The time is passing quickly and everything is wonderful here. I’m trying to beat the rain so I don’t have time to post this afternoon but check back soon for a worthwhile update. Hope you’re all cozy and warm. Miss you all.
I now live in the jungle. November 17, 2008
If anything could stump me now, it would be how quickly my life and living conditions can still change in India. I wish that I had more time to update but a man keeps coming to tell me that, “Coming, Madam, bread omelet is ready, Madam,” in his broken English.
My travel break was phenominal. Tate and I spent some time in Delhi, marveled at the Taj Mahal, and spent a few days in the Himalayas where we rented an unlicensed motorcycle to watch the sun go down tucked deep inside the mountains and white-water rafted the holy Great Ganges River.
I now live in the jungle. I’ve been told to fear for my life every time I leave the house in danger of wild elephants and tigers. I live in a beautiful Indian style house that has a huge patio that looks out into gigantic jungle mountains. I love this.
I do not have time to post today and doubt that I will have internet access often. I am well and will no doubt enjoy this last month in India.
Miss and love you all.
Wrapping up RUHSA November 11, 2008
My final address in India will be:
Chelsea Koloski
Indian Institute of Science Field Station
Masinagudi P.O.
Nilgiris District
Tamil Nadu
643223
INDIA
Well, to tell the truth I don’t think I’ve been more homesick than I am today. Tate left yesterday back for Germany and I will not be reunited with the St. Olaf group until tomorrow. It’s funny that I can be as lonely as I am with so many darn people around.
Enough of the sob story; I have a lot to catch everyone up on!
My last week at RUHSA was absolutely amazing. Diwali was an incredible holiday and I felt like it was a mix between Christmas and the 4th of July. People celebrated in the strangest ways. I saw everything from goats being slaughtered and people drowning chickens, to people lighting off baskets of fireworks and handing out gifts. The streets were adorned with flower garlands and everyone walked around saying “Happy Diwali” which sounded more like “Hoppy Divvolli!”
I also spent my last night at Radhika’s house. We spent all afternoon playing with the fold out Frisbees that I brought from home and all evening lighting off firecrackers that Reba described as “a little more cracker than fire.” It sounded like gunshots throughout the country but there was little sparkle and flare.
Saying goodbye to Radhika, Pravie, Priya, and Balaji (among others!) was hard. It is unsettling for me to know how my life will unfold verses theirs. I see so much potential in them but know that they will never be given the opportunities that my life has given, and will give, me. I will have many stories about them when I get home. I will without-a-doubt miss them more than anyone in India.
My first project also ended. I gave a presentation to a small hospital panel interested in my conclusion. My stark findings in regards to the poor dental health didn’t seem to phase them which leads me to believe that it will still be awhile until rural areas are educated about oral heath. I have hopefully left some sort of footprint on the people of Chennagkuppam!
I was planning on posting all about my wonderful travel break now but it will have to wait until tomorrow. I miss you all more than you know. I wish I was there right now.
Claustrophobic bus rides, beautiful Indian children, and living in paradise. October 24, 2008
First things first, I’ll be leaving my site in less than a week so hold off sending any mail until I post my next address.
I would say the only thing I’m not going to miss about RUHSA is the bus ride into Vellore— our closest “town” where the main sister hospital, CMC, resides. Everything else is wonderful. My project in its final stages. I’ve interviewed 121 members in 91 households. I have the stack of surveys right next to me and will start putting everything into Excel later today.
Why, you might ask, do I hate the bus ride into Vellore so much? This is my average, typical, every day experience.
First of all the buses are made of tin, that as I said before resembles my dad and brother’s race cars (dented and creased… have these buses rolled, or been t-boned or what?), and the seats are less than appetizing. They’re more like two pieces of wood assembled with iron and a cushion barely large enough for two people to fit entirely. So, climbing on I don’t feel like I’m stepping on what I would now consider a luxurious average American school bus but rather a huge welded tin box with a loud engine.
When I think of a full city bus in America, it would be one where everyone has a seat, at worst; three people would be crammed into a seat and maybe a few standing. Not in India. A bus isn’t full until every seat has been filled and the people are standing three or four thick in the isles. And then twenty more crowd onto the two steps leading into the bus and five hang out of each door resembling suave amigos in a cheesy movie. When school gets out it is even worse. Every child in Vellore uses the mass transit, along with every adult getting off work. The children overflow out the doors like bushels of grapes. I’m not kidding. Children hang onto other children that aren’t even on the bus. It scares me half to death. So, thanks India for teaching me how two-hundred or more people can fit onto, or spew out of, a bus.
