The End

Mom's Final Thoughts

When I told people I was going to India, the most common reaction was something like, “Oh, I have no desire to go to India”.  On one level I understood the reaction, it isn’t as beautiful as Switzerland or as romantic as Italy or France but I believe the more places you visit the more you understand your world, appreciate differences in peoples and cultures, and discover about yourself.  Many people also remarked that you will either love India or hate it.  I found you could both love and hate India in the span of just hours but mainly I side with loving it (especially now that I’m home).  Life in India can be intense.  There is extreme poverty, harsh climate, congested traffic, awful pollution, overcrowded cities, and for me, most difficult, many stray dogs.  But India has its own unique beauty as well.  There is a rich history, incredible food, beautifully colorful garments, magnificent mountains, organized chaos, and many kind and helpful people.  There are many places in the world where you could look out a window and it could be anywhere but in India when you look out a window, it is clear you are in India.  After being there only two weeks, I am so impressed with Sedona’s choice to live there for 9 months.  I would have never been able to do it.  I visited her college and while the campus had some beautiful gardens and was lovely on the outside, the dorms where the girls lived were quite dismal.  The paint was peeling from the walls, the floors looked old and dirty, and through every window you looked out into a courtyard where the girls strung their clothes to dry.  Sedona had a makeshift broom she used to sweep out her room everyday as dust was everywhere.  Her bunk bed looked like something you’d see in a U.S. prison, only a few inches thick and the walls were bare and dirty.  And then there was the bathroom…let’s just say it’s a good thing she’s not a high maintenance woman.  It’s really difficult to express just how different everything in India is.  When Sedona says she had to change everything about how she lived, she’s not exaggerating.  I cannot express how impressed I am with my daughter.  She demonstrated such courage, patience, curiosity, appreciation, openness, adaptability, and an adventurous spirit.  She endured a serious bout with food poisoning that landed her in a foreign hospital, lost a crown that forced her to find a foreign dentist, traveled both alone and with dear friends all over India and Nepal, spent time in an ashram, learned to haggle with the finest auto rickshaw drivers, lived the whole time without a washing machine or dryer, got a job, met some amazing people, and learned how it felt to be a minority.  I think it’s appropriate she turned 21 during her stay in India because this experience certainly contributed to her maturity.  Through her experiences she has gained even more grace, confidence, and peace of mind.  She has accomplished something many of us, including myself, would never have had the courage or confidence to even attempt.  I’m sure this is just the beginning of new and exciting adventures still to come.

Last Day in India

In twelve hours, I will be on a plane to the United States. However, as it is 4 in the afternoon, it seems like much shorter a time even than that. I've been away for so long that it was hard to imagine being home until my mother got here, and I'm sorry for her that an opportunity to explore a new place has been sprinkled with my excitement at the idea of going home.

Some travelers come through India and fall in love with the rich culture and ethnic lifestyle. Honestly I have not. I love all the people who I have become close with in my stay here, but as for the country or the culture I have no strong feelings any which way.

My study abroad is I guess in a lot of ways different from most. I spent a year living in a building which horrified my mother, having the aesthetic of a prison and less than hygienic cleanliness. Character building. I half the time was confronted with a language I never learned. My environment was loud, dangerous, and in almost every other aspect foreign. The food was different, the mannerisms, the activities.

But I think maybe the most forcefully different part of my study abroad compared to a lot of others has to do with all the different ways in which I had to change. I had to change so much of what generally defines us. I had to consciously change the way I spoke, my mannerisms, my reactions, the clothes I wore, the things I cared about, my sleeping schedule, and the activities in which I participated. Its gradual, its traumatic, its perhaps liberating, its unconscious, and its consciously decided, all in one. Its a process and a decision, and the outcome is unknown.

Its hard to give a culminating blog post on my last day in India. Likely I will notice effects, changes, and everything positive and negative for the next few years. But in an effort to sum - most people I talk to say I'm more confident and relaxed. I find I'm more willing to ask for help and show my frustration more quickly. When I read about Pakistan testing a middle range ballistic missile, I know that most of the lay Indians I meet don't blame them. I know that when I hear about Westerners going over to help small villages in the Himalayas rebuild their homes after floods, that these people do really appreciate it. When I hear talk about how India is a rising superpower, I only think about how stunned I am that it has stayed together for as long as it has, and that it operates with any kind of slight trajectory. I realize the power and importance of technology, which I used nearly every day of my stay to communicate with the people I love.

