Cinco de Mayo in Mexico

Gulf Of Mexico - Phanos Proestos by Phanos Proestos

Last week on Thursday I received my work schedule for the following week and it was empty. So I decided to escape to Mexico to surprise my grandma. I've been coming to San Carlos ever since I was born. It has always served as my point of reference for paradise. It is a second home to me. A place where I've had ear infections. A place where I'm on a first name basis with Tony, the guy who drives the fruit cart, where I've swam among dolphins. A place where I've taken tennis lessons and won first place float in the San Carlos Days parade. My siblings and our lobster red skin were as much spring staples here as Pacifico and salsa for most of our lives.

The condo where I spent my springs has been sold and I am here now to help my grandma pack up for her final migration back to Portland. Hasta luego San Carlos! Echo de menos!!

Gam had no idea I was coming. Her dear friends and neighbors Bruce and Rose were in on it. Bruce came to pick me up at the bus station while Rose kept her entertained with a bottle of Chardonnay.

{Surprising Gammy}

We spent the next ten days lounging in the sun, lunching at new restaurants and recognizing when the clock struck five with a little happy hour beverage.

When I left the U.S. heading south, I realized that I would be there for Cinco de Mayo-one of my favorite holidays to recognize. All through my college years, and before, Cinco de Mayo was taken very seriously. We celebrated by waking up, putting on Mexican dresses, cracking a Corona and continuing the day with only Mexican meals and drinks. I imagined that a Mexican Cinco de Mayo would be much crazier than one celebrated in the U.S.

FALSE.

Apparently we in the U.S. are much more excited about Mexico's victory over the French in the Battle of Puebla than they are down here. My grandma and I celebrated with handmade tamales (not handmade by us, but by the local fruit truck guy), a few Pacificos and a nine o'clock bed time. There were no fireworks, parades all night bonfires. No mariachi bands playing on every corner, excessive consumption of Tequilla or drunkards raising hell at the local bar. It was treated like every other day. And so next year, I have decided I will stay in a part of the world that really appreciates Mexico's role and ultimate victory in the Battle of Puebla. Mexico just doesn't seem to get it.

Previous Cinco de Mayo


Current Cinco de Mayo

From the town of bedrock-Hampi

The sleeper bus was really funny and surprisingly comfortable. It is made up of bed-sized cubbies lining the walls of the interior. I had an entire bed to myself and slept well through the night. We got into Hampi in the morning and took a rickshaw to the dock of a boat to go to Hampi Island. We were traveling with a German we had met in Palolem, Nick and a Finnish guy we had met on the train down to Goa, Valter. A boat took us across the river (it would have taken 2 seconds to swim across, but swimming was prohibited and it was too deep to walk with our bags). We were awestruck from the minute we got off the bus. Hampi looks like it was the basis for the town of Bedrock from the Flintstones. Massive boulders surrounded the small city and people made their shops on the foundations of old ruins. We got huts and unloaded our things before venturing to a restaurant that had been recommended by some other travelers. During our time in Hampi, it was hot. And the electricity shut off on the island during the heat of the day, so no fans were operating. We rented motor bikes and found an escape in a lake not far from town. We spent the hot hours of the days there bathing in the shade of the rocks and watching local Indians jump from rocks. Barring the heat, I could've stayed for weeks at a time in this town. It was gorgeous and had not yet been spoiled by tourism. I left after two nights there to return to the beach for my final three days in India.

On the way to swimming

View from our favorite restaurant

Puppies who climbed into my bed when I slept outside

Jon and Me

Sunset from the Monkey Temple

Jon giving an old Indian boat paddler a break

Sunrise

Hampi ruins

Walter outside his room

Jon on the sleeper bus

Full Power, 24 Hour Palolem

"I feel right now, like the first time you fall in love (hand on heart, ear-to-ear grin). I cannot stop smiling and I haven't eaten for days." Valter, our Finnish friend, on India so far

For the first time on our trip, we were placed in the tourist section of the sleeper train. It was readily apparent when we stepped on and found, sitting around us, 3 Americans and one Finnish guy. The six of us bonded quickly over the fact that we were all sitting together and shared stories of our journeys so far. The train was over crowded, so just before bed, a group of people got on and sat on the floor surrounding our beds. Moving on the train was an impossibility unless you maneuvered through without touching your feet to the ground. We got in to Goa the next morning around 11. The six of us shared a cab to Palolem beach and got situated together.

