Alright, here's my account of my first day in India. It was a bl ur, but I tried to get it all down!

Saturday, April 5, 2008

I woke up as we were in the area of the Stans (Afghanistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, etc.) based on my estimation from what I remember of World Studies freshman year of high school.As I look out my window at the sunrise, I notice that just as my experience ahead will be new and different, the horizon this morning isn't its usual self.Today, the horizon is where the sky meets the clouds, not where the sky meets the ground.And I, too, am feeling like my feet aren't quite in solid contact with the ground, like what is to come in the these next weeks is still up in the air.I've been given background reading, been taken through a full orientation, even spoken with a recent returnee from this same program, yet I still find that I'm not sure what to expect.We'll be landing soon, finally in India.From here on, I'm in a completely new world!This feeling is more uncomfortable than I expected it to be.Maybe this coincides with the first phase of the culture shock cycle I've been told about.

I'm becoming a little anxious, possibly because I don't really know what's to come.I think I understand now why Carson keeps saying he's proud of me.I never really understood what it was he was proud of, but now that I'm realizing it does take a little bravery to come this far from the world I know and am used to, I think I understand.I never thought about it before, but I guess I'm also a little bit proud of what I'm doing.

The first thing I noticed when I got off the plane in Delhi (which, I found out, is pretty much the same thing as New Delhi, thus they are not separate cities like I originally thought) was that there are advertisements everywhere.They started right outside the plane door, as some Indian bank had signs posted all along the stretch of moveable walkway that led us from our plane to the actual airport terminal.I found this humerus rather than annoying, which is probably for the better.Then, inside the airport as I was standing in line to have my passport stamped, I noticed advertisements covering the entire wall next to me, for businesses ranging from banks to duty-free shops to the Dior line of fashion sunglasses.But the interesting part about all these advertisements - and the ones I have seen on billboards and other media around the city - is that very often the models in the pictures are not even Indian.I have seen many blondes and other Caucasian models, both male and female, on numerous advertisements.I guess I just found this piece of Indian culture rather interesting.I had ample time to look at the advertisements in the visa-stamping room, and even more time standing beside the luggage conveyor belt waiting for my two checked bags.My backpack was getting heavy to carry, and I really just wanted to get my things and call Rahul Wali, who I was told would be waiting for me outside the customs area.After the conveyor belt stopped moving and I still didn't have my luggage, my worst fears became a little more real.I asked an airport worker walking by what I should do since I didn't see my luggage.Trying to keep the tears back, I watched him point to a desk beyond the next luggage belt, so I headed toward it.Could my bags really have not made it there?!I had been in Munich for a full three hours, so how could my luggage have not been taken from one Lufthansa flight to another just ten gates down on the same terminal?I walked up to the man at the desk, and after trying to explain my problem to him, he walked to the back side of the desk, talked with a co-worker, came back to me, and told me the man on the other side of the desk would help me.I lugged my backpack around to the other side and explained my situation once again.The man took the luggage tags from me, made a phone call, and informed me that my bags were in Munich.The tears came back as the man started asking for the Indian address they should deliver the bags to the next day at 11:00 AM.I had no idea where to have the bags delivered!All I knew was that I would not be in Delhi the next day at 11:00 AM; I was leaving for Dehra Dun on a train at 5:30 AM.All I could think of to do was call the cell phone number for this Rahul guy whom I hoped would know what to do.He answered, and the poor guy was at the airport waiting for me as he had been the past 45 minutes.He told me to have the luggage delivered to Mrs. Ninu Mehta's house, whose address was listed on the same card as the cell phone number I had just called.I handed the card over to the man behind the desk, pointing to the address, and he wrote it down.Another thirty minutes passed as he asked me to describe what the two bags looked like, what was in each of them, and whether or not it would be okay that my bags wouldn't reach Dehra Dun until the following evening.I guess it would have to be okay, although it was just my luck that I was scheduled to travel to Than Gaon that day and would once again leave before my luggage would arrive.Rahul told me that he would arrange to have my luggage taken to Than Gaon the following day on the commuter jeep that makes daily trips between the village and Dehra Dun.Although I wasn't excited to have to live out of my backpack the next three days, I was at least relieved to know that my bags had been located and that I would receive them eventually.I finally was able to leave customs and meet Rahul, and he led me outside to the taxi that took me to my hotel.My roommate for the night, Tracy, had arrived about an hour before I had, and we discussed what to do with the rest of our day, as it was only about 8:00 AM.

