to go into traveling with no plan and just see what comes their way, some love to plan a ton, some want to see all the famous sites, some want to see places no foreigner sees, some crave authenticity, others like to be catered to, some like to spend most of their time relaxing and enjoying themselves, others prefer to interact as much as they can with locals, some also like just socializing with friends or travel partners, some like to learn everything they can, some just like to observe, some are really excited about shopping, drinking, eating, saving/spending money, or packing light/heavy and everything in between. Some travel to see, some to taste, some to close the eyes and relax, some to learn what another has to say, some to learn about themselves, some to do exciting and unique activities, and multiple combinations. Travel is so many things and what it ends up meaning is influenced on what you want to get from it. Although this trip was a world apart from what I experienced last weekend at Ellora, mainly because of the obvious lack of interaction with Indians, I still feel like I learned some and at least had a good time. I do have specific opinions about how I like to travel, but each trip offers a unique experience in its own way...that's how I felt about the weekend. Interesting how I consider traveling as a tourist "unique."

I slept mostly well except for the wailing toddler beneath me. I think he was sick, and he woke up when the train would jerk to a stop. I don't blame him; the train was unreasonably jerky. Also it probably would have sucked to be confined to a train car for so long at that age. In any case, it was a sorry situation for the kid, a lot to handle for the parents, and disturbing for everyone else. No one was at fault, just a poor situation and that's sometimes the way things play out. Otherwise the train was SO comfortable (not being sarcastic), the swaying motions lulling me back to sleep each time I woke up.

I remember in the morning waiting for the train to stop at Hyderabad and wanted a danish so badly. Maybe cherry or cream cheese...so delicious. At that moment a vendor selling chai and samosas with salted chilies squeezed by me in the aisle, and I realized that THAT is what I'd be missing when I'm back in the States.

We got back to campus during my first class on Monday, but I was fine not going in favor of unpacking/organizing all my things. Living out of a backpack is exciting but also it's nice to have a place to unwind and not have to worry about possessing all your stuff. It will be good to remain on campus this weekend, especially because the workload for some classes is really piling up for the first time this semester...

Oh, Ellora.

Melissa had bought train tickets online for Aurangabad in the Maharashtra state. That city is a good stepping stone too Ellora and Ajanta, nearby sites of old temples from all sorts of faiths, including Buddhism, Jainism, and Hinduism. Melissa and three others originally going had been traveling every week for a while, and were too tired to go, so Miriam, Madeline, Ana, and I offered to take them. I didn’t know the three other girls that well, but I was eager to get to know them better, and you sure do get to know someone well when you travel with them. We left late Thursday night for the train station, and eventually located our train car and seats. Such a process is still a mystery to me, despite trying to figure the process out time and again. You never quite know at which platform a train is going to be, and understanding announcements that most people rely on for information is quite difficult.

The sleeper class is very fun to ride in. There are three levels of beds that fold out from the walls; you put them up and sit on the bottom bed during the day. We went to sleep early because of how late it already was, good thing I had brought a bed sheet which I folded both underneath me and over me. I used my backpack as a pillow, careful to keep it close to me not because I was worried about it getting stolen, but because the window at my head only had a few bars and no glass. What a sorry situation it would be if I accidentally knocked it out. I can’t remember exactly if I slept much, I was maybe in a daze most of the time, slightly waking up each time we stopped because of the automated jingles and announcements at each stop. The same lady’s voice was at each station. I must have actually gotten up at about 9 am and folded my bed up, excited to gaze out onto the farmlands we were riding through. We were travelling in the opposite direction we were the last night, and I was kindof confused as to how efficient a route we were taking. At one of the stops we got some samosas with salted green chilies and chai from a vender. We ate them while many people came to talk to us; I can’t remember any of their names though. I was most interested at the landscape though, we’d pass through villages and towns and all sorts of wide farmlands and pastures.

The scenery is different from what I’m used to in a very specific way: It has taken much more time to produce. I’m used to continually constructed and new areas by my school and home; even if there’s a wide open park, it’s new and somehow more artificial in some way, take newly planted grass for example. The grass I saw through has been there for ages. Unique cow routes have carved out delicate paths through the areas; homes, even if meager, are so intricate and arranged in such a way that could only be produced from years and years of being inhabited. I think any picture you take would have a unique and lengthy story to tell. That’s what it looked like.

We arrived at Aurangabad at 1:30; the trip had taken 15 ½ hours, much more than the 10 I was expecting; evidently the route indeed was less efficient than a straight line from city to city. The four of us decided to head to Ellora first, it was closer by and if we were to head to Ajanta and then be back to Aurangabad by Sunday, we needed to start in some direction soon. We took a rickshaw to the bus station; it was as busy as the train station and we weren’t sure what we were doing. Walking up to the ticket counter, the man at the desk through bars shouted at us *HI! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!* “…Ellora?” *AH! ELLORA! PLATFORM 8* …He was very helpful.