In Goa they have this saying. "Full Power, 24 Hour, no toilet, no shower, full power." And they mean it. At our beach side huts, everything we did, the manager said "full power" followed with a hand pound. When my laundry was returned to me..."full power laundry." When I woke up early to watch the sunrise "full power morning." And it was everywhere on the beach. We spent our days laying on the beach, kayaking and meeting new people. We stayed with these travel mates for 4 days and they helped us celebrate Jon's birthday. We met some Swedish people at our favorite restaurant, Moksha's, on the morning of Jon's birthday who were also celebrating a birthday. That evening, at dinner, the Swedish guys brought Jon a piece of the most delicious chocolate cake and sang to him in Swedish. We went with them to Cocktails and Dreams, a bar on the beach and continued celebrating. The following evening, we took the sleeper bus to Hampi, a town about 9 hours away full of rocks and ruins.

Bombay

After Mathura we took a train to Delhi to catch our flight to Bombay. We had a funny train experience because we were in the general class, which is basically first come, first sit, others stand for the remaining 3-4 hours. We were standers and the only westerners in that compartment. Everyone was covered in remnants of Holi. Red nails, splotches of pink behind ears, blue in the parts in people's hair. Everyone, in that sense, had a common conversation starter. "Oh, you played holi?" And then from there, you'd hold a conversation of broken English for a few minutes. We met some really great people on that bus. They helped us push our way through with our enormous bags and found us a spot to put the bags once we were on so we wouldn't be forced to just stand with them for the duration. It was hot and Jon and I were crammed in so close that any movement would cause you to bump your neighbor. We played funny games to pass the time-staring contests and alphabet-type games. After about an hour and a half of standing in it, we ere offered seats by some Indian men who were around our age. Most people jump at the chance to talk to us just to practice their English. Very ambitious. And they're so curious about us-what we do, or aims in life. One boy we met had us fill out a survey with random questions like our favorite actor and food. We got in to Delhi finally and hired a rickshaw to the airport. Two men from the train helped us find a good driver and bargain a fair price. The next thing we knew, we were reclined on a plane to Mumbai. We got in late and hired a cab from the airport. He took us to multiple guesthouses-all of which were significantly more expensive than any of the others we had stayed at. We stayed at a Hotel Volga, which was on the famous Causeway, right next to Leopold's (a bar/restaurant from the book Shantaram). It was funny because Jon had read Shantaram, a book about an Australian convict who lived in Bombay for a time, and I was reading it while we were there. And then, everyone we met from then on had read or was reading it. It felt a bit cliche to even hold it-it was as common as the Lonely Planet's guide to India. Our room was about 5 by 7 paces in area with a fan. We were in hot and humid India now and shed our funny winter gear. Our window had a cage on it and in the night, if you sat at it, you could hear the rats rustling in the alley below. Bombay was hot and muggy-it was absolutely impossible to keep clean feet--as it tends to be for me in this country. We crashed the first night after some cheese naan and a Kingfisher from Leopold's. The next day, we met and Italian couple while waiting for train tickets. We decided to venture through the city with them. They were fresh in to India and were still very enthusiastic about hitting all of the must see marks in the book. It was perfect motivation for us to explore a little further. We went to some temples, Chowpatty Beach and a Muslim Mosque that you could only to to when the tide was out. The following day, we took a tour of the largest slum in India, the Dharavi slum (proceeds went back into the slum). It opened our eyes in a way because I had expected a much grimier slum with no order-the kind I was reading about in Shantaram. With tarp and garbage thatched roofs. Beggers. Chaos. It was quite the opposite. They have multiple serious business operations from plastic production, to making clothing. Shops and schools. If we had wandered there by accident, I don't know that I would've been able to distinguish it as a slum from the rest of the city. That evening we bid adieu to our Italian friends and took a night train to Goa, just in time for Jon's birthday.