My experience is only vast, in what living a year in India has done to me, and what I've done to me in order to live in India. Going back, I can't anticipate what profound life changes would be typical of such an experience. There will still be daily challenges of the same and different types. Some may seem more manageable, but some will still be altogether new. I may be able to compare and contrast experiences and reactions from Sedona before and after living in India, but I don't expect to, and I am not planning on trying to. 

Trip to Pangong Tso Lake

If you haven’t read the post on our trip to Agra, please go back and read that now. The trip to Agra and the trip to Pangong Tso lake are about equal in time, but not experience.

If you are going to Ladakh, you must go to Pangong Tso lake, so says every single person to which Sedona mentioned my trip. Pangong Tso Lake is an impressive 83 miles long divided between Chinese and Indian territory, which rests at 14,500 feet. This whole area of India is heavily militarized due to problems with Pakistan and Kashmir, as well as border disputes with China on the other side. This meant that we frequently passed small military posts and needed several permits and our passports with us. When Sedona was setting up the itinerary via email, the hotel manager inquired as to our nationality, as these permits are not issued to the Chinese, which he suspected as my last name is Chinn.

On our third day, we decided to make the journey to Pangong Lake, about 85 miles from Leh where we are staying, via our driver and jeep. We were anticipating a quiet, uneventful, and scenic drive. We left about 7:00am along nicely paved and little used roads.

From this point onwards, we encountered three more categories of road. These became progressively narrower, windier, and bumpier. After the paved area, the road turned to dirt and gravel, winding along mountainsides with cliffs dropping off and few guard rails, which is what Sedona had been anticipating, and had not shared with her mother. Beyond that, we encountered roads of snow and ice as we climbed in altitude. On these roads, conscious effort and abdominal strength needed to be maintained in order to remain upright and seated. This became increasingly difficult as we climbed from 11,000 feet (in Leh) to 17,500 feet, the altitude of Chang-la pass, the second highest motorable road in the world. As the oxygen levels rapidly decreased, the energy required to turn our heads and have a conversation was soon considered extraneous. At the top of Chang-la pass, as Sedona suffered a headache Andrea suffered a disability to walk in a strait line, we were served tea by the Indian army, who seemed appreciative of the five minutes of company.

Coming down the other side of the pass, we next encountered grey sand dunes, which surprisingly and unfortunately were perhaps less comfortable to snowy roads. However we did see yaks, goats, and a marmot. By this point we were already exhausted, with headaches from the altitude changes and carsick from the winding and bumpy roads, as well as in desperate need of a bathroom.

Finally, we arrived at the lake. It was frozen. There were a few birds. Most of the huge length of it was tucked behind mountains. When Sedona explained, laughing hysterically out of exhausted resignation, that we had reached our destination, Andrea, hungry, tired, nauseous, head aching, and needing a bathroom, collapsed onto a rock and announced if she had the strength, she would kill her daughter. Her next thought was that it may be more effective to end her own life in the freezing water. Finally she concluded it would be most fair to force Sedona to make the return trip.

We quickly ate lunch, took a few pictures, were again served tea by the Indian army (possibly the best chai we have had) and told our driver to take us back. We were there for all of half an hour. Already weary from the five hours coming, we mentally prepared for another five hours of climbing, winding, bumping, and jostling.

Despite feeling awful, things had gone relatively well until we got up into the snow. Soon Andrea turned to a nauseous Sedona and asked if she felt like she would throw up and needed to stop. Sedona responded with “not yet, I need to wait until we get to Chang-la pass, that way I can say I’ve thrown up at 17,500 feet.” We both began to laugh uncontrollably. The signs of oxygen deprivation had most definitely begun.