Now picture being in the middle of the bus, cram packed tighter than sardines in a can. Everyone smells. Everyone has bags, or crates, or lord knows what else. One man even brought his parakeet on board one day. So live animals and all, we all fit happily (or not so happily in my case) onto the bus. Sometimes I just want to yell, “No! There is no more room. Please, please, please wait for the next one!” But that would be a lost cause. That is just the way things are in India. There are so many people. Everywhere. All the time. I never guessed that the term “my space” would literally mean the space that my physical body takes up.
And the India music is equally as bad. If only you could all have the treat of hearing it. A man and woman usually sing in the highest key humanly possible in the whiniest, most nasal sounding voice. A tambourine or wood block usually accompanies. And the buses have the most wonderful idea of playing it, full blast while everyone smashes in! It’s a combination that could kill. Literally.
As amusing as it may sound, I absolutely loath the bus ride. My hour and a half trip in wears me out more than running four miles. And I’ll be darned if I don’t need a shower after I pry myself out.
But I can easily say that is the worst part about my experiences right now. I have fallen in love with my translator’s family and know that I will miss them more than anyone in India. She has two nieces, Priya (13) and Pravie (8), and one nephew, Ballaji (10), that I would pack up in a suit case and take home with me if I could. Every time they see me they run and give me a hug and little Pravie gives me kisses on both cheeks when I leave to go back to RUHSA. We make shadow puppets by candlelight when the power goes out. We blow up my latex gloves and pretend they are cow’s utters. We dance in Radhika’s two room house. We sing English songs. They’re adorable. They rub my arms like white skin is the most radiant thing they’ve ever seen and little Ballaji even asked me if he could have some of my “whitening cream.” I have so many memories with them after one month’s time. It will be extremely hard to tell them goodbye.
Last weekend Rebecca Dyer, Kate and I visited the city of Bangalore. We walked on wide sidewalks, didn’t see one bullock cart, stayed in a hotel, and ate at Ruby Tuesday’s. We visited Bangalore’s Castle that was advertised to resemble Windsor Castle. Well, India missed the mark on that claim… but it was interesting none-the-less. The Lalbagh Gardens were lush and beautiful. It was a great weekend trip. (P.S. I can’t believe that Olaf’s global group spends all their time (in India) there!! Bangalore is not real India!!)
Tomorrow I’m taking the few-hour trip back to Chennai. I’m going to regretfully be a pro at the train system before I know it. It will just be an overnighter to bring some things back to put in storage. I’m preparing myself for the Diwali Festival and holiday. I hear it’s a crazy occasion in India.
My experiences (even if I am sometimes squished and walking through cow dung) are timeless. My frequent walks or bike rides through the countryside never fail lend a new sight in a village or take my breath away from the surrounding paradise landscape. I can’t wait to see what the next half of my semester will bring. I miss you all and sometimes find myself missing all my comforts (and safety!) in America. I can’t wait to hear from you all!
Kodaikanal… my vacation from India while still in India. October 13, 2008
On Friday I got up early, put on my sari, and headed to the village of Chennakuppam, where I go everyday to do my study. The village has somewhere around 475 households and only a few streets. The people recognize me and welcome me with flowers and little kids always find me to say “brush, brush” knowing that I may have brought a couple toothbrushes to give out. Friday was hot, easily over 100oF. I got a deep red sunburn and ate my continuous gifts of groundnuts, dried by the sun, all day long.
That night I got on a train; I had no idea what I was getting myself in to when I climbed into a general seating women’s cart. My nine hour train ride ticket cost me somewhere around five dollars—you can imagine that white tourists usually don’t opt for anything other than preferred (reserved) seating—so oh boy, the old toothless women were animated when I sat down. One woman promptly handed me a thick photo album of what I would assume to be her family (does she carry that thing everywhere?). I laugh at Indian photographs because the people don’t smile. There is nothing more fun that paging through a photo album where no one looks like their having a good time…
They all began asking questions. Tamil is a language that, well, I have no understanding of, at all. My vocabulary is limited to hello, thank you, how are you?, what is your name?, have you eaten?, mother, father, big sister, come with me, and I’ll be back later. Ten phrases usually results in about ten seconds of quality conversation. But, you must believe me when I tell you that I talked to these old women for something close to three hours. They relentlessly asked questions and told me stories and on and on. I can honestly say I didn’t understand a word (or really speak a word)… but what an experience. They retired (from their job of inquiring in any way possible about me) early in the night and laid around the train cart anywhere there was room. It amazed me how these women had no problem sleeping on a floor that was filthy; probably dangerous to walk on without one inch soles on my shoes. (And hey, please know that I make that last comment even after the fact that my whole understanding of “dirty” has changed while I’ve been here.)