Holi Moley!! Mathura and Vrindavan

Since we are very festive, Jon and I decided that the best place to celebrate Holi, the color festival, in the birthplace of Lord Krishna. We took a bus to Delhi, a rickshaw to a bus company in Delhi and then another bus to Mathura. The ride should've taken 3 hours. It took around 5. Jon and I sat in front of the bus, next to the driver, probably so that we wouldn't have the ability to compare the prices of the bus tickets around us-we got a little bit ripped off. When we got to our "stop," the driver stopped along the side of the highway road and gestured with his hand for us to get off. "Mathura" he said. We grabbed our packs and a bicycle rickshaw and headed into town. We passed camels pulling carts, cows roaming freely, piles of color, curious stares and fruit carts. We pulled in to a moderately priced hotel and checked in. That night, we decided to explore the town and inquire about Holi to the locals. As we walked, a man who owned a parcel shop invited us in for a cold drink. Shortly after entering, he smeared orange powder over our faces and hair and yelled "happy Holi!!" That was only the beginning. The next day, the day before the festival, we decided to see the Krishna Temple and scope out the scene. As we were leaving the hotel, we discussed what we planned to wear the following day. Shortly after arriving at the temple, our decision was made for us as my white shirt was doused in blue food-colored water and Jon was smeared with light pink powder and the blue water. The following day, the day of the festival, we dressed in our grimiest attire and headed downstairs. I asked the man at reception to change my 500 rupee note and as he reached down under the desk to do so, he returned with a handful of green, chalky powder the color of Nickelodeon slime and smeared it in my face. "Happy Holi!!" So it started. We continued to the street where we caught a bicycle rickshaw and headed into town. Being westerners, and some of the only ones in the area, we may as well have worn bullseyes on our backs. People stopped on their mopeds, even turned around when they saw us and covered us with color. Within minutes of leaving the guest house, we looked like a middle-school tye-dye project gone bad. We continued on the the Krishna temple where. It was absolutely insane. We couldn't catch our breath at times between the dousing of water and colored powder. At one point, a kind man stopped the chaos and sat me down to clear the powder out of my blinded eyes with his dampened t-shirt. People waited, anticipating the moment I would be fair game again. After a short while, I was all holied out. We returned to the guest house where showers were nonexistent. Our source of cleansing was dumping a small bucket into a larger bucket and pouring it over our bodies. Much of the dye was permanent and after nearly an hour of cleaning, my hair had a green tint, Jon looked like he was wearing one of those clown wigs, and our bodies had splotches of blue and pink for nearly a week.

While we were drying out on the roof, we met a group of Indian men our age who had come down from Delhi to celebrate. They offered to take us around to different temples and act as my body guards against overzealous festival participants. We went to multiple different temples and were treated to snacks in between by our new friends. We ended our tour at a temple, dancing and singing with the locals and visitors. When we returned to our guest house, we all played a game of King's Cup and ended the night dancing and singing in their room. It was a night we aren't soon to forget. The next morning, we were scheduled to fly to Mumbai, so we had to make our way back to Delhi.

Hilltown Layover-Nainital and Kausani

Jon and I had our hearts set on doing a Himalayan trek. We asked around Rishikesh and discovered that there was a hill town, only about a ten hour bus ride away, with trekking. We arrived at the Haridwar "bus station." Which was a gravel lot filled with buses labeled in Hindi. We just stood there, laughing. Clueless as to what to do. We passed a few identical food stands and came to a tin shack. The information counter. Luckily for us, the men there spoke a little bit of English and instructed us of the next steps we should take. The bus to Nainital didn't depart for three hours, so we found the nearest restaurant, set down our packs, and waited, over chai. The workers spoke very little English. We took pictures with them. People love to have their pictures taken with westerners. It's funny. We will be stopped on the streets, exchange introductions, have our pictures taken and continue on. We boarded the bus, and it seemed like we had an entire row of seats to ourselves. We were early. Minutes later, more people boarded and our dreams of a spacious ride were crushed. The ride was terrible. It was a night bus, so we were exhausted. Whenever we dozed off, we were violently awakened by a bump in the road that sent us flying forward. The brakes squealed loudly with every application. Our only defense against discomfort is laughter. At 6:00am we arrived to a lake illuminated by the lights on the hillside. Nainital. It was beautiful. But we were freezing so we took the first hotel offer and were ushered off in a jeep to the Hotel Maharaja. The weather that first day was dreary. Showers for hours. We walked around for a short while but were back in our room by the afternoon, where we remained for the day. It's funny because Nainital is a romantic vacation getaway so Jon and I are treated as newlyweds. Given special treatment and special rooms. The next day was beautiful. Sun and clear skies. We took a trolley to Snow View, a point with a view of the Himalayas. Clouds loomed low over the giant peaks in the distance, but we had a view of a small string of mountains. The teaser view was enough to inspire us to go closer. Trekking was out of the question due to inclement weather, but a town called Kausani only a few hours away promised a panoramic view of the Himalayas. Sold.

