So picking up where we left off, Grant forgot to mention that our little guesthouse that we were staying at in Varanasi had a non-profit school for poor children attached to it. It is run by the family that owns the guesthouse: Arti and Lalu, and Arti's brother Bohloo who runs the guesthouse (he was a pretty cool guy. Great English, funny, about 4 foot 6, often only wearing a towel.) Since we've been in India and seen the terrible poverty, we've kind of been interested in doing some humanitarian work ourselves someday, so we decided to volunteer for a day (only a couple hours, really). The school had 4 or so teachers to 40 kids. We sat in on the English and Math class. It was pretty unorganized...it didn't seem like the teachers really had any fire or training or both. They would scribble the alphabet or a couple math problems in a notebook and send the kid away to copy it down or solve the problems and the kid would come back to get corrected. By ILP standards, the English class sucked. The kids couldn't speak at all, probably because the teacher's English stunk. A kid pretty much stood at the front of the room reciting the ABCs while all the little kids chanted them back. So Grant and I kind of took charge for a little bit and taught them "Head Shoulders Knees and Toes" and it was fun! The kids caught on quickly. There were these 2 little boys in the back of the class that I fell in love with. They were 5 and 3 years old and were brothers. Basically the 5 year old brother would copy things in his notebook with his arm around the 3 year old who just looked on. I couldn't help but give them constant noogies. In all, we felt like more of a distraction than a help in class. During the lunch break, class broke up and some kids went home for lunch and some ate packed lunches. It broke our hearts when this little girl in a worn out dress opened a little plastic box that only had a small cube of some sort of corn cake and a handful of crunchy noodles. It was really hardly any food and it looked very different from our school lunches of fruit roll-ups, pudding, sandwiches and squeez-its. We eventually donated a little bit to the school, although the school's biggest deficit seems to be in the faculty, not the texts...but it was an awesome experience to see how we would do things if we ever opened a school in India.
We had kind of a hairy incident our last night in Varanasi. Grant was writing the last email and I got bored so (for the first time in our trip) I went off by myself to look for a Saree (big strips of cloth they wrap around as a skirt then throw over one shoulder) to purchase. It seems all saree shops are run by men, which made me kinda nervous. I saw one with 3 dudes and didn't feel comfortable with the 2 to 1 ratio. So I found a shop with just one dude, out in the open. It basically just went down hill from there. I pretty much just made one dumb choice after another, ignoring the better sense that kept ringing warning signals in my mind. Basically the guy showed me different sarees in the back room and while showing me how to tie the saree he stuck his hand a little too far down my pants. I pulled his hand out and he apologized a million times but I ran out of the shop in terror. I went back to Grant and explained that I'd been violated by a saree shop dude and Grant immediately marched us to the police. There are police ALL over the Varanasi alleys, just as a precaution to protect Hindu temples and sites from potential Muslim agression. Working with the police was laughable, because nothing was discreet at all. If one man couldn't understand clearly, he repeated it (very loudly) or had Grant repeat it (very loudly) to other cops on the street, allowing the annoying hoverers to hear everything. I was mortified because I was sure everyone in Varanasi knew now. I was blushing all over the place. We were eventually helped out by a tall, mustachioed middle-aged man who seemed to really take the situation seriously (many others didn't). He didn't speak English so another cop translated and it turned into an awkward game of charades acting out the whole event, prying men wandering too close and eavesdropping or even asking, "duh, what's going on?" This officer and another man ended up marching over to the man's store with us and drug him to the police station. They had him face me to "apologize" but the man only said I was imagining things. Jerk. The police told us to go back to our hostel. So in the end, we have no idea what happened with the guy. To be honest, what was done really was not that bad. In the grand scheme of violations, it was nothing. But still, I began to understand the mentality of sexual victims because in the end, I felt like I was the one who did something wrong, and felt like I had committed the sin. I felt super ashamed, which was strange. Whenever I see a saree I can't help but feel stupid about the whole event. I was creeped out because I knew the Saree Shop Dude was scared...we could see it in his face when the cops came. We'd already established that the police weren't very careful so we were sure they would blurt the name of our hostel for the whole world to hear. I started to worry the dude would come to our guesthouse to get revenge or something so as soon as we got there we packed our bags and started to head out. Bohloo asked what the heck was going on and basically rang the story out of us. It was really sweet because suddenly his whole family --him, Arti, his terrifying crotchety mother, Bohloo's elderly father and uncle (the ones who were always warning us about "da monkeys")-- were saying how they would protect us and pleaded for us to stay. So we stayed and the next morning we made it to the train station without any problems.