As we winded further up the mountain, we saw ahead a couple of trucks. Andrea thought they were ploughing the roads for us, as it had started to lightly snow. However, as we approached, we realized they were stopped. Our driver left us to see what was the matter. He must have found out, but did not speak enough English to communicate this to us. Meanwhile, Sedona had decided to go to sleep in the back seat of the jeep. Andrea used all of her remaining energies to remain conscious and plan for the inevitable night we were going to spend on the mountain in the jeep.

As we waited longer, the cars lined up behind us, and wind started to pick up, the situation became concerning to Andrea (Sedona was still passed out in the back seat). Unable to find anyone in the caravan of vehicles who spoke English well enough to explain our predicament, Andrea was comforted by the fact that she was accompanied by a daughter with Wilderness First Responder training. However, this relief was dashed quickly as the lack of oxygen rendered Sedona incapable of remembering the symptoms for altitude sickness (these were remembered when no longer needed about four thousand feet lower). As we waited Andrea found it amusing that it could all end in the Indian Himalayas of all places in the world.

What had happened is that a truck was stuck in the snow. It took probably an hour to get it out, but after that it was smooth, well, sort of, sailing back to Leh. As we travelled the remote mountain road, we came upon a scruffy dog trotting up the road with a fresh cow’s leg in its mouth. Not far behind came another, less fortunate dog, without any cow appendages, hoping the first would share.

Our only explanation of all the recommendations for this trip is that there is a secret pact, in which, having suffered the arduous journey to the anticlimactic lake, one must encourage others to make the same trip and suffer the same disappointment and trauma. We however have violated this pact by sharing our experience.

Airports in India

After a twelve-hour day of travels to the Taj Mahal the alarm rang at 5:30am and we were off to the airport by 6:00 for our flight to Ladakh.

Fortunately, I am traveling with Sedona who has travelled within India before, as I wouldn’t have known to tag my carry-on items. This is important when going through security.

We made our way to security where we were the redundancy begins. After placing ones belongings in a tray, you receive a paddle with a matching number to the one in your tray, in order to make sure the correct valuables end up with the correct person. Next, it is important to get into the appropriate line, male or female. The women go behind a glass box and curtain to get frisked, while the men are frisked publically. This line, despite there being few people, seemed to take a very long time. Finally it was my turn to go behind the curtain, and I realized what was taking so long. After being frisked, the security lady asked me about my trip to India, and we chatted some time about my trip to the Taj Mahal. She informed me that she was planning a trip there soon.

We now collected our carry-on luggage, which each now had a stamp on the tag, which would be important later, as it would be checked yet again. Our boarding passes also now carried a stamp, which would be checked another three times.

It was a one-hour flight to Leh, where the terrain changed dramatically. In no time we were flying over huge pristine Himalayan mountains. We weren’t in Delhi anymore. The landscape of Ladakh is barren but for a few leafless trees and snow capped mountains. Without those mountains it almost looks like the Sahara Desert. As we made our way to the hotel, the one distinction we noticed between Delhi and Ladakh is that the stray dogs are much furrier. Important to note.

We arrived at the hotel, had tea, felt quite good and relaxed despite the altitude (11,000 feet), feeling the need to whisper as the silence is deafening compared to Delhi and we didn’t want to disturb it. This until an Indian couple comes to tea and commenced to smoke, talk loudly on their cell phones, and take pictures.

We were encouraged to go rest in our room for a bit, until we would go do some local sightseeing. Not particularly feeling the need, we obliged. However we didn’t realize we had been sprinkled with fairy dust, which took its effects immediately upon becoming horizontal. We promptly passed out for six hours and were awoken only for lunch, which we declined for more sleep. A few hours later, we were awoken again for our local sightseeing. Upon seeing we had still been sleeping, the manager encouraged us to go back to sleep, which we did. Finally, we awoke at 7:00pm and noticed it was getting darker, and decided since we were out of water, we ought to make the effort, for the first time today, of getting out of bed.

One final important note is that high altitude has the effect of being put under laughing gas. The thin air results in intense bouts of the giggles between naps. 

The Road To Agra

The Taj Mahal is a five-hour drive from Delhi. We went via private car. The driver picked us up at 7:30am. I anticipated the usual congestion getting out of Delhi, and assumed once out of Delhi we would get on a freeway and easily make our way to Agra.