The next day, we loaded our packs and hopped in a cab to Kausani. Although only around 120 kilometers away, the winding roads made for a long journey. We left at 10:00am and didn't arrive until around 3:00pm. We made stops along the way at various temples, bridges and waterfalls. When we arrived, we were shown to our room...the sunrise room. It had a huge window overlooking the Himalayas. Absolutely breathtaking sight to wake up to. We watched sunset, played multiple games of gin rummy and had a "complimentary dinner" of Thali (a full course with rice, dahl, curd, and other Indian delights) and unlimited chapati. The next morning, we awakened bright and early for sunrise. The view from our balcony was gorgeous. Neither of us could break our stares or stop smiling. After our sunrise and complimentary breakfast (not quite as hearty as dinner...a chai and a small piece of white toast) we returned to the road for the long ride back to Nainital to catch an evening bus.

Rishikesh

We arrived at the train station in Agra to go to Rishikesh, "the Yoga captital of the universe" around 10:00am for our 10:50 train. The board said train 8477 didn't leave until 3:55. We asked a few people about it and they directed us to platform 2. So we assumed it must've been a typo.In our experience, trains here are notorious for delayed departures. So we waited until 12:30pm. At this point we were approached by a crippled man who walked with his arms, legs curled into criss cross applesauce, and told us that our train was very late. He preceeded to count 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 out loud on his fingers, indicating that our train was ten hours late. We double checked with the information booth. Our new departure time was 8:00pm. Good to know now. So we rickshawed back to our guesthouse and basked in the sun and the sight of the Taj.

Finally, we were back at the platform able to board. We bundled in preparation in our Indian sweaters and layers of pants. Still not enough, but better. We sat next to a line of Babas dressed in gauzy tangerine and cantalope colored cloth with dreads that could have inspired Jack Sparrow's coif in the Pirates trilogy. We pulled into Haridwar station trembling from the cold winter air and caught a rickshaw to Rishikesh. The driver stopped after around 45 minutes, in the middle of a long stretch of road and said "Rishikesh," gesturing toward the road. That was our cue to exit. We were in the middle of nowhere, a few lone food carts and the Ganges in the distance. When we stopped, we were swarmed by Rickshaw drivers offering to take us the rest of the way. We were taken to the side of a steep hill and let off. We went into an Ashram recommended by Lonely Planet to find they were full. Our second option was a hike. We huffed and puffed our ways to the top. They had a ten day minimum. So we continued walking. We crossed the Ganges and walked along a sidewalk lined with Babas, monkeys, cows and fruit stands. We finally came to an Ashram that had been recommended to us by a friend in Malaysia and settled in. Our room was not much different than a jail cell-a concrete box with barred windows and doors with walls that had been painted periwinkle to detract from the dreariness of it. The beds were equipped with heavy-duty king sized comforters so we were happy. Our first night we attended the first of many yoga classes. The teacher had a Welcome Back Kotter 'stache and a Zach Morris hair cut. But his class was just what our muscles needed after all the cramped trains. The next day we woke up sore from overstretching. We continued with 2 1 1/2 hour classes each day. In between classes we filled our days with hikes to a Shiva Temple (a two hour uphill trek that gave us a view of the city) and white water rafting.

Gabe wasn't feeling well and was trying to recover from a tummy bug. One day, a man showed up at our door claiming to be a doctor here to treat him. He instructed him to lay down on the bed and poked at his stomach. He then asked him to move to the floor and massaged his calves while Jon and I stifled laughter at his abrupt intrusion. After cracking some bones and shaking him out, the doctor said that he could pay him tomorrow if he felt better. It was thoughtful, if not insanely bizarre. We all stood there, dumbfounded. On our final night, we met a highly intellectual Indian painter with a long whispy beard and a curduroy baret. He gave us a lesson in philosophy. We sat and listened intently to his thoughts on life, death, interpersonal interactions, God and western philosophy over Chai. We could've listened forever.