Our next destination was Gaya, about 4 hours away by train. When we got there we ate at a little restaurant and were joined by a very strange Austrian dude with rotting teeth, who guzzled a whole pitcher of black tea and complained about how terrible Indians were. He said it is impossible to have an Indian friend because in the end, they only see your wallet. And I completely agree. In the end, I think we've made very few friends, because once you start a conversation, it turns into, "so uh, I have this uncle who owns a guesthouse and a sister who owns a restaurant and a mother who owns a travel agency and I am just a nice helpful person who wants to take you to ALL these places" but really gets a handsome commission. It's so annoying. You'll be walking when suddenly this boy/man pops out of no where and follows you, hovering over your shoulder. The conversation always went something like this, with very little deviation:
"Hello, Friend!"
ignore
"Hello, FRIEND! What country?"
guh, "America"
"Ooo! America! Where America? New York, LA, Chicago?"
"Utah"
"Utah! Dat's good friend, dat's good. My uncle/sister/cousin/friend/mother is in San Francisco."
"Great."
"Where going?"
"We don't know."
"Where staying? Need a guesthouse? I know GREAT place, vedy clean, vedy cheap."
"No thank you."
"oh, you go dis way? I follow you forever trying to force you into my commissioned hotels and restaurants until you yell at me to leave you alone."
So exhausting.
We took a very bouncy bus from Gaya to Bodhgaya, the famous birthplace of Buddhism. While walking to our hostel, we had a similar conversation as the one above with a kid curiously named Santos. A Spanish name? We tried to shake the kid, but he was more smooth talking and persistant than most. We checked out a hostel NOT recommended by him first. It was nice and clean but was run by the witchy-est lady I have ever met. Santos later called the woman, "dangerous". haha. We went to a bunch of this kid's other recommended hostels and they all sucked --either too expensive or disgusting-- so we eventually just went with the "dangerous" lady's place. Bodhgaya is a charming place because it really is TINY. Just a village, really. It is a big tourist attraction, so it can get quite bumping, but since it's apparently off season for India, the village was peaceful and sleepy. The alleys around our hostel were all bumpy mud swamps and there were actually grass and trees which was a wonderful break from the brown of the concrete everywhere else. Goats ran around in packs, the adorable little ones bleating like crying babies, the adults perched on the strangest, most amazing places. After checking into the hostel, Santos invited Grant to play soccer with a big group of Indians ranging in ages from Jr High to mid-30s. I sat with Santos and his friend Santos (strange...), while Grant played soccer on the slick, bumpy, grassy field with at least 35 other guys. Grant got really into it and even assisted in a goal! He was popular with the guys and we often ran into them around town, begging for him to play again the next night. Grant had painful stumble so he thought it best not to. While I watched the soccer game, the Santos's explained the village orphanage they volunteered at and how the children were starving. I told them we'd check it out later. After the soccer game we went to a cafe with wi-fi for a little dinner and watched Looney Tunes on my kindle. We especially liked the "Hassan CHOP!" episode, since we saw Hassan's human incarnates everywhere. "Open, saddle soap? Open, septagenarian?" That night the power went out due to a thunderstorm so there was no ceiling fan to cool us off, but it wasn't too bad. I woke up sometime in the wee hours of the morning to Buddhist chanting on a megaphone. I guess there's no time to sleep when there's a chant to be chanted.