The bus ride was about 50 minutes and very bumpy, but I managed to sleep some anyway. Stepping off the bus, many venders approached us to sell guides and crystals from the nearby caves. It was a little overwhelming figuring out what to do, but we ended up going with a vender named Vijay to a nearby hotel; he claimed he could get us a good price on a room. The hotel was more a very meager motel, with only a few rooms. The price was right though, and we decided to take it.

That afternoon we ended up going with Vijay to a small temple that was adjacent to, but not a part of, the Ellora tours. The hike there was one of my favorite parts of the whole weekend. We made our way up and up, and eventually could see forever. Farmlands, dotted forests, and small tucked-away towns were spread out over a huge basin that was surrounded by a huge cupped mountain range, on which we were hiking. The temple we visited was right next to a stream/small river which Vijay claimed to be a tributary of the Ganga. After swimming and talking some, we headed back for dinner in town. Vijay recommended the special for the area: banana lassi.

Lassi is a yogurt drink, it is usually plain but also comes in flavors, like mango and evidently banana. It had pieces of banana in it as well as chunks of solid sugar that made it really sweet and was an interesting combination with the sour yogurt. Tart and stingingly sweet and…banana. A unique and delicious specialty it was. The hunks of sugar reminded me of the waffles I had last summer in Belgium which also had pieces of sugar in the batter; I guess chunks of sugar makes anything delicious. We also had paneer, palak, cashew, and malai kufta curries with roti. The food was pretty oily and VERY filling, and delicious all the same. It’s a great feeling to know how satisfied four people can be for only $12 dollars.

That night we went to the roof of our motel with Vijay and looked at the stars and surrounding town area. I was very glad we had met Vijay. Although we were cautious and didn’t quite know from the start what exactly his intensions were, it was evident that Vijay just likes having a good time by meeting people and showing them around. Money he claimed wasn’t as important to him as it was to the rest of his vender friends. Whether or not this was True, we all were having a nice time, and I greatly appreciated his seemingly genuine hospitality and many interesting stories of past tourists he had met.

The next day we were actually tourists and went around the Ellora caves. There are 30? or so, and it is the largest collection of inter-faith temples in the world, with temples affiliated with Jainism, Hinduism, and Buddhism. The temples are carved right into the mountainside which is why they’re called “caves.” They reminded me of the sand castles I make at the beach, starting with a packed mound of sand (mountain), and carving out designs (intricate temples) with a shovel (hammer and chisel). Ellora also boasts the largest carved monolithic structure in the world, the Kailas Hindu temple (having taken 7000 workers 150 years to complete). It’s carved right out of the mountain and takes at least an hour or two to see.

My favorite temple was one with a ceiling carved out like a cathedral. The interior was as big as one too, except there were no pews and there was a huge Buddha statue in the front. The acoustics of the temple were designed to be impeccable, allowing sound to resonate for ages before dying out. There was a loft in the back that was used specifically for chanters during Buddhist prayer long ago. During a moment when the temple was empty of people, I was all too excited to belt out my favorite choral songs, including select Christmas music favorites. It felt like Candlelight Carols at Muhlenberg almost, except I was facing a 50 foot Buddha.

Vijay took us in his car around to all the temples so we didn’t have to walk the whole day. Something I hadn’t expected were the photographs that people would insist on taking of us. Without having even met, Indians would approach you and giddily ask to have a photo taken with you, beside themselves with excitement and clamoring to see the digital image on the camera after the shot was taken. Yes we were celebrities. And I had no problem posing for anyone who would ask. To see how happy it made everyone made me giggle, plus I felt very important to boot. I guess people were just extra excited to see a foreigner? Whatever the reason, if it made everyone happy, I was glad to take a few seconds out of my day for a photo shoot.

That evening was an annual cow festival in the town of Ellora. Everyone there gets very excited about it; it consists of basically decorating a ton of cows with colors and dressing their horns with cloth and parading around the town. Unfortunately right when the festival began, it started to monsoon and people scurried their cows under roofs in a frenzy to prevent the colors from washing off. Mainly their attempts were futile, and I was glad we were in Vijay’s car, dry and not in agitated commotion like the town people on whose parade it was literally raining. Vijay was very disappointed, he had been looking forward to it for some time; it’s one of the highlights of Ellora and it was so coincidental that we ended up there during the festival not even knowing the day before what it was. That’s just the way the world (and in this case the whether) works though, you just can never tell exactly what’s going to happen.

