Saturday, October 23, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
More pictures say More Words
The past few days have been filled with friends, new and old - Whistler is great for that. Its also been filled with running around the village, cats sleeping on my face, and snowy mountain days. Here are just a few...
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Yes its great, but its also really frustrating
While I was in India everytime I would check my e-mails, anxious to hear from my family, friends or my sweet love, I would without fail receive a message from the organizing body for the volunteers of Vancouver 2010. At the time I really didn’t pay close attention, as I could never think that far ahead. I was more concerned about making sure my parents knew where I was headed, telling my friends who were in exams that I was headed to the sunny beach or keeping up the blog. I always opened the e-mails from Vancouver 2010, but I rarely read them with any fervor; as far as I could tell they covered details that given my geographical locations would be irrelavent until I returned to Canada but I do remember reading these words over and over in every correspondence: ‘experience’, ‘journey’ and ‘important contribution’.
Yesterday I spent 3 whole hours sitting in an empty room. Well, it wasn’t entirely empty. This room is in the Athlete’s village and it is ready for its guests; there are three Vancouver 2010 themed pool tables, 3 foosball tables, a shuffleboard and three air hockey tables (that sing the ‘Hockey Night in Canada’ theme song every 4 minutes – trust me- I timed it); there is also some leather couches and faux fireplace all in an attempt to make guests feel at home. However, there are no guests in the Athlete’s Village really, but this has not however changed the fact that they require a volunteer to ‘man the area’. Guess whose job that was. That’s right – yours truly. So after playing solitaire for 3 straight hours on my iPod, draining my battery completely I started to think about this ‘volunteer experience’ that was promised to me in lieu of giving my time, enthusiasm and willingness to help for such a massive event. What happened to my ‘experience’, ‘journey’ and ‘important contribution’.
The first week we were doing uninteresting things such as making an inventory of gym equipment, moving furniture around, setting up video games, popcorn machines and chill spaces for the guests of the Athlete’s village – uninteresting yes, but social and busy none the less. It was fun if not because every one had come with a sunny attitude (or an attempt at one) and in getting to know one another we were chatty, making jokes and the atmosphere was relaxed.
It is a full week before the games begin and while my supervisors look bug eyed from what appears as lack of sleep I am sitting and playing solitaire. After supper I whined about this to Jeanette and we came up with some interesting points. As I stood by the sink declaring to Jeanette, the kitchen and the cats that I felt completely underutilized and wondered how many more of such days I could take before I walked out on a shift (probably undetected too) we got onto an interesting topic that was only a little tangential.
“ Here I am, young, able bodied and not to mention smart and they have me sitting in an empty room with pool tables! My job could easily be replaced by sign that the one person who might come in could read – it would say ‘Hi, make yourself at home, feel free to play the games and have fun!’ instead my supervisors run around with a million things to do – do they not realize that we are here to help? Why can’t they delegate? Why don’t they have us do something… helpful?”
It verges on infuriating, although at the same time, with the level of trust and responsibility they have directed to me and other volunteers, I am leaning towards apathy rather than fury. What’s the point right? This is the brilliant part of being a volunteer: I come with my enthusiasm, my brains and my able body, an attitude of a cheery kindergarten teacher and the people getting payed can’t get it together fill in their end of the deal, which is to provide their volunteers with some work to do, to help create an ‘experience’, to feel as though we are part of a ‘journey’ as well as to make an ‘important contribution’.
Jeanette made a really great point in response to my diatribe by asking about the pyramid of Olympic power. Isn’t it interesting, she pointed out, that the volunteers there are a swarm of young people eager to help. Those employed with any position of ‘authority’ (although I use that term loosely as these people seem just as lost as the volunteers who, at this point are the bitches of bitch work) are a few years older. Above these people you have a group probably in their mid to late thirties and so it goes: More power = greater age. Perhaps it is an outdated mode of managing but these folks behind their desks are ignoring their greatest asset by ignoring a generation that is clearly desperate not for direction, but for some responsibility; for some trust that we can get the job done and that we can do it well.