The next morning we had a 40 cent meal that was pretty yummy from a road side shack. The food was served by a 12 year old girl from her front "door", her parents lounging on cots in the backround, the home basically made of wooden poles and plastic tarps/bags. We went to the Mahabodhi temple afterwards, which is the temple built beside the holy Bodhi tree that Buddha sat beneath when he was enlightened. The story goes, that Buddha fasted for 40 days/nights under the Bodhi tree, was accosted by some demon, then after confounding him Buddha became "Enlightened", destined for Nirvana. Sounds oddly similar to Christ's experience, doesn't it? We meditated beneath the tree about how we didn't understand Buddhism. Since Bodhgaya is a major hub of Buddhism, 17 countries have set up their own Buddhist temples there. We visited the Thai, Chinese, Nepalese, Vietnamese, Burmese, Bhutanese, Bangladeshi, Japanese, and other temples. They all were similar in many ways, but were different in their "feng shui". We really liked the modern simplicity of the Japanese temple and the HUGE bohemoth of the Tibetan temple, with its awesome gardens and stuff. The Vietnamese was the only one that was tall (6 stories or so) and pagoda-like, but we didn't get to see inside since a grumpy man at the gate said it was under contruction. The temples were really neat, beautiful and awesome to see. Honestly though, we missed Christianity. There is a hollow, restless feeling when you are surrounded by idolatry and worship of strange gods. We really miss the peace of the gospel. That night we read some General Conference talks and sang primary hymns. It was soothing to the soul. It was pretty warm and we got so lazy and lethargic. We stopped at a cafe just to relish in its AC. We decided to try an Indian dessert which was terrible. It was a white round ball that was squished sweet water when you bit into it. It was like a sweet sponge. Gross. On our way back from the Tibetan temple, which was WAY out there, we were picked up by a straaange but funny rickshaw kid named Babalu. He drove the bicycle rickshaws and said he didn't care how much we paid him. During the day, we ran into that Santos kid everywhere. It was kind of annoying since despite his smooth-talkiness we still suspected him of the same old same old routine of scamming tourists.
So there are beggars everywhere. It's very sad, but it's hard because you know that half of them have other options, but would rather beg because they make more money...like the US. We also don't want to perpetuate the idea that begging is good and therefore keep the children who beg out of school. Still, our consciences ached with turning them down, so we bought about 25 cookies from a little stand run by a raggamuffin middle aged couple. We tried the cookies after we bought them and found that they tasted like cat food. But if someone is starving, they can't be too picky, right? It proved to work out, since most beggars took them gratefully. Some looked at the cookie like an insult and either asked for yummier food or money. We figured these were the "professional" beggars.
At the Mahabodhi temple that evening there is a big call to do "puja" or prayer at the temple by the bodhi tree. So we sat with a nice monk type man, then walked around and watched the chanting and bowing and praying of monks from all different countries. Each different monastery has a dozen or so of their own monks who all have different garb. It was pretty fun to see the different methods each country had of praying and dressing, although it was obvious the Indian monks ruled the roost a little bit.
For dinner we decided to splurge a little and eat at a hotel restaurant. The meals were still only $3 even though it was considered "fine dining." We ordered "fresh lime soda" which sounded yummy, but the dude ended up just handing us a bottle of fizzy water with a plateful of tiny sliced lemons and packets of sugar. It was gross. Haha. The dinner was incredibly rich, and incredibly delicious. We were in heaven. Indian food is GOOD. SO good.
On the way back to our hostel that night some scooter rental dudes pleaded for us to sit and chat with them for a while. One of them spoke Chinese so we chatted in Chinese a bit. Interesting to speak to someone, both of us with our own accents. There was another English girl who was travelling alone who sat with us and Grant observed what seemed to be a scam on the poor trusting girl. They had taken her train ticket and said that it was no good and it would be better to take a bus with them in the middle of the night. So it would be 3 of those dudes, versus just her. Grant felt like he smelled a potentially dangerous situation for her, so we lured her away from the crowd of Indian dudes and warned her, telling her she should just take a train the next day for cheaper. She said that now that she thought about it, it could be a dangerous situaition, but she was very trusting and in the end, she probably just went with them anyway.