Between busses and trains my total travel time was around fourteen hours. I dozed maybe an hour of that but mostly just took in the culture (to the extreme), wrote letters home, and listened to the lovely blasting train horn whistle (right outside the open, barred windows as frequent as every two minutes).
On the bus up the mountain I was the only person with my window open. Everyone was shivering—we passed men on their motorcycles with parkas and stocking caps—and I was just as happy as a girl could be with the cool breeze on my skin. Let me emphasize “cool breeze”… The weather here is somewhere around 60oF, and the Indians walk around bundled up like I was in Itasca’s -40oF conditions. You’d think they would turn into an ice cube on the spot (which wouldn’t have been too far off from our actual experience in Itasca).
With the cool air, the dense flora and fauna and the stone cottage that welcomed me, I would think that I was at a cabin in the mountains at home. And, I got to see Shoshana and Rebecca Rand (whom I miss severely). I’ve relaxed all weekend. I slept in front of the fire in the kitchen last night. I have my American normality of drinking plain green tea (a rare find in Southern India) multiple times a day and we even whipped up grilled cheese for lunch on Saturday. It is such a nice break from the exhausting India that I have been living in for the past seven weeks.
I have, unfortunately, had to learn an invaluable lesson during my time here. Yesterday we went to a small bakery on the main road for breakfast. There was an Indian man sitting there, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, who asked if we were from America. As with anyone that I encounter here, I gave him a couple minutes of my time. He turned out to be a fascinating character. He had so much knowledge about America and an interesting perspective on American politics and we talked for awhile. Anywhere I go in India people offer their phone number in case I’m in their area and need a helping hand. So, naturally this man did the same. We left but then saw him again about an hour later at the market. He asked if we’d like to grab coffee later, he was traveling alone and seemed innocent enough, so we agreed to meet him. This is when my story gets mucky. It is true that we got too comfortable talking to him and telling him of our plans in India. After all, this guy was so educated and had such good English and could answer any of our questions about the country. Somewhere along the way it was revealed to him that I was traveling back to Katpadi alone today (and no it wasn’t me who offered this information carelessly) and this seemed to spark his interest. This morning I got a text from him telling me the train time. Then another telling me the bus to the train time and that “we” (meaning him and I) could catch it at 4pm today. As a series of texts from him buzzed on my phone I also got one saying that he’d booked us sleeper class tickets and we could pick them up when we arrived at the station.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. We? Why was this man, who knew nothing about the train in the first place booking tickets for me and him to travel together? I had bought my tickets a while back and had never told him that I needed any help. He didn’t even need to travel in my direction. It would be no problem for me to take another train except that the train from here to where I live only runs once a week, on this Monday night and I need to get back to do my research.
His information also didn’t line up for us to “meet and take the bus at 4” to the train station. I walked to the station to check for myself and found out that there was no available bus at that time. I think back on it now and there are so many things that didn’t add up. Why did he know so much about America? Why was he so interested in me? Why is he at this very touristy destination by himself? Why on earth did we give him the information that we did?
So, sorry Mom for calling you in the middle of the night, crying, to ask if I should bail on my already-paid-for train ticket. Tony, Shoshana, and Rebecca had to leave early this morning for their research so I just wanted Mom’s verdict as I am here without peers! I’m safely sitting in Kodai International School writing this post and I’ve decided to take a bus tonight to Chennai (my well known city) and then a train from there. It’s a round about (and much more expensive) way but at least I’ll be safe.
It’s terrifying to be traveling, alone, for long distances in any foreign country but if I ever choose (or rather have no other choice) to travel alone—the fact that I’m doing so will not be known by curious lurkers. So, thanks again India, lesson learned.
Anyway, I’m safe. I’ve got my head on a swivel (as a hockey coach would say). I’m doing well. My research is really coming along (I’ve already interviewed 70 people) and I’m excited for travel break (and to see Tate!) in just a couple weeks.
Hopefully my bus ride tonight is cozy and those 12 short hours fly by.