Cars here are quite different than in the United States.Riding through Delhi in the auto-rickshaw (more on this later) I noticed many familiar brands of cars, though the models were often ones I have never seen or heard of in the U.S.I saw Fords, Toyotas, Suzukis, Mitsubishis, Hyundais and Hondas (which, I must say, are cuter here than they are in the United States, the newest Civic model in particular.)And of course India has some makes of cars that we do not (or do not anymore) have, like Fiat and Tata.Interestingly enough, and to my complete surprise, I saw a brand new Rolls Royce drive the other way on the highway this afternoon.It was the same Rolls model I saw just last week in Palm Springs, California, a much more fitting home if you ask me.But the stark contrast between the Rolls and most other cars on the road is a good representation of what I have seen thus far regarding Indian lifestyles.There are many, many shopkeepers and vendors on foot who will try to talk people - tourists especially - into anything and everything.It reminds me a lot of Tijuana, Mexico.This is how they make a living.On the other hand, one shop my roommate, Tracy, and I went into today was a very high-end jewelry shop, and it was obvious the people working were very well off.But there was only one place like this that I saw, whereas the number of small this-and-that shops is innumerable.This is pretty much what I expected, so instead of being surprised by the poverty, I was surprised by things such as the wandering cows and locals' driving habits.I had read that cows are seen as sacred animals in the Hindu religion and that they were allowed to wander freely.That's exactly right; I probably saw between 20 and 30 cows today standing on the side of the road or grazing in the median.I guess they are comfortable around the constant, crazy traffic, because believe me, the traffic is crazy!There is no denying that the words "driving" and "laws" belong in different conversations completely.Lane stripes are merely guidelines and are often straddled or driven directly on top of rather than between.The most effective turn signal is a hand out the window, not the blinker (which may be on or off at any givenmoment.)The horn is used not as a way of letting someone know they obstructed the way or did something else wrong, it is used as a frequent reminder to all others on the road that the driver and his car are in fact still there.At any stoplight, as soon as the light turns green, a chorus of horns sounds, no matter of the first person in line is speedy to start or not.And by "the first person in line," I really mean "the first however-many-can-fit-at-the-front in line."That's just the way the roads are: one man for his own, to turn, start, slow down, pass, stop completely, honk, u-turn, and squeeze in whenever and wherever he pleases.And it works; Tracy and I made it to the Lotus Temple and back to out hotel, the Hotel Star, unharmed.Speaking of the hotel, it is apparently very nice for Indian public accommodations.All the floors and stairs are marble, and mirrors accentuate the lobby and hallways.The door to our room is intricately adorned with wooden carvings, and plaster moldings on the ceiling carry on the trend inside the room.The room and bathroom also have marble floors, and tile completely covers the walls of the bathroom.The shower is not what I expected; it is completely open to the rest of the bathroom, just a k*** and showerhead located at the one end next to the sink.It did have warm water, though, so no complaints here.Tracy and I both arrived early this morning, so after we each showered and ate lunch with two other CFHI interns at a restaurant next door, we took an auto-rickshaw to the stunning Lotus Temple, a Bahai'i worship building open to people of all religions as a silent, relaxing place to sit or worship.Tracy and I sat, and to my surprise, we actually sat inside the temple for quite awhile.It was a very calming place to be.While the outside gardens - gorgeous and integrated with the formal pathways leading to the temple itself - were very hot, the inside of the temple was cool and sheltered from the sun.We sat on the marble-and-wood benches and watched as many people came in and out of the large room glowing with the light from outside.Shaped like a lotus flower ready to finish blooming, the temple was made of white marble, white cement, and glass.Many pools of water sit outside the main building and serve to further enhance the gorgeous architectural shape when viewed from above (which I actually got to do flying into Delhi this morning.)I am very glad Tracy and I decided to go out and see a little bit of the town this afternoon, as I already feel like I have a good grasp on various aspects of urban Indians' culture and daily lives.One part of this culture is the auto-rickshaw.An auto-rickshaw is a three-wheeled motorized vehicle a little bit bigger than a golf cart.The driver sits in the middle of the front seat, and there is room for two or three passengers in the back seat.Our auto-richskaw rides today cost an average of 175 Rupees, which is about $5.The other two interns I met today, Michelle and Joe, have been traveling through India for a week or so already and gave me one good piece of advice regarding the Rupee-dollar comparison.They said not to even worry about what the equivalent price is in American dollars because everything is just scaled down here, so it's best to just think in terms of Rupees and how much one thing costs compared to another.They are right; paying the equivalent of the American price is being an ignorant shopper.It's just different here, and there's no reason to try comparing Indian prices and American prices for everyday things like bottled water and rickshaw rides.While on the subject, rickshaw rides in Delhi are a curious thing.They played an important role in my integration into this society as they literally took Tracy and I on a tour of the Indian culture.We witnessed the everyday Delhi happenings better than any book could have explained it in hundreds of pages.Likewise, I apologize, but I realize that I cannot accurately portray my experience here and how the Indian culture flows through this Asian country.I hope I can give some insight into the life of the people here as I experienced it, but it must be acknowledged that I arrived here with predispositions, expectations, and a lifetime of experience living in the American Pacific Northwest, so I am going to see and judge this country and its people very differently than others who visit these places.Tracy and I found out today that in the same way we have come with our own (and possibly unfounded) opinions regarding India, the people here have ideas about Americans and our country.When he found out we are from the U.S., the rickshaw driver we met outside the Lotus Temple went on to comment that he likes George Bush a lot and that he is a very good man.While I thought he was actually being serious, I found out later when Tracy and I were talking in our hotel room that she thought he had been joking.I guess we'll never know, but either way, I thought the man's comment was interesting, and it made me wonder how he had formed his opinions and what information he was basing it on.We've been told that people may grace us with their opinions about America, politically or otherwise, and that we should acknowledge that they have opinions without really agreeing or disputing with them over them.This second rickshaw driver we didn't end up liking much in the end, but not because of his political feelings one way or the other.We asked to go back to Hotel Star by the airport, and instead he took us by a nice jewelry and souvenir shop.He told us that we didn't need to buy anything, but that we needed to go in a look around.We objected and told him we just wanted to go home, but he said we had to in order for him to get a gas coupon.It turns out that the store owners had a deal with him that if he brought potential customers to the store, they would pay him money for gas.He tried to take us to another store before going back to the hotel, but we strongly voiced our feelings that we were paying him to take us to Hotel Star and nowhere else, so thankfully that's where he too us.He actually dropped us off about five minutes down the street since it was a one-way in the direction opposite the way he wanted to go, so Tracy and I got the chance to walk along the street side and dodge cars the way the locals do.It was an interesting experience, especially when the kids would follow us poking us and asking for money as they put their hands up to their mouths to imply hunger.We were mentally and physically exhausted at this point and very ready to be alone in our hotel room by the time we actually made it there.