Unfortunately the doctor's treatment didn't cure Gabe and he caught a flight home this morning-nothing beats the comfort of home to recover from illness. We said a sad farewell and parted ways. Our trio sadly whittled down to two. Jon and I continue on to Nainital tonight for some Himalayan adventures.

Taj Mahal

We spent Valentine's Day on a train to Agra with the three of us, two Israelis and a group of Indians. Very romantic. Right when we got in, we bought train tickets scheduled to leave the following morning. Our intention in Agra was simple, see the Taj Mahal. Before boarding our train, we met a Croatian woman who was traveling by herself so she joined us for our adventures at the Taj. Gabe felt ill and spent the day sleeping. So Jon, Visnja and I went to the temple. We walked through the arched doorways and there it stood. I couldn't even believe it was real until I touched it. Completely ethereal. Especially with the gray, bland backdrop. It was built so that only the sky served as its backdrop. It makes it feel as if it had fallen down from the heavens. Just pure and perfect. We spent around five hours there, awestruck.

At the end of the day, we ate dinner with Visnja and bid her safe journeys. She was returning to Katmandu to finish some work she had been doing and had just come down to India for a short while. We went to bed to prepare for a day of traveling.

Varanasi is VERRY NIIIICE

On the afternoon train to Varanasi, we arrived to our seats to discover that they had been taken. Already claimed by a family, parents and three small boys. Can't really argue with that. The three of us climbed up to the top bunks with two of the young boys. Naturally, Jon made friends with them in an instant and was teaching them, through hand gestures and examples, card games--Uno and War. We got into a station about 45 minutes outside of town from Varanasi so had to find a rickshaw to take us the rest of the way. We found one quickly, more, the driver found us quickly and we were off. More than ever before, my parent's childhood warnings to keep my hands and feet inside the vehicle rang true. The ride was like a roller coaster, just as we were about to collide with another car, rickshaw or cow on the side of the road, our driver would sound a horn and turn abruptly to avoid it. We checked into Yogi Lodge and were welcomed with a chai.

Our first morning there, we decided to see the Ganges for sunrise. We woke up at 5:46 am. Exhausted. But we had made plans so had to pull ourselves out of bed. We bundled in all of our layers and headed downstairs to meet our guide, who also worked as the Yogi Lodge's reception. We hopped in a dewy rickshaw. Our jeans instantly wet from the condensation. He wiped down the windshield, spit out a stream of clay colored liquid, and we headed for the river. The morning fog was so thick, it was difficult to distinguish where the water ended and the sky began. Boats came out of the nothingness like ghosts. Candles sat in a bed of flowers in small leaf bowls, floating on the water, providing some of the only light through the fog. We got in our boat. I slipped getting in but caught myself. Gabe wasn't quite so lucky and his foot dropped in. The ride wasn't quite as we had expected-no Umbrella Corporation floating zombie bodies or faces with eyes open just under the water's surface. The water was like glass. The sun appeared, like the moon through the fog, it's rays muted. The sun is different here. It doesn't make a big spectacle of its coming and going. It rises into the sky like a saucer and descends at night in the same way. The colors in the sky don't change much. People old and young lined the Ghats at the river sides to bathe in the holy water of the Ganges. Men wrapped in a small sheets and women in Saris. They bathe day and night. On the side, between Ghats, is a creamatorium. You see a body wrapped in a pink sheet, waiting to be burned. Heaping piles of human ash sit by the river. A man walks down from the burning bodies, galvanized metal bucket balanced on his head, a mountain of ashes. He empties his bucket, and returns to the site. Passing others with the same job on the way down. People use their heads here like wheelbarrows, carrying bundles of sticks, suitcases, leaves. I hold my breath and try to breath through my nose to prevent the inhalation of the ashes of those passed. Tourists take pictures. We see the sunrise in the sky. Our view of the water was followed with a tour of some temples and a long nap. Monkeys populate the streets here like squirrels in Portland parks. Rooftop restaurants are covered in thatched bamboo to keep them out.