My dental project is underway! October 10, 2008
Well, low and behold, today I begin my seventh week in India!
My dental project is underway! I learned very quickly that I must be persistent if I want anything done. And, everything that has been done is solely because of my constant reminders to people and refusal to believe that ‘getting this’ or ‘doing that’ is impossible.
I have hired an adorable translator who knows just enough English to make my project a success and to have short fun conversations. Her name is Radhika, she’s 19, just graduated high school last year, and is a little spitfire. We get along like two peas in a pod. Everyday I go to her thatched roof house and she helps me tie my sari and puts flowers in my hair and a bindi on my forehead. I am absolutely stumped at how she knows any conversational English at all. From what I understand, she went to a government school (in India government schools are the worst… and they have holiday at least once a week) where it would have been impossible to learn English. The only possible way… is for her to have watched television and to teach herself. She’s amazing and her ambition to learn really motivates me!
I am so thankful that I have a reliable sidekick! I’m very tired of all the unorganization in India. I had to sit down yesterday and write down all of my frustrations and then make a list of what India has taught me so far.
A few from the list of, ‘I’m tired of…’
worms in my apples.
everything smelling like a foot.
water from a jug.
my Flintstone broom (seriously it looks like it is from the cartoon).
men peeing on the side of the road (or grass, or onto the sidewalk, or absolutely anywhere at any time).
no air conditioning.
And believe me, the list goes on.
But now, I am happily going out into the field to collect data. It is invaluable for me to have dental tools in my hands and to be looking into people’s mouths. There is so much more to write but it is time for me to gather my things and get out the door.
Be prepared to hear about my adventures this weekend. I’m going to Kodaikanal to see Rebecca Rand! It’s a nine hour train ride and I’m going solo… in general seating class. Sometimes I think I’m out of my mind!
Hope everyone is enjoying the fall weather and colors, wherever you are in the world!
Rural orientation and getting started at RUHSA… September 29, 2008
An update coming sooner than I would have guessed…
My research project… seems to be crawling at the Indian pace, you get it done when you get it done. No rush, no hurry. Only, I am rushed and hurried. I’m watching my five weeks here quickly turn into four weeks and I have yet to get access to the main hospital in Vellore and my advisor went on holiday today for four days.
This aside, I love it here. My room looks like a little cottage with pastel purple walls and a light yellow door and curtains. It has two windows, a good fan, a western bathroom (even complete with a stand-up shower) and the mattress on my bed is nearly four inches thick. The temperature drops to 82 degrees some nights and I have to grab a blanket to keep warm. The hospital campus is filled with trees and patchy grass, but extraordinarily clean compared to everywhere else I’ve been. Trash bins are even provided. Crazy thought, I know. The staff is easy-going (maybe a little too easy going to actually be productive in regards to my research) and friendly. And I can buy large, ripe guavas right outside the gate. Other than the train tracks right outside my window (sometimes I feel like I might as well be hanging on to a jet engine it gets so loud) and the birds chattering at sunset it’s very peaceful and refreshing.
Last week we completed rural orientation. The first day we got there and hopped on what I called the party bus (a 15 seater probably made in the 70′s with an olive green and orange exterior with deep purple tinted windows decorated with butterfly stickers and a young driver who obviously had his own agenda and blared Indian rap music as we flew down the road) to travel to a rice patty. I was amazed at the workers whos skin looked like it had been leathered long ago. Then men working in one area had on nothing more than a loin cloth and the women working elsewhere were, of course, in saris. We took a shot at rice cultivation but first pulled up too much dirt with the roots (how else do you do it?) and then spooked the ox pulling the man powered plow. Don’t worry, this wasn’t me, I grew up with enough horses (and one cow) to know the tricks of being around large animals. But it was fun, and the mud fields felt like mud volleyball pits on the 4th of July.
During the week we saw so much of how the people in rural India spend their days. A high daily salary for them is 80 Rs (not more than $2 dollars) but most make somewhere around 40-50 Rs ($1.25). It’s amazing to witness someone who lives like this, with no ability to grow and prosper. The American Dream is absolutely a foreign concept for people who still live and follow the caste system which is illegal but still very much present in most of the country.
We did so many things: the rice patties, watched women at leather crafting, went to a completely man powered brick making factory (except for the women who were responsible for carrying the huge stacks of bricks on their heads to move them around), went to a private school, and then comparatively to a government school, went to an agricultural research center, gave a shot at practical pottery making (the traditional way), met with a women’s group in one of the villages, had a discussion with a village administrator (who reeked of too much alcohol, cigarettes, and easy money). The list goes on.