Driving around the city with ample opportunity to be a people-watcher, I noticed the bright and gorgeous sarees the women wore.They all looked so royal and ethereal walking around in the beautiful, flowing fabrics.Some were more traditional than others, but they were all so flattering (except for the ones worn by some of the older women whose midriffs should probably not have been partially exposed.)Interestingly enough, it seemed like the only ones wearing the midriff-showing styles were only the older women.I wonder if this style is a rite of passage once a woman is married or has children or reaches a certain age or elder status.

The food so far has been good.I chose to eat the Indian vegetarian option on the second Lufthansa flight, and from here on out, I will be having a fully Indian diet.When we went to lunch at a little restaurant a few doors down from the hotel today, I was really hoping that the food would be adequately cooked.The water they brought to our table was left there untouched when we got up to leave, and we ordered bottled mineral water instead.I'm trying to be very conscious about what I eat, and I need to make sure I only drink filtered or bottled water.We Americans just aren't immune to the giardia and other microorganisms that live in the public water supply here.Speaking of food, I'm still trying to figure out what the different things are that can be found on the food menus here.Trying to order lunch today was interesting, but Joe and Michelle spent part of lunch explaining to us what the different traditional Indian dishes are.I know some of the basics: basmati rice is the plain, skinny, white rice…much better than Minute Rice; paneer is a cheese, often used just like a vegetable in a stir fry, mixed into various dishes; kabab is a dish of meat pieces often cooked and/or served on a skewer, raita (also called kurd) is a form of yogurt, though not usually sweetened as much as ours in the U.S.; naan is flat bread that resembles a tortilla but tastes better; dal (or daal) are lentils, often in combination with tasty spices and sauces; tandoori anything is anything cooked in a traditional tandoori oven; curry is curry; biryani is a rice dish with small vegetable pieces much like Chinese fried rice; lassi is a smoothie type of drink that I want to try; and mutton is supposedly lamb, though this is yet to be confirmed y a local who speaks decent English.