The next morning we met the Santos's like we agreed to and went to see this orphanage they spoke of. Again, the kid's smooth talking was getting a little much and started to make me suspicious. He kept saying things like, "once you see these children, they will melt your heart. They need the help of kind hearted tourists." On the road there, we ran into a sweaty kid that had also tried to take us to his hostel (meaning, at this point, we already knew that all 3 of these boys were in the commission game). He suddenly seemed to be Santos' best friend and then run the show, like it was HIS idea to take us to the orphanage. He said other syrupy things about the poor children's plight except he didn't sound half as convincing or kind hearted as Santos. Once we got to the orphanage, everything seemed like a rehearsed routine. The building was an unfinished, basic concrete structure, and we were lead first into a bare room with a blanket on the floor and told to sit in a few plastic chairs. The sweaty kid went through the routine of the children having no school supplies and how the summer was so hot, yet there was no ceiling fan. "A ceiling fan is 6000 rupees, if you can make a donation, these poor, hungry children can have a ceiling fan." Then about 16 kids were round up and sat down on the blanket in front of us and began singing some sort of Christian song in Hindi. They seemed extremely bored and unamused by the whole thing, as if they did this all the time. Then they got up and left and never looked at us again, just wandering a doing who knows what. It was a holiday that day, so they said the teacher conveniently wasn't there to teach them. They then lead us upstairs to the unfinished roof, where they hoped to build more room. "You, my friends, can help build more rooms for these poor children. Just $1,000 American dollars will build one room." I started getting more and more suspicious when I saw that there was like 8 or 9 dudes just standing around watching the whole bit, interested to see what we'd say. Who the heck are they? What was THEIR business with the school? It all seemed so contrived. We were then sat down in a little office with the "Pastor" who ran the orphanage. The sweaty kid handed us a little receipt book and said, "now friends, please write down your information and your donation." We said we'd think about it and maybe come back later. Or donate when we were in a better position to do so...like when we were actually employed. The kid's voice rose and he got impatient and was saying, "no, it MUST be today! The children! They NEED a new ceiling fan!" We kept asking why it HAD to be today. They kept saying dumb things like, "who knows what will happen in a year? We need it TODAY." That sounded very odd to me and it seemed so transparent to be some horrible scam, or at least, a heavily commissioned plot for donations. When they saw we weren't going to donate 6000 rupees for a ceiling fan, they changed tactics and said that conveniently, the children's rice was going to run out TODAY and they MUST have rice! They kept saying there were 100+ kids who had schooling at the orphanage, but we only ever say 15 or so. They said the other kids traveled to the school, but when they showed their little photo album, it only ever had the same 15 kids in it. I felt my blood pressure rising and I wanted to yell at them and punch them in the faces for creating such a scummy lie. If the best kinds of people are those who create orphanages to help kids, then the worst kind of people are those SAY they are but really are stealing from kind hearted people. We just played the whole, "we'll discuss it at our hostel, then let you know." The Santos's followed us to our hotel then gave a final pitch at the doorstep about the suffering children and how they themselves often volunteered at the school/orphanage. Grant said he hadn't completely been sure if it was a scam, but we talked and decided it would be best not to get involved in it. It was way too fishy and I'm still convinced it was all garbage.
After the orphanage fiasco, we hung a ride from a couple 14 year-old, tobacco chewing kids driving an auto rickshaw to the cave where Buddha "meditated and fasted for 6 years." There are little figurines all over the village of a skeleton-like Buddha sitting in a cave. It's grotesque. Apparently, the normal route to the cave had been washed out by rains and was under construction so we had to take the LONG way there. It was a 45 minute, BUMPY ride through tiny villages. The villages were incredible. It was REAL Indian rural life, right up close. The homes were built of anything from bricks and twigs, to mud and thatch. Kids pooed and peed on the side of the road everywhere, running around in packs, some half or completely naked. Cows ruled the narrow roads and goats feasted on everything green. Seriously, it's a tragedy that these skinny people find cows to be holy...there are steaks and hamburgers everywhere, hogging their living space! They don't know what they are missing! The villages were surrounded by fields of rice, being plowed by shirtless boys and cows. Ladies in sarees lounged everywhere. It was hard to tell what people did all day. It got us thinkiing about how you would even begin to help that kind of community. They seemed innocently content enough. The kids were running and playing and would wave to us as we passed by. Eventually the boys dropped us off at the bottom of this desolate path that lead up the hillside. We were afraid we would be robbed by mountain bandits, but we were only accosted by an old beggar lady that we gave 2 cookies to. At the top of the path, there was a big Tibetan style monastery that was pretty desolate and we were casually pointed to a stairway leading to the cave. The cave was literally 5x5 feet. There was a Buddha statue in it and a couple lumpy statues of who knows what and some burning candles and that is it. The LAMEST cave ever. Definitely not a "must see" warranting a 1.5 hour round trip. Grant walked into the trees to take a leak and we chuckled that maybe he peed in the same place where Buddha peed 2500 years ago. Back down the hill we were accosted by 3 boys that begged for us to give them money or buy them balloons at the monastery's hut/shop. We gave them each a cookie and the boys were later joined by a gaggle of little ragamuffin girls. Suddenly the boys were walking with me, holding my hand, and the girls were surrounding Grant. We got in our rickshaw and got the cookies out to give to the girls and suddenly pandemonium broke out as the kids clawed eachother for the cookies. The boys kept trying to take the girl's cookies, which was infuriating.