Of course, the sword is double edged – it always is. These ‘supervisors’ and the ‘folks stuck behind desks’, bless them, are working in conditions that are under a lot of scrutiny. There are the IOC and the NOC that have very particular expectations, there are rules and policies, red tape, rules and a fat load of logistical inefficiency to navigate. For this reason, I don’t envy their positions but I am a little wary of the way they treat the volunteers. Sure, everyone is friendly and people have some amazing strengths, but even my sunny disposition is growing thin. My responses in the past few days to the question ‘How was your day?’ have gone from ‘interesting’, to ‘unusual’ to ‘boring’.
So where is the lesson in all of this? Well despite the obvious that this job requires a lot of patience for dull moments, it has shown me an interesting side of effective people management (from the perspective of one of the people being managed). If there is an organization asking for volunteers there must be a return. There must be an effort to feel as though we have experienced something important by making a contribution; something that constitutes a good story – a journey, if you will. Of course we can say ‘yes, I volunteered for the Olympics’ but that should not be followed by ‘ and I would never do it again’.
Until next time…
Yesterday I spent 3 whole hours sitting in an empty room. Well, it wasn’t entirely empty. This room is in the Athlete’s village and it is ready for its guests; there are three Vancouver 2010 themed pool tables, 3 foosball tables, a shuffleboard and three air hockey tables (that sing the ‘Hockey Night in Canada’ theme song every 4 minutes – trust me- I timed it); there is also some leather couches and faux fireplace all in an attempt to make guests feel at home. However, there are no guests in the Athlete’s Village really, but this has not however changed the fact that they require a volunteer to ‘man the area’. Guess whose job that was. That’s right – yours truly. So after playing solitaire for 3 straight hours on my iPod, draining my battery completely I started to think about this ‘volunteer experience’ that was promised to me in lieu of giving my time, enthusiasm and willingness to help for such a massive event. What happened to my ‘experience’, ‘journey’ and ‘important contribution’.
The first week we were doing uninteresting things such as making an inventory of gym equipment, moving furniture around, setting up video games, popcorn machines and chill spaces for the guests of the Athlete’s village – uninteresting yes, but social and busy none the less. It was fun if not because every one had come with a sunny attitude (or an attempt at one) and in getting to know one another we were chatty, making jokes and the atmosphere was relaxed.
It is a full week before the games begin and while my supervisors look bug eyed from what appears as lack of sleep I am sitting and playing solitaire. After supper I whined about this to Jeanette and we came up with some interesting points. As I stood by the sink declaring to Jeanette, the kitchen and the cats that I felt completely underutilized and wondered how many more of such days I could take before I walked out on a shift (probably undetected too) we got onto an interesting topic that was only a little tangential.
“ Here I am, young, able bodied and not to mention smart and they have me sitting in an empty room with pool tables! My job could easily be replaced by sign that the one person who might come in could read – it would say ‘Hi, make yourself at home, feel free to play the games and have fun!’ instead my supervisors run around with a million things to do – do they not realize that we are here to help? Why can’t they delegate? Why don’t they have us do something… helpful?”
It verges on infuriating, although at the same time, with the level of trust and responsibility they have directed to me and other volunteers, I am leaning towards apathy rather than fury. What’s the point right? This is the brilliant part of being a volunteer: I come with my enthusiasm, my brains and my able body, an attitude of a cheery kindergarten teacher and the people getting payed can’t get it together fill in their end of the deal, which is to provide their volunteers with some work to do, to help create an ‘experience’, to feel as though we are part of a ‘journey’ as well as to make an ‘important contribution’.
Jeanette made a really great point in response to my diatribe by asking about the pyramid of Olympic power. Isn’t it interesting, she pointed out, that the volunteers there are a swarm of young people eager to help. Those employed with any position of ‘authority’ (although I use that term loosely as these people seem just as lost as the volunteers who, at this point are the bitches of bitch work) are a few years older. Above these people you have a group probably in their mid to late thirties and so it goes: More power = greater age. Perhaps it is an outdated mode of managing but these folks behind their desks are ignoring their greatest asset by ignoring a generation that is clearly desperate not for direction, but for some responsibility; for some trust that we can get the job done and that we can do it well.