The reality was four lane road, two in each direction, which was shared with pedestrians, bicyclists, bicycle drawn carts, horse drawn carts, motorcycles with five people and young children, auto-rickshaws, farm equipment, and my favorite, the over burdened trucks that looked exactly like muffin tops a good twenty feet tall at least. On first observation you would think that these vehicles are not safe to drive – and you would be right. We saw at least two turned over on our journey, spilling out into the road. They could be filled with anything from straw, to aluminum cans, plastic bottles, to used toilet paper rolls.

Just when you get comfortable with no one paying any attention to the lanes, you notice traffic coming towards you in the wrong direction. The horn is the primary form of communication, taking the place of either turn signal, mirrors, and what we might consider mandatory visual checks. My plan was to sleep at least part of the five-hour journey on the way to Agra, but I was in a perpetual state of horrified fascination and couldn’t close my eyes long enough to rest (Sedona was fast asleep).

At one point our driver explained in broken English, that he was going to leave us for a moment, and we were not to open the doors or windows, and to remain in the car. I didn’t think much of that until, as soon as he walked away, a parade of oddities encircled the car. Everything from men with jewelry banging at the window, monkeys on leashes, to a man with a pet cobra (this is when Sedona started cowering and hiding) swarmed our car in the five minutes before our driver returned.

Traffic seemed to flow fairly well until the occasional accident or dead horse.

The Taj Mahal is a tomb built by a Mughal king for his favorite wife. It stands alone in its majestic beauty surrounded by poverty, desolation, and the general filth of Agra. All the detail to the building is done with inlays of semi-precious stones. Our tour guide said that in building it, they started out giants and became jewelers. The intention was to build a second mirror image in black on the other side of the river for the king’s tomb. However, his sons decided that he had lived too long and held him in house arrest until his death in the Agra fort. 

How was India? part 4

Yesterday it stormed in Delhi. I loved it. There was wind and rain and finally it was cool. Rain in Delhi is one of my favorite things. It doesn’t ever sprinkle, it rains hard for an hour or so, sometimes longer, and takes a break. I believe there is always an occasion for rain because I never have found it so cold as to not appreciate the ten-degree difference the rain makes. Yes, it will become humid soon, but for the time being, especially as it’s been in the 90s, I’m happy.

This leads us to our fourth installment of my ‘How was India?’ series: My favorite things.

While there are plenty of beautiful places in India, and this one relatively small, touristy, and no more than a week’s worth of things to do, the place I remember most fondly is Darjeeling. Perhaps it was because it was the first place I was truly traveling on my own, and my every move was not planned. Maybe it is because the people there were so kind and welcoming, stopping me to ask where I was going, and pointing me in the right direction. At the same time they left you well alone, no staring, no hassling, and bartering took about ten seconds to reach an acceptable price. In general, it is a very polite place. Darjeeling is part of a section of West Bengal referred to as Gorkhaland (Gorkhas are from Nepal actually) who want to form a new state under India separate from West Bengal. At times, this struggle has been violent. The differences between Gorkhaland and West Bengal are perceptible to all your five senses. Cultural differences and neglected needs of the region by the state government are, as I understand it, the reasons for desiring the foundation of a new state.

My favorite street food is momos, a Tibetan dim sum, which litter most marketplaces.

My favorite Indian food is channa bathura. Channa is chickpeas, and it's a kind of gravy or soupy dish, eaten with bathura, deep fried flat bread that is big and puffy. Its inevitable you will eat too much of this heavy food and feel sick.

I have two places that are my favorite in Delhi, and they are so, perhaps unfortunately, because they are more peaceful than the rest of Delhi. The first is Hauz Khas Village, built around Mughal ruins, has some of the best restaurants in south Delhi. The second is N block market in GK1, which is less than five minutes on a bicycle rickshaw from my college. Smack-dab in the middle of some of the most expensive real estate in Delhi, it is quiet, has a little green patch, nice shops, and a café that, while lacking internet or plugs, is perfectly accommodating if you’d like to sit for three hours and only order a coffee while listening to their jazz music.