For lunch we went back to that hotel restaurant that was so delicious the night before. Bad choice. That meal ruined Indian food for me forever. I had some sort of "lady finger" (ochra, basically) masala and Grant ate some stuffed mushroom curry. It was VERY good, but it seems that there is an internal Indian food meter and I had reached critical mass. We both over-ate a very rich meal and there must have been something else wrong with the food because we were both very uncomfortable the rest of the day. The word "lady finger" sent me (and still does) into a fit of shudders and gags. We both barely ate dinner and the sight and scent of Indian food was repulsive. Sadly, for me, this never went away. To this moment, I can't bear the words: masala, curry, samosa, paneer, chipati. All the street food that I adored so much now looks like deep fried diarrhea. A sad end to my love affair with Indian food.
After lunch we saw some more temples and roused a sleeping monk from slumber to inquire about meditation classes, but apparently they take meditation seriously and they only offered 5 day/8 hour a day courses. So we did our own version of meditation and went to the hotel and showered and napped since we had to catch a late train to Kolkata that night. We checked out of the hotel, and haggled for a cheap ride to the Gaya train station. We ended up crammed in an auto rickshaw with a few other Indians and a tipsy driver. We were getting nervous that we'd miss our train since we were cutting it close. But we got to the station in one piece and with half an hour to spare.
When we got to the station, we found it kind of odd that there seemed to be an army of homeless people sleeping all over the station. We entered the station to see which platform we should catch our train on, when a nice man who spoke good English said that all trains were delayed. Grant elbowed his way through the throng and got the official news that our train which was supposed to arrive at 9:30, wouldn't arrive until 3:30 am. A SIX hour delay! There was nothing to do but wait. Then the many people slumbering on the train station parking lot suddenly made sense. There were men selling sheets of foil about 5x5 feet large for 10 rupees (20 cents) for people to sit on. We bought one and found that it said "crunchies: toffee and sponge nougat" plus ingredients and nutrition facts all over it. It was a big sheet of candy bar wrapper foil! haha! We found an empty spot to lay our candy bar wrapper waiting area and saw that the neighboring ladies were sleeping on some sort of cheetoh foil. I don't how these dudes nabbed these wrappers from some factory somewhere. Grant and I pulled out the playing cards which suddenly attracted a crowd of 10 or more men. We taught them the rules and let a few of them play Polish Poker with us. Who knew Americans playing cards would be so fascinating? We know they have card games, so cards can't be that novel. Fortunately the crowd broke up and we eventually moved our spot within an indoor waiting room within the station. It was probably no less dirty and it was definitely hotter than outside where there was breeze, but it felt more secure and seemed to be less mosquito-y. By this time it was past midnight and our train was announced to be delayed to 5 am now. We trying sleeping every so often but it was really just too uncomfortable. There was also this kid who was blaring the most annoying, high pitched Indian music from a hand-held music player about 30 feet from where we sat. Grant was getting so frustrated at the kid and didn't know why the heck he at least didn't turn it DOWN! It was soooo annoying! There were over 100 people in this waiting area trying to sleep and he was cranking up his irritating Indian tunes. I was convinced that only someone with "special needs" would be so oblivious to such social protocol. Grant eventually couldn't take it anymore and walked over to the kid and tried to find a volume switch but couldn't find one. The kid apparently misinterpreted Grant's interest in his little music machine and slowly mosied over to us and sat down right next to Grant, holding his music player to him as if he were doing him a favor by letting him enjoy his music right up to his ear. Grant tried to ignore him by burying himself in his book, but the kid kept looking over his shoulder, smiling at Grant. Sure enough, the kid was a little "special". Grant and I laughed at the irony of the situation. Of all the people in the station, Grant hated that machine the most, and now it was blaring in his ear. The kid looked so innocent and sweet, as if he were helping out a friend by sharing his favorite music. Grant was patient and then just held his hands too his ears, smiled and said, "Too loud!" The kid got the hint and turned it off, which was wonderful. He turned it on again later, but at least he wasn't right next to us.