Of course, the sword is double edged – it always is. These ‘supervisors’ and the ‘folks stuck behind desks’, bless them, are working in conditions that are under a lot of scrutiny. There are the IOC and the NOC that have very particular expectations, there are rules and policies, red tape, rules and a fat load of logistical inefficiency to navigate. For this reason, I don’t envy their positions but I am a little wary of the way they treat the volunteers. Sure, everyone is friendly and people have some amazing strengths, but even my sunny disposition is growing thin. My responses in the past few days to the question ‘How was your day?’ have gone from ‘interesting’, to ‘unusual’ to ‘boring’.
So where is the lesson in all of this? Well despite the obvious that this job requires a lot of patience for dull moments, it has shown me an interesting side of effective people management (from the perspective of one of the people being managed). If there is an organization asking for volunteers there must be a return. There must be an effort to feel as though we have experienced something important by making a contribution; something that constitutes a good story – a journey, if you will. Of course we can say ‘yes, I volunteered for the Olympics’ but that should not be followed by ‘ and I would never do it again’.
Until next time…
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Whistler Part II: The Olympics Edition
Its been just over two weeks since my return to Canada, and just under two weeks since I arrived in Whistler, to stay. For those who didn't hear, the winter Olympics are being hosted in Vancouver and Whistler this year. I decided to volunteer during the games, so here I am. What a whirlwind to go from India to Whistler - these worlds couldn't be farther apart. It all feels strange and so much has happened in the last few days. And for those who don't know, I spent a season here in Whistler five years ago, where I did a lot of skiing, underage drinking and having fun with Brittany.
First things first. I am living with my Aunt Jeanette and Uncle Dave, my Aunt Maribeth and two delightful cats Duffy and Willow. We are a happy bunch living in Blueberry! The living situation couldn't be better, I am having an awesome time being with my family. Its so great to live with them.
Last Monday I started my volunteer gig with the Olympics. I am working in a suit that makes me look like a blueberry, or a smurfette, and I am working in the Athlete's Village. This is the area near Function Junction that has been built to house the athletes, coaches, delegates, etc, who are here during the games. They really have done a spectacular job with the space. What I get to do is work in the 'play' spaces VANOC has designed for the guests. There is a DVD lounge, a gym facitily, a games room (with pool, foosball, etc) and a videogames room. Apparently once people start arriving, I will be helping out in those spaces. Right now, the supervisors seem to be looking for jobs for us to do, things are still taking shape and much of the work they have us doing is strange. For example, I took inventory of a gym, put up christmas lights, steam ironed giant banners, and was asked the other day to test out all of the Nintendo units they have set up. Its pretty hard work. The people I am working with are from all over; some are kids from abroad out doing a season, lots of people are up from Vancouver and then there are Canadians who have come out especially for the games - like me.
I have procured some employment and whether or not it is gainful is yet to be seen. Starting on Tuesday I'll be working at Peak Performance Physio and Massage Clinic. Job hunting before was not fun. I hate job hunting more than I hate bad hair - I find it demoralizing and a waste of paper. But I was really happy that things shaped up so easily for me.
And then there is Whistler. It felt really strange to walk the streets here again. For me personally, the thrill is certainly not the same as it was 5 years ago, but the town is buzzing with Olympic giddiness. I've been up the mountain only once, and it felt great to get back to on the old skiis, but man alive, is this town expensive. I have only one ticket, and I am saving it for a beautiful day. I think I might go x-country as it is a little more affordable. In the meantime, I am trying (and not doing too badly) to make my limited cash go as far as possible. This is a challenge. Its especially hard because this is a place people come to spend money. It is mountain vacation location at its finest, and here I am trying to scrimp and save. Its also amplified considering just over two weeks ago I was traipsing through a developing country, where things are not only wildly inexpensive, but people don't live like they live here. There is such astonishing oppulance here, and an incredible lifestyle that it makes India feel even farther away - I have to work to remember that it exists because Whistler is a bubble.
Some highlights of the past two weeks include: being with my Aunties. Seeing Kendall and Anne Drysdale for drinks in the village. Making cookies for the church bake sale to raise money for Haiti. cheese fondue and playing wizard with Bill, Judy, Dave, MB and Jeanette. Access to a hot tub.