The next day was Shivaratri, a festival celebrating the marriage of the god Shiva. The concierge at our guest house said that it would rain this day, and that it always rains on the day of the Shiva Festival. Sure enough, the weather changed from sunny and warm to heavy showers the following day. We met two people from the South of France and spent the day exploring the city with them. We returned to the Ghats and the burning of bodies. A body has a stubborn leg that kinks outward and a guy with a bamboo stick pokes and prods the body into the fire to ensure that it burns completely. There is faint music in the distance and an occasional chime of a bell. The image is haunting, but in a bittersweet way because being cremated here is a great privilege.

That evening, the town was illuminated in colorful strands of lights and a parade stormed through the city. The streets were crowded and difficult to maneuver through. When we walked out onto the street, a masked man jumped in front of Jon waving a sword. The three of us jumped back. Elephants and floats came next. Straight out of Aladdin.

After the festival we spent our final day, Valentine's day, packing up, getting a delicious lunch at the Silver Spoon on the main street and boarding a train.

photos to come...

Gabe, Jon, Me and the Bodhi Tree

When we arrived in Bodh Gaya, the sun had not yet risen and we were delirious from exhaustion. We were freezing cold, wrapped in layered clothes that were made for much warmer climates. None of us prepared for the Indian winter. The train ride was an entertaining one. Smurf blue, vinyl beds. The three of us had the top bunks. At each stop, men came on selling chai, chips and chains-to chain yourself to your belongings while you slept. Really comforting. We received curious glances from fellow travelers-we were the only westerners on our train, or at least in the 3rd class compartment of the train. After a short time, the three of us fell asleep and drifted in and out for the next 8 hours. We woke up to find that all our stuff was in tact and we were only a half hour from our destination. The rickshaw ride from Gaya to Bodh Gaya had the three of us huddled together under one small blanket, trying to get warm. We traveled in the dark of the early morning, down a long, desolate highway, sharing the road with little other than military looking vehicles. When we arrived at the Root Institute, it was too early and they had not yet opened. So Gabe and I decided to walk into town as the sun was rising, while a sickly Jon stayed back and drank Chai. We wandered aimlessly, following the sun, down a small corridor. Bricks layed with cowshit as adhesive, various farm animals walked freely, cutting us off from time to time. We came to a path in a mustard field that gave us a postcard worthy view of the sunrise. This is the India we had imagined. Rural, colorful and aweinspiring.

We stopped when we heard "hello." It was a young Indian girl. We replied "Good Morning." She invited us to her home for Chai. We followed her to a cement, thatched roof house that looked out at the sun and the mustard fields. She patted a table, inviting us to sit down. We did and shortly after, we were surrounded by her father and her three siblings-two brothers and one sister. They were all getting ready for school. We had caught them at breakfast time. The youngest sister brought us tea and a sweet carrot dish. Followed by home made chapatis. We were stuffed after two, but forced down a third to be polite. Incredible hospitality. We were joined by the grandfather, a "small farmer," and though our communication was limited by the language barrier, his face was so expressive that speaking was hardly necessary. We saw the children off to school and sat with the grandfather until it was time for us to check in.

The Root Institute is a Buddhist retreat located just outside of town. Tibetan flags hang over a large statue of Buddha that sits in the middle of the courtyard. The only sounds are birds and the occasional chime of the prayer bell. We spent the next few days in meditation classes. On our second day, our instructor, Annette, said we should walk to the Stupa to do our morning meditation. We met her at 6:00am, bundled in blankets, and began our walk. I don't think I will ever get used to the vision of girls in beautifully ornate, tangerine, and fuscia colored saris, squatting in the dust fields just off the path to relieve themselves. We followed Annette, unsure of what the Stupa meant. I assumed it was some viewpoint to meditate with the rising sun. We walked through garbage-littered fields and small villages. After about 15 minutes, we arrived at our destination. Annette laid yoga mats and pillows on the ground for our use. We were sitting under the Bodhi Tree, a descenent to the original tree that Buddha had reached enlightenment under. That is where we had our morning meditation. It was a surreal experience. We spent the remainder of our time there relaxing and preparing ourselves for some rigorous travel.