I very much have yearned to make an Indian friend here, but girls just don't talk to foreigners. Actually, it seems girls keep pretty quiet altogether. They are so mysterious! A young, normal, friendly looking Indian girl sat next to us while we waited so I awkwardly got up the courage to ask her as simply as I would have as a kid, "will you be my friend?" haha. I got her info because I just really want an Indian pen pal. Kind of like how Rachel has that awesome Norwegian pen pal. I want a friend from another culture and I felt like this girl could be that.
Our train FINALLY came at 5:45 am, about 8 and half hours late. We were wasted and starving. We slept some but food was only available when the salesmen happened to walk by. Unfortunately, I was still recovering from the terrible lady finger masala so although i was hungry I couldn't bear the thought of eating anything remotely Indian. We ate some hard boiled eggs that were sold there and some crackers, but that was really the gist of all we ate for 28 hours. Once on the train, we kept making long stops that drove us crazy with claustrophobia. It reminded me of the magpie on Rock-A-Doodle: "we're trapped! Trapped like rats!" At one point we were stopped for 3 or 4 hours in the middle of a green countryside. Men got out of the train and chatted, sat around, smoked. Somewhere in the greenery around the tracks there was some sort of well so people ran through the grass to fill water bottles. We asked what the heck was going on and people just shrugs. Some kid said it was probably a signal problem or a power issue. Nobody seemed to care. Like this was all normal for the train to be ridiculously late and stop for hours and hours between stations. We finally got going but after a couple hours we stopped AGAIN for a couple more hours. It was getting dark by this point and people were getting off the train and walking to the station to try to catch a local train that was apparently running. Suddenly the train moved, but it went BACKWARDS, to the last station where it dumped everyone out and we all waited for the local train to take us the last leg of the trip. The local train was mostly empty except for a few old ladies that snoozed under their sarees. We felt bad but they were forced to sit up and we all filled the rest of the seats in the train. I sat next to an ancient old lady in a ratty white saree who kept dozing off then leaning against me. She would wake up then adjust and hold herself upright by holding onto the window sill. I tried to tell her she could sleep on me but she wouldn't. We FINALLY got to the station in Kolkata at past midnight. We were supposed to get there at 6 am, 18 hours earlier. Despite the insanity, no one seemed to care, and no one seemed to be worried at all. We squished into a cab with a bunch of Indians and were dropped off in what looked like Zombie Land. The streets were dirty but the buildings looked like old European style relics. There were sleeping bums EVERYWHERE. More so than anywhere else we'd been. So it looked like some European city where the zombies come out at night. Somehow, still, even at 1 am, we couldn't escape the familiar, "hello, friend! What country? where going?" Some random guy hassled us into staying at his "uncle's" overpriced, disgusting hostel, called the "Shams hotel". While checking in, I chatted with the owner of the hostel and the commission dude and told them of the previous day's fiasco on the train. they said the power was out all over India. I asked if that was normal and they both shrugged/nodded with their Indian sideways head wobble.