In sum, I clearly lead an exciting life here. Once more things happen I'll be sure to keep posting.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Toronto: Home Sweet... Time to Leave again
Everytime I went through security in India, I was stopped because of two things: My harmonica necklace that Selka gave me, and my tattoos, which were often mistaken for 'stickers'. I thought this was a quirky aspect of India. But as I went through security at the Toronto Pearson Airport to get my flight to Vancouver, what were the two topics of interest at Security? You guessed it: My harmonica necklace and my tattoos. The only difference here was that they didn't mistake the tattoo for a sticker. Maybe its a security thing in general and has nothing to do with quirky India.
So, Yes, I finally made it back to Canada. The few days I spent in Toronto were packed with the special people I love and adore. It was really awesome to spend time with my Dad and Alex, eating pizza and having some beer. Both Brittany Pearson and Sarah Weinberger showed at my door for a quick visit. Markian played a starring role in the show that is "Ellie returns to Toronto". We ran around Toronto, went to the Kind Tut exhibit at the AGO, had some snacks and a beer and were generally romantic all over the city. I also got a chance to have some drinks and snacks with Vanessa and Kaleb, and also Selka and I had a mini Christmas over gin and soda at Ronnie's Local. This made me realize that it is the people that makes me miss a place. I didn't miss Toronto so much as I missed my amazing friends. It felt really wonderful to reconnect with the people I love. And yet, here I go and rip myself out of the place I love only to start a new adventure...
Now that the India chapter is officially closed the next chapter has started. The tentative title of this chapter is: Whistler, Part II; the grown up edition. For those of you who don't know, I used to live in Whistler. I spent a season here after high school; this was my first time out of home. So to paint you a picture the year included some debauchery, lots of excitement and shinanagans as well as some pretty grimey living conditions in Staff Housing. This time around things are different. I am living with my Aunt Jeanette, Uncle Dave, Aunt MB, and the cats, Duffy and Willow. I have a lovely little room at the back of the house, access to the internet and a kitchen to play in! I couldn't ask for anything more! I am really excited about having some time with my family here. And then there is the main draw: The 2010Vancouver Olympics. Wow.
This morning I went to pick up my accreditation and uniform. The accreditation gets me into venues and the uniform is... blue! Its pretty exciting. VANOC also gave me two tickets to a ski jumping event, which is pretty awesome. I am really looking forward to that. As for what I am doing day to day remains to be seen. I need to figure that out either by re-reading my e-mails more closely, or simply waiting. Perhaps a combo of the two will provide some real answers. In the meantime, I am going to take a walk in my old stomping ground. There are tents everywhere, and a real presence of the Olympics in every corner of the village. Its exciting to feel the buzz, which I suppose will only grow.
So, I know the exoticism of India is lost, but I hope that the Olympics have a pull to keep reading. And now with better Internet connections, I'll be sure to put up more pictures (on current posts and on some old ones!). Do keep reading and commenting.
Until next time...
Friday, January 15, 2010
Finally Home
Its about 6:30am on January 15 and I have been awake for 3 hours or so. I did laundry, organized my toiletries and tried desperately to fall back asleep, but my body thinks its the afternoon so i have gotten up. I am happy to say that I am enjoying my first cup of not only real, but really strong coffee. Its good to be home
So, lets talk about travel. Sure its really fun when things are going well, but when it 'hits the fan' the fun can fly out the window...
