Transitions

I biked home in the rain tonight.* It was messy and beautiful as ever. Lights sprayed the black, sopping streets with long tails of whites and greens, oozing red and blinking amber. Fat droplets fell slowly, threateningly, before the entire sky crashed down upon us all. Darkness and dampness urged everyone home. I laughed as I tried to not get run over. Oddly enough, the situation fit, as it matched how I’ve been feeling. Lately I have allowed myself to begin thinking about getting home in the you-live-in-another-country-and-you’ll-be-back-in-twenty-days sense.

And I’m trying desperately not to get hit.

The truth is that I’m a smidge homesick. Funny time to get homesick, yea? Three weeks left. Hmm. I think I did pretty well. It’s almost Thanksgiving, and my whole family is getting together. I’m ready for Christmastime and to see and hug my siblings and my parents again. I am excited to go back to school and see old faces and to attend my good friend’s wedding. Ha, I am excited to worry again about which shoes match my outfit… To eat granola and yogurt with fresh fruit for breakfast each morning. To speak the same language as everyone. To sleep on a thick mattress. And to drink tea and coffee because it warms up the inside of you when your outside is cold… Twenty days, love. Twenty days.

But another thought pattern races in from the exact opposite direction. I’m not ready to go back… I am going to miss this bizarre and beautiful place. I resonate with people and with attitudes and with customs that I am most likely never going to get to experience again. Pump the brakes! What. Is. Happening?? Regardless, it remains inevitable that on the twelfth of December my life will again experience radical change. The food will be different, the streets will be different, and the people will look and talk very differently as well. Familiar things will feel foreign to me. Maybe not most, but some… Just for a while. Then they will set up house again within me, and I will return to the familiar swing and hum of normal life. I will again be home, safe and settled, and my Indian lessons and adventures will get to come along with me too. These are my predictions anyway. I think they're realistic but also nice. It'll be nice to readjust.

Riding in the rain is slightly odd because if you take your time, you get absolutely soaked; but if you try to speed on through, the drops sting a little as they hit you and blur your vision when they fall into your eyes. I think there is a lesson to be learned in that. For the time being, it may be raining, but a little water never hurt anyone. It is better to accept the thought patterns and emotions that accompany my current situation, that flow from general times of change, than it is to try to ignore them. I'm guess I'm just processing these next few weeks in advance. I wouldn’t say that I believe in happy endings (or endings at all, exactly), but I do believe in beautiful transitions. And hope the short time ahead will be one of them.

Love,
Jeannie

*Did I tell you that I have a bike? The little guy belongs to a guy-I-work-with’s mother (grandmother? he wasn’t exactly clear on the details), and I’ve just borrowed it for the semester. I am interning with an NGO here doing research on sustainable transportation options, specifically cycling, in India. Pretty cool, but it makes you think twice about taking a smog-spitting rickshaw everywhere... Hence the bike.

At Home in the Himalayas

Dear friends and family,

I have missed you! How has a month already passed since I last wrote? It's amazing what havoc computer trouble and travel can have on a poor little blog. So, anyway, now I've many, many stories to tell... I shall start with the freshest: Darjeeling.

FRIENDS: Before the sun came up two Saturdays previously, Allegra's phone alarm went off, meaning a rude female british voice pretentiously informed the room, "It's 5 am--time to wake up." Erin, Allegra, and I groggily made our way into Allegra's gracious host parents' car and were whisked off to the Pune Airport. There we met up with Hannah and Erik (waiting. with cookies. LOVE them!) The five of us then flew from Pune to Delhi, Delhi to Bagdogra, spent a night in Silguri, and caught a cab (i.e. JEEP!) up to the mountains. Himalayas ho!

Band Photo

(Erin not pictured... sad day)

I am a firm believer that it's less about what you do, and much more about who you're with, so --even though all we did was pretty frickin cool--it was amazingly refreshing to be surrounded by the warmth of good friends while out on an adventure! It doesn't hurt that they're each hilarious, helpful, and very, very easy to be around either.

DARJEELING: Home base for the next week. Located in the upper-east Indian state of West Bengal, this cozy mountain town lays nestled in the very heart of the mighty Himalayas. The buildings hug the cliffside, as they stack like a house of cards against the hills.

As we explored the steeply sloping streets, we were caught off guard every time the buildings gapped and revealed Darjeeling's awe-inspiring view of Kanchenjunga, the third highest peak on the planet, following Everest (#1) and K2 (#...2).

Oh, you know... just the 3rd highest mountain in the world...

looming majestically in the distance... whatever

TEA: If you have heard of Darjeeling tea, then you are familiar with the reason colonial Britain decided to put the small mountain town on the cultural world map. The fields of tea plantations sprawl across the hillsides and topple down into the valleys.

They are a bright, speckled green--and phenomenally gorgeous. Many an afternoon passed within a tea parlor, as several pots of black tea were spilled into steaming mugs to split between friends--companions, engaged in dialogue, in making the time to read good books, and in admiring the splendor of the mountains. A vacation at last.

MONASTERIES: When you bounce over the crumbling roads that weave themselves endlessly, endlessly up through the mountains, you will undoubtedly notice a point at which the people around you seem to belong to a different country, and not to merely a different part of India. The features of many persons of northern West Bengal appear much more east-asian. You'll see Sherpas, bent forward, carrying (there's no other word for it) impossible loads on their backs using a strap on their forehead, steadily trekking along. Uphill.

Additionally, Buddhism seems to almost replace Hinduism here, as seen by the crimson-robed monks that frequently dot the sides of streets as you continue to drive by. During our explorations, my friends and I poked around in a sample of the impressive Buddhist monasteries and chatted a bit with the austere-yet-amazingly-cheery monks keeping everything in balance. Such cool guys. I couldn't help but laugh in amazement as I saw how young some of these people were; one kid (he couldn't have been a day past seven years old) had Spiderman sandals!

Everyone was so kind, so warm... and I now feel I understand just how peaceful Buddhists can be.

Not a bad place to set up monasteries either

NEPAL: It is obvious that when one manages, in one's life, to finally reach the Himalayan mountains, one absolutely and undoubtably must go for a trek. One would certainly enjoy such an event, especially if one had brought one's small blue Osprey back for just such an occasion. One could get up to watch the sunrise over the largest mountains in the word.

One could brave the cold to watch the constellations chase each other round the night sky--and be struck dumb by the sight of more stars than one had ever dared to imagine (more than one could fathom even as one stared at them). One could look out and see Everest. Oh, and if one, hypothetically, went to Darjeeling, one could also do all of this in NEPAL. And that's precisely what one did. :)

Every time I visit the beach, I think, 'Oh, here I could live forever,' and every time I visit the mountains, I say the same. But whenever I leave the mountains, I feel myself get a little sad inside. It as if my heart is sinking, along with the factual decrease in elevation, as my body makes it way back to the world and life below. I miss the cold mountain air that makes me thankful for sweaters and wool socks... It reminds me of Christmastime, of sitting by fireplaces with mugs of hot drinks, of backpacking trips, of Davidson in the fall, and of course, of all of you I love and miss at home. I miss the the views that remind me how small I am in the scheme of things. On the first day of the Nepal excursion, our guide Navin said something that I have come to believe wholeheartedly:

"One life is not enough to wander all of India."

I am content with my one life; blessedly it has included so much wonderful wandering already.

With adventuresome love,

From India (and Nepal!),

Jeannie