The cutest little girl gave me a ride on her dad’s dirt bike. I have a feeling that she’d only driven the thing a couple times… I had to convince myself to just go with it, even though I thought we were going to crash and I was going to get major road burn.
I was, however, ready to leave at the end of the week. Never before had I been treated as such an incapable human being (possibly how all the women are treated by men here?). Us, being women, were not addressed in the same way our guys were, weren’t able to do the same things the guys were, and were not respected more than a child. This didn’t sit well with me. At that point, I was so frustrated and felt trapped and ready to go home to America. A hike to a waterfall helped me to let out some anger (yes I seriously felt angry towards these men) and I just had to keep in mind that I’d be out of there soon.
So now, here I am near Vellore (find Chennai on the map and then a little farther directly west) and I’ve broken away from the large group (and one of my best friends, Rebecca Rand). Yesterday we went hiking up Elephant Hill (the hill looks like an elephant’s back but don’t all hills?) and I’ve already got to meet up with three others at another site twice. Not knowing that the main road was 10k from where we were turned out to be a learning experience that India gets VERY dark when the sun goes down and the animals get hungrier and people in rural areas are creeped out by three white women walking down the road… lesson learned. Someone was watching out for us because a rickshaw just happened to be bumbling along on that dark and lonesome road…
To wrap things up, I feel a little disconnected from the outside world. If anyone thought St. Olaf was a little bubble, come to India. My only outreach is short internet sessions, a daily newspaper (with a bias opinion of the spiraling U.S. economy), and brief conversations with Tate and my parents. But it’s a good change from the rush of summer and I’m enjoying it alot more than you’d think.
Hope all is well around the world! Miss you all!
Address, finally! September 27, 2008
First off, I’ll apologize for my lack of attention to my blog. I’m now safely at RUHSA, done with rural orientation, and hopefully getting started on my first research project soon. The campus here feels more like summer camp than crazy India… Our cafeteria is referred to as the “canteen” which adds a nice boy scout camp appeal (although the food, complete with white carbohydrates might leave me malnurished if I don’t find a fruit hut soon.)
The campus has one computer with Internet, go figure, for a whole student body of nursing students. My time sitting in this chair is like gold.
Very soon I hope to find a reliable internet source in Vellore that I can go to weekly to blog to keep everyone informed. I can’t wait to share my experiences from rural orientation! I did get a cell phone because I realized how valuable it would be to have a contact with the world. But as India goes, it stopped working two days ago and I’ll have to find a place to see what they can do. If you call and get the message that my phone is turned off… just know the problem hasn’t been fixed!
My number is 91-984-087-6256.
Also, my address for the next few weeks is:
Chelsea Koloski
St. Olaf College
c/o Dr. K.R. John, Porfessor of Community Health, Director
RUHSA Department of CMC
RUHSA Campus P.O. 632 209
Vellore District
Tamil Nadu
INDIA
This is my crazy life. September 16, 2008
I’ve already been here almost three weeks. I’m falling into routine and finding myself more comfortable here every day. Between how much I’ve explored and the many lectures about Indian society, (everything from health care to poverty to the economy to gender issues) I’ve decided that my experience in India is going to be very, very good for me.
I’m sitting at the Central Train Station here in Chennai. This internet place is a huge step up from my hole-in-the-wall by ICSA but unfortunately doesn’t haveSkype… so as India goes, you give a little, and you take a little. Today was also my first experience taking the public bus. (Dad and Kris, you’d laugh if you saw the stock-car like tin that the buses here are made of.) And will probably be my last. I’m getting to be quite the rickshaw junkie. We travel everywhere in those things!
I’m also getting used to the heat, believe it or not. Of course, I still sleep with a cold rag on my forehead at night but my skin is sun kissed and I’ve realized it’s only normal to sweat every hour of every day (and even more when I eat spicy food). As another attempt to blend in with the locals Rebecca and I got our noses pierced. You might think I’m crazy, but let me convince you… I’d be crazy not to have one here. Every woman on the street has one, sometimes two and they always put those god-awful huge gold medallion-looking-things in them. Rest assured I settled for a little blue stone. And it matches my eyes, and looks lovely. (And the piercing place was very clean, and it’s been almost two weeks with no sign of infection.)
