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 100^oF. 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 60^oF, and the Indians walk around bundled up like I was in Itasca’s -40^oF 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.