That night we watched some movies in Vijay’s store and after a tasty dinner at the motel turned in early. The train back to Hyderabad left at 3:30 the next day, and we were planning on heading to a fort on the way back to Aurangabad. That morning I made it a point to get more banana lassi before we headed out, not knowing if I’d have the chance to taste it again. After chai and fried breakfast snacks, I thanked Vijay by browsing his store and purchasing some crystals and geodes that he had found in the mountains at prices that he was more than happy to discount. I also bought some ancient Moghul, Hindu, and Arab coins from Vijay’s friend who had found them by searching the surrounding area (without a metal detector) for years. After more goodbyes, we were off on the bus again.

The Daulatabad fort was huge and I liked it even better than the famous Golconda Fort of Hyderabad. It was also the most impregnable structure I’ve ever seen, not only having massive walls with many defenses that spanned a huge area, but a massive inner moat dug around a central mountain on which the safest area of the fort rested. The moat was dug right into the mountain which resulted in sheer cut vertical walls that were hundreds of feet high. The bridge over the moat lead right into the mountain face to a dark, carved passageway through the interior of the mountain right up to the top. The bridge angled down in the middle of the moat, necessitating steps across the whole thing. It angled down purposefully so that when an enemy approached, massive dams were opened and water was released to fill the moat up to a level to cover the bridge, rendering it impassable. An antiquated drawbridge. The hike up to the very top was very steep, and I was glad we had packed extra water bottles; I was sweating like crazy. The view at the top was phenomenal, like the one at Ellora but entirely panoramic, and you could see the entire area of the fort at the base of the mountain. We could hear the blare of music instruments and the beat of drums in the distance, originating from a far street of the town on which some festival was taking place.

It was about one o’clock when we started to head back down, savoring the view as much as we could. There were many more people who wanted to take pictures of us on the way back down, sometimes we’d stop and have a brief conversation, other times it would literally be a photo and then a goodbye, nice to “meet” you. At the bottom we also encountered a vender, Feroz, we had met earlier who was eager to take us to tea. I was out of money by that point, and kindof hungry anyway, so the pineapple juice and guava he bought us was a nice treat. After showing him pictures on my camera of family vacations at North Carolina, cathedrals in Europe, and my dorm room (fancy sights for someone who had lived in the same small town for his whole life), we realized it was already 2:45 and swiftly caught the bus heading back to Aurangabad. By the time we were at the station, it was already 3:15 and our train was leaving in 15 minutes. Crazily begging for an auto ride to the train station with the small amount of money we had left in our pockets, a driver reluctantly agreed and, despite our shouts of encouragement to go faster, proceeded to stop frequently to see if anyone else in the street was heading to the train station. More passengers would have made his trip more worthwhile. Anyway, we threw the money at him and bolted into the train station, at about 3:26, our stomachs tied in knots that we wouldn’t be able to locate the correct train. Asking energetically around, we were able to get help from some people who pointed us in the right direction (people can be so helpful, even helping you locate the car you’re supposed to be in according to the roster posted on the outside). We located our seats out of breath and relieved.

The train didn’t leave for another 15 minutes or so, I guess it was running on Indian time. The number of hands I shook on that trip back to Hyderabad was astronomical. Not only were all the surrounding people eager to meet us, but people would spot us from outside at stations and either have conversations with us through the barred windows or board the train to meet us, hopping off rapidly as the train would start to pull away or the conductor shooed them off. It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic, people would pack themselves at times around us so tightly, I mean there’s not that much space on the train and it wasn’t like we were going to leave the train every time it stopped just to meet the people there. Fortunately (as I was still out of money) some of the friends I made were also eager to buy us chai, flavored milk, samosas, and other fried snacks.

I remember spending a lot of time with someone about my age who was getting an education in organic chemistry, hoping to work in a lab in the future. He was attending a school out of his native state being educated in a language medium that he was unfamiliar with, but I guess this is a common thing, every 100 km there’s another spoken language to cope with in India. This amounts to thousands of spoken languages and dialects in the country, although only twenty or so are recognized by the country as state languages. Talk about not being able to understand your professors, the accent isn’t only different but it’s in an entirely different language. Anyway, we found a piece of paper and a pen and quizzed each other on structure names and reactions including substitution, and my favorite, Diels-Alder. It was probably one of my funniest moments in India so far, I don’t know, just completely unbelievable that we were having conversations about organic chemistry on a train to Hyderabad. If you were one of my classmates at Muhlenberg with Dr. Russell last semester, you have to admit, it’s pretty hilarious.

Our trip had already been 8 hours or so by the time I decided to get to bed, but it of course felt like maybe only 2. After the busy day, I slept soundly until Miriam woke me up at 6 am at Lingampally train station, Hyderabad. Again the trip was almost 16 hours, but as painless as anything. Dreary eyed and stenchy, we made our way back to campus, just in time for 7 o’clock yoga and the start of Monday morning classes.