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

calcutta so far

malaysian layover

While waiting at the airport to board my plane to Kuala Lumpur, I fell asleep with my ipod on, Devendra Banhart lulling me to sleep. A lovely Australian couple, whom I had gone through security with, shook me awake and told me we were boarding-without them, I would have been forced to wait another day and night in the airport. Finally, at 11:00pm, I arrived in Kuala Lumpur. While collecting my baggage a Japanese guy of the Fast and the Furious Tokyo Drift variety asked me if I wanted to bus to town with him. We journeyed together to the bus stop and hopped on the hour bus ride to Pudu Raya. He told me that he had been in India for four months and that in that time he had shit blood (overshare for a blog, I know, but this was an overshare for me as well) and at this point constantly wanted to quarrel with Indian people whenever he heard them speak. Things to look forward to...We got off the bus, found the bar that Jon had told me to meet him at, and parted ways. I stood, with my huge pack, two-day old clothes and slicked back hair, debating whether to enter the bar in this manner when I felt a tap on my back. It was Gabe. A long-haired Jon came out of the bar shortly after. So good to finally see them!

The next day, we slept until we had had enough and hopped on a bus to the island of Penang. We remained there for almost a week. On Penang, we were awakened every morning by the chanting of the monks with sunrise. We spent our days exploring waterfalls and caves, swimming in the ocean and lounging. We saw monkeys in the wild and magic shows on the beach. It was our "holiday before our holiday." It was nice to have some time to unwind and catch up on the sleep that had escaped me the last few days. By the time we left we had a breakfast joint where we could order "the usual" and would be brought an omelette and steamed rice. We bonded with travelers from Sweden, Canada and the UK who were staying at Baba's Guest House with us. And we met a well-traveled, 11-lingual (?), firedancing, painting, scuba diving, any other skill you can acquire in a lifetime, Malaysian man who we called The Lion. He gave us travel tips and stories for days. We spent our afternoons with him and our evenings dining at our favorite food market with our newfound friends over Tiger beer, fresh squeezed fruit juice and chocolate-peanutbutter-banana pancakes. On our final night, we rented wave runners and hit the market for dinner.

Before we knew it, we had our packs on our backs and were navigating our way to the bus stop through the bustling streets, avoiding all of the "special deals" for us. "Sunglass for you miss, special deal for you!" From there, we took a bus, hailed a cab to the bus station and by 10:00pm, we were on a bus back to Kuala Lumpur, lounging in the Lazy Boy style recliners. We got in at 3:00am and made our way to Wheeler's Guest House, the boys' guesthouse of choice in KL. In our short time in there, we saw the Petronas Towers, a few movies and the Batu Caves. On our final night, we had to switch rooms. When I went to exchange keys for the new room, the ladyboy at reception told me "you guys will really like this room. It's much bigger so there is more room to jump around." We were thankful for the upgrade-we had been robbed of this freedom in our other room. The next day, I was off to Calcutta, India and the boys headed to Menaka to await the processing of their visas.

Jon and Gabe with The Lion


Gabe playing frisbee at sunset


Baba's Guest House Crew


Batu Caves


Petronas Towers


Magic Tricks on the beach

Jon asked me if I want to go to India and I say Oui

"Sanitation and hygiene are bad. Close your eyes to those things if you want to enjoy India...if you want to see deep India" -an Indian man at the Newark Airport

Back on the ole' blog. At 5:00am on Jan 13 my dad dropped me off at the Portland Airport. I hadn't slept-I have a slight procrastination problem and so spent my final night in the U.S. packing. I got to the airport looking as if I had been hit by a train and eyes that could rival Courtney Love's-after a show. When I got on the plane, I was elated to have some uninterrupted sleep. Just me, the TV screen in front of me, and the occasional offering of soda and food.

Fast forward 22 hours and a layover in Newark. Arrived at the Delhi International Airport at 9:25pm. Felt clueless and exhausted. Slept through a majority of the international flight-not good sleep unfortunately because the behemoth of a man behind me urged me to keep my seat at a 90 degree angle so as to avoid crushing his legs. I complied and woke up every so often and shot an envious glare at the man lounging in the neighboring seat. When I got to India I wandered easily through customs, through uniformed men armed with M-16s and a sea of staring Indians. I sat down to catch my bearings and figure out my next step. My next flight wasn't until 6:25am the following day-so the big decision was, sleep in a corner of the international airport or sleep in a corner of the domestic airport. I chose the latter, which required the arrangement of a ride. There were very few airport workers to point me in any direction, so I approached the first man I saw in uniform. He was part of a driver service. The man told me that a ride to the domestic airport would cost 1000 rupees. I frantically searched for a sign with the exchange rate, obviously sweating because I do that with nerves. Roughly 45 rupees to the dollar. Like a savvy traveler, I told him I wanted to investigate other prices. Like an idiot, I took his word when he lowered his price to 900 rupees and told me that cabs charge 800. It's interesting going about this alone-Danielle was always so prepared for this sort of situation.

Our drive was quick. The night air under the street lights was thick, like looking through wax paper. Drivers ignored any lines or markings, weaving in and out of each other. Although it appeared chaotic, there seemed to be a known rhythm between them. I spent the ride with the driver explaining to me how lucky I was to have taken his car because he would keep me very safe and that people who take cabs get kidnapped more often. Thanks guy. When we got to the airport, it was 11:15pm. I went to the door, which was heavily guarded, and handed the guard my ticket. He just stared at it. No questions or comments. Just sat there, staring, as if it were his first encounter with a plane ticket. I don't know if he even knew what he should be looking for. Luckily, two other westerners showed up-a couple. The women told the guard that she had called and had been told that the airport was open all hours of the night. He gave her the same blank stare and then pointed outside. After a short conversation, he told us to go to the ticket counter. I snagged my ticket from his clutch and went with them. I found out seconds into our conversation that they were here adopting their second child...and that you should never pay more than 300 rupees for that cab ride. Good to know. I couldn't sleep that night.

At 3:00am we were allowed into the airport for check-in. For women, going through the security scanner, they have a curtained in room where a lady sits on a stool and lazily runs a hand-held metal detector over you. Upon completion of this, she stamps your plane ticket. I had 3 hours to kill until my flight, with nothing open, so I read and wrote. A Danish girl (24-years old) next to me sneezed, I said bless you, and that's when I met Karen, my travel mate for the next 14 hours. We chatted up until our flight to Kolkata, separated during the flight, and rejoined at baggage. We cabbed into town together because I didn't have to catch my flight to Malaysia until 4:00 pm. I was glad to have met her-we had much in common and she had been to India before as a volunteer so was comfortable with the language and the people. We got into town and went to the "backpacker" area, Sudder Street. India is unlike any place I've seen-it has familiar qualities-the filth of Mexico, poverty of Cambodia and the hustle of Morocco-but they are more drastic. There is human excrement on the streets, rickshaws pulled by people and beggars at every turn. It is full of contrasts-dry, cracked roads lined with lush plants; men in soiled, canvas clothes, women in elaborately patterned saris. After a short while in town, I had to return to the airport to board my final flight for a little while. Off to Kuala Lumpur...