The next morning we switched to a hotel that was cheaper and much nicer, despite the minor infestation of small, flat, brown bugs that seemed to love our pillows. We checked email for a little bit and I found from Mom, Jessica and Matthew on facebook that there had the "biggest power outage in the world" or something. They were saying they were worried that we were in trouble or something. Ha! We thought it was funny that the whole world knew about what the heck had happened with the train but we had no idea! While eating breakfast at a yummy omelette toast stand a man came up to us selling newspapers, the headline being "Powerless and Clueless". And that really, is what it was. Maybe in other places like Delhi it was a bigger deal, but nobody that we met seemed to even notice or care. It was not a big deal and most people had no idea they were in a major power outage. Power goes out all the time here. So much so that most businesses and hotels have their own generators so that when the city power goes out they run to they storage room or shed and turn on the generator. No biggy. So the whole event for most people was just "same old, same old".
During breakfast I was attacked in smothery hugs and caresses by this lady on the street who said how she liked me so much and how I MUST come and get henna done by her. Hmmm...this was a tactic we hadn't seen before. She had us take pictures with her and had me pinky swear I would go to her shop later. She had burn scars all down her neck and a burned, missing ear. Later the next day she refused to let me go because I Pinky Swore!! So we caved and got henna done and tipped her and her friend a bit too. They were obviously living on the street and we respected that they actually tried to earn their money instead of just beg.
Funny, Kolkata was a miserable zombie land at night, but when the sun came up, it was nice! The down town area was slightly cleaner than other places and there were lots of modern buildings. And there was a pizza hut! and Dominos and Mcdonalds and KFC and subway! All sorts of places we hadn't seen anywhere in India. We took full advantage and ate at Pizza Hut and Subway, which was a bit of heaven, especially since no amount of hunger could get me to eat Indian food.
Kolkata really was nice. We went to the Victoria Memorial which was a mammoth building looking like a cross between the Taj Mahal and the White House. It had an interesting museum with some art and information about English Imperialism that was quite informative. We later saw a pretty cathedral called St. Pauls, which was nice and peaceful. We also went to Mother Theresa's Mission which we thought was way cool. We sat in silence by her tomb, where nuns and Indians and tourists came in and laid their heads on it and prayed and crossed themselves. The sisters in their white, blue trimmed robes were having their little services in the other side of the room. It was neat. Unfortunately, due to the services for the sisters, the Mother Theresa Exhibit was closed, which was so sad. We asked a nice Sister if she could tell us a little about the Mission and Mother Theresa, who this nun had known personally. She was so sweet and so kind. She said she would just unlock the exhibit and let us in anyway. She also gave us free laminated pictures of M.T. and pendants and prayer booklets. It was the nicest anyone has ever been to us in India. I felt at that moment that if I were an Indian and not LDS, I would have been a nun. It was a sweet, peaceful, good atmosphere. The nuns and the young nuns in training were so full of kindness and innocence and probably the happiest ladies we'd seen in the country. The exhibit was touching and talked all about Mother Theresa's big contribution to aiding the sick and dying and destitute in India. She opened over a hundred "Missions of Charity" just for the aiding of poor. It was really inspiring. We felt strongly that a belief in Christ inspires people to do good. I had had a conversation with a Korean girl that was totally fed up with India who had brought up an interesting point. She said that even though the Indians donate much money to Hindu temples, never do you seen Hindus serving or giving back to the community. We never saw Hindu schools or orphanages. The Hindu monks only went on pilgrimages and begged for food, all for the guarantee that they would receive salvation. Yet there were plenty of Christian and even Buddhist schools and sanctuaries. I really think Christianity in particular does motivate people to do good things and to serve others. Grant really wanted to make a donation to the Mission, which we did.
The rest of our time in Kolkata really was just buying souvenirs. We hadn't gotten a chance to do any of that and we wanted to get just one thing that would represent our trip. In the end, we left India with mixed feelings. Of all the countries we visited so far, it was by far our favorite, but by far our least favorite too. It was so different and exciting, beautiful and exhilirating, yet so dirty and despairing, exhausting and frustrating. It just seemed like India made even the most simple things complicated. Like going potty. ugh. So complicated.
We took a midnight flight to Kunming China last night and here we are! It's been a long time since I have been here. China is a spotless piece of heaven on earth compared to India. And it is MUCH more expensive than it was in the past. Exchange rate aside, it just seems like everything costs more. Food, transport, etc. A bus across the city was $4! It cost that much for an 8 hour train ride in India. Oh well. It's worth the clean, uncomplicated, kind, wonderful place the China is.