And I’ve had some very cultural experiences… such as visiting the slums, meeting with the Islamic Community on 9/11, having a article written about me (and two of my guy friends) in the best selling newspaper in Chennai, making friends with a ninety-some year old man, and finding that I really do have a sympathetic heart at one of the Indian hospitals.
Our slum visit was one-hundred percent opposite of what I was expecting. Instead of being greeted with horrible smells and terrible sites, we were greeted with flowers and dancing. The people in the neighborhood prepared more than you could ever imagine for our visit. Children danced for over thirty minutes, we had a question answering session with the women of the slum, and played and took pictures with the children (for those of you that have facebook, my profile picture is from here). Indians have such a rich sense of community and it was so much fun to be a part of.
As far as us meeting the Islamic community on 9/11, that was weird… but only a strange coincidence. Our schedulers didn’t even think twice when they penciled us in. No worries, it was a wonderful experience. It cleared up so many of my personal stereotypes and doubts about the religion (and its extremists). I can only shake my head that I walked away with a “gift” of a copy of the Quran, and think… what a strange life I lead.
About a week ago two of my guy friends, Ian and Matt, and I went to a field hockey game just as something to do for the night. I didn’t think we would attract more attention than even the professional players on the field… I sometimes forget that I’m foreign, and white, and a girl (although it doesn’t take me long to remember). A reporter approached us as we sat down just for a moment but let us enjoy the game and then approached us again afterward for an interview. The whole series of events at the game cracked me up and I laughed that instead of serving ice cold beer, they serve steaming hot chai tea, and instead of popcorn and candy, it’s rather a weird corn curry dish. So we answered a few questions after the game and the journalist gave us his card and said he had a story brewing. We were completely surprised when we opened the Deccan Chronicle (one of the most popular newspapers in India) the next day to see an article completely devoted to the three of us… and you’d laugh when you saw our three individual pictures… and laugh even harder when I told you that we didn’t pose for the headshots, or even know then were being taken because they’re absolutely perfect. Tricky. One guy on the street even recognized me from the article. Oh India. We went back for the finals last Sunday night and watched a great game that ended in triple overtime and a sudden death shootout. Indian field hockey is a lot different than my ice hockey at home!
Let me tell you about Harold. On a visit to Little Sisters of the Poor, I was first drawn to Harold because he was a little old Indian man wearing nearly ½ inch think glasses hunched over writing in English. I thought he’s writing in it, he’s got to know it! So I said hello (and just startled him a little). He jumped up and grabbed a whole stack of index cards out of the front pocket of his shirt and fanned them out (I thought it was some sort of card trick) and told me to take one. So of course, I did and then, as instructed, I read it. He was just this cute little fidgety man and was tickled pink that Kate and I had stopped by to chat. But he ran in his room (not before switching to a different pair of ½ inch think glasses) and brought out pictures, and letters of recognition, and so many other odds and ends from his past. Harold never married. He obviously modeled (I would assume from the black and white photographs of his oiled body), and was quite the carpenter. He had amazing stories and I can’t imagine how obscene his life in India would be now, let alone probably sixty or seventy years ago. We also learned from Mary Louise that he used to write love letters for his friends to their girlfriends, and she laughed when she said that “the girls never knew the difference!” I was only there for a couple hours, but my memory of Harold just might stick with me forever.
And then, my world turned upside-down last Friday. What was simply a visit to a local hospital turned into me gaining so much appreciation for America that tears came both for gratitude and sympathy. It was very hard to see the hospital conditions here, and how the people are treated in comparison to those in any hospital in the U.S. I truly believe that every person in America should see the hardship that people in developing countries face. It’s extraordinary, and will make you cry and wonder how was I lucky enough to be born in the United States of America?
The worn off henna on my feet is a sure sign that I’ve done some walking here. I love the Indian Ocean that I find myself frequently going back to and the rich culture (even though I could use a break from the food) but overall I am doing very well. I miss you all at home, and I’m thinking of you often.
Thursday I’ll leave Chennai for rural orientation… I’m about to step off the edge of the world, once again.
I apologize for not having my address with me, I’ll post it soon.
All is well in India! September 10, 2008
Hello All, I don’t have much time to post tonight but a longer update will be coming soon. I’m slightly sunburned from playing on the beach and touring seventh century Hindu temples today. All is very well here! Check back soon!
Miss you and love you all!
Oh yeah, and if you’re planning on sending me a letter soon, hold off until I post my next address. I won’t be at ICSA too much longer!