On our second to last night, Gabe and I returned to the home of the family we had met the first day. They gave us sugar cane and potatoes with salt as we sat and exchanged hindi and English words. They invited us to return for dinner. So we returned with Jon in tow. They had cleared a spot on two beds for us to sit for dinner. We were joined by the entire family, except the father and were fed a real, Indian, home-cooked meal. Potato filled pancakes, sweet carrots and tomato salsa followed by sweet rice. It was my favorite meal in India so far. It was an unforgettable way to spend our final night in Bodh Gaya. We were blown away by their extreme hospitality to near strangers. We continue to experience unconditional kindness and hospitality at every stop.

Our next stop is the Holy City of Varanasi.

calcutta

I arrived in Calcutta, unsure of whether I would have a ride from the airport to the dorm I would be staying in. I got off the plane, and saw no sign with my name on it. I stood for a minute, contemplating my next move, when I was approached with a bright smile and a man named Philip. "You must be Molly?" From there on, I was put at ease. The dorm I stayed at was much nicer than I expected-I thought I would be sleeping on a stone floor in a pile of hay-not sure why I had expectations of living like a farm animal but it was a pleasant surprise. The people I met, those in charge of the volunteers made my experience so much more than just a stop in another big city.

At the dorm, I became instant friends with my roommates-Jean, a Montessori teacher from Michigan, and Geraldine, a med student from Australia. The three of us explored Calcutta together-well, more, they showed me the way because both had been there for a little while.

I was there for nearly two weeks. Many people say, when handing out travel advice, that this is a city that you should just get in and out of. I think that must be because they have just gone in and out themselves. At it's surface, Calcutta is what you expect it to be, but dirtier. Wearing flip-flops the entire time gave me feet that could give any transient a run for their money. Walking down the street, the deafening sound of horns, which is their answer to the organized chaos that is their driving system, is unavoidable. There are pockets of heat and strong smells-from food spices to the pungent scent of body odor-it was so bad at times that I had the urge to smear Vick's Vapor Rub under my nose to blanket the scent. At any given time, you can spot a pantless toddler, squatting over the curb to relieve himself. A dog with a newly born litter of hungry puppies on the side of a busy road. An elderly woman, hunched in the drainage, her elegant sari pulled to her knees, vomitting bile. In cabs, the traffic stops and you hear the tap of a tin cup on the window accompanied with two elementary aged boys and their blind mother, fingers pressed against the glass asking for change. You hear story after story from Indians about the religious persecution and the cruelty towards humans that still exists very strongly here. You have to desensitize yourself slightly to prevent tears from escaping every time you feel a tug on your shirt and look down to a child holding her infant sibling asking for a little help. Or when you meet a child at the Blind School whose parents left him in the dump as a baby when they discovered that he was blind. A boy whose stomach hung much too far over his pants for his size. You think it's cute and funny until you find out that he has worms. A mom on the streets, a proud mom, looking old and worn. A sari with tapered edges and small, patched up holes. When we help her, she speaks only of the needs of her four sons.

Your eyes are opened, too much at times, to another way of life. One that we often only see in movies like Slumdog. But regardless of any bad fortune that has been tossed their way, each person I've come across wears a huge smile. There is so much heart in this city. I had the opportunity to spend some time at a slum school called Stars School. Kids there are grateful for your presence, they don't ask for much else. Eager to learn. Arriving day after day in the same clothes, unphased. Fascinated by cameras and having their pictures taken.

After a week in Calcutta, Jon and Gabe arrived. We explored Sudder Street, the backpacker area, and New Market, a huge bazaar that sells everything from meat to locks to scarves. They left for a three day trek in a tiger reserve and I stayed in Calcutta to finish up my work there. On my final full day, we woke up at 5:00am and headed out to the slums to help feed the community there. After that, fighting through yawns and exhaustion, we made our way out to Sarampour, where Jean would be teaching. Our final stop was the Blind School, where they had prepared a lunch for us. At 6:00pm, I said my goodbyes to the people I had met at the volunteer house and met up with Gabe and Jon. The three of us got one last chicken roll and hopped on the overnight bus to Bodh Gaya. The adventure begins...

Stars School






New Market




Makeshift Barber


Morning Feeding


Market by Volunteer Center



Geraldine's Birthday


Blind School