I left Varanasi feeling a fruity mixture of delight, melancholy, bittersweet and satisfaction. Julian walked me to the main road to get a rickshaw, we hugged goodbye and I sat, feeling like I was in a movie watching for the last time as India hustled around me. I got to the train station just on time. People had told me I was cutting it close with the timing, but I was feeling positive and had not experienced any significant delays on the railways during my travels up till then, so I wasn't sure what the fuss was about. However, I was about to find out! When I got to the Varanasi station there were people everywhere. I mean, there are people everywhere always in India, but at the train station this usually means a delay or cancellation: not a good thing. Of course, my train was delayed for 2 hours. I thought to myself ' This is ok. I can still get there. Sure, it'll be tight, but Anything is Possible!'. As I chatted with two men I shared my optimistic point of view, however, they did not. As it turns out, they were right. The train literally inched its way from Varanasi to Delhi. We arrived in New Delhi at 12:30, the exact time my flight to London was meant to leave. I made my way to the airport to find the British Airways and deal with finding another ticket. The young woman in the office informed me that the office I was standing in was not a booking office, but I could use their phones to get another ticket. I stood, too hot in my many layers, stinking of Varanasi and train and not sleeping enough, while the phone line played the 'hold' song, telling me I am a valued customer. After 20 minutes I was about to book my new ticket. Then the power went out and I had to do it all over again. No problem. The next flight wasn't for 14 hours; I had time. $600 dollars later I had a flight to London. I ate a bad sandwich, drank a mediocre coffee and settled into a seat in a holding room. The lighting was too bright, there were too many people, I was too hot and uncomfortable, tired but unable to sleep... the list goes on. I was chatting with a bubbly Italian man, we were sharing our miseries of travels, trying to laugh and make light of a shitty situation, when I saw the info board: My flight was to be delayed 3 hours. I would not be departing until 6:30am! Well, I almost lost it. Perhaps having not slept, or just feeling so done with the airport in general, I began to weep. In my head I knew it wasn't really worth crying over, I could reason and rationalize that this was just how it is and no amount of tears would change that, but I was sad, disappointed and too tired to pull it together. So, I had my first public cry in a loooong time, in the holding room of the New Delhi airport as the family next to me looked on unabashedly. The Italian, Carlo, tried to cheer me up, which almost worked until the board flashed some unpleasant information for him: his flight was delayed a further 6 hours. Well, god bless the Italians, he stood up, sat back down, swore something fierce in Italian and then, with a hand on the hip and the other waving in the air, he said he was out of here and off to a hotel, and would I like to come? In some ways sharing a hotel with a veritable stranger is crazy, but in this situation it was far more sane than spending another 6 hours in the holding room. His company would pay for the room, so we got a pretty lush double room with a really nice bathroom (such things are rare in my experience). After a shower and a two hour sleep things turned around for me. I headed back to the airport, waited until 7:30am for the flight to take off and spent 8 hours watching bad movies on the flight; I was determined to stay up to help the jet lag.
I arrived in London to my Mom waiting for me at the arrivals gate. This was really magical. How many people have mothers who would traipse across the ocean just to bring their babies a winter jacket and some boots so that when I got to Canada I wouldn't be too cold? This is pure love. While waiting for our flight to Toronto I had a really nice glass of red wine and a salad and enjoyed the classy atmosphere of Heathrow - they have a Chanel and Prada in their waiting halls!
So, 56 hours of travel and waiting and with about 6 hours of light and interupted sleep, I am home. And honestly, it feels weird. I remember feeling this sensation when I would go from Montreal to Toronto during school. As I ate supper with my parents, it would trip me out to think that I had been in a lecture hall in Montreal that morning. This is even weirder. Since last night, the last bed I slept in was in a guesthouse on the river ganges. Weird.
So, I spent the morning browsing the internet, being pleased with such a fast connection. Also, I spent a good 45 minutes cursing my computer (apparently it is getting old and just doesn't do what it once did...). I also starting thinking, for real, about the next weeks. This time next week I'll be in Whistler getting myself geared up for volunteering at the Olympics. What a whirlwind of change. I am thinking that while Whistler isn't as exotic as India, the Olympics certainly should be an interesting if not challenging experience. So, I'll probably keep writing. And since I have been having so much fun doing so, it makes sense; and if you like, keep reading!
Until next time
So, lets talk about travel. Sure its really fun when things are going well, but when it 'hits the fan' the fun can fly out the window...
I left Varanasi feeling a fruity mixture of delight, melancholy, bittersweet and satisfaction. Julian walked me to the main road to get a rickshaw, we hugged goodbye and I sat, feeling like I was in a movie watching for the last time as India hustled around me. I got to the train station just on time. People had told me I was cutting it close with the timing, but I was feeling positive and had not experienced any significant delays on the railways during my travels up till then, so I wasn't sure what the fuss was about. However, I was about to find out! When I got to the Varanasi station there were people everywhere. I mean, there are people everywhere always in India, but at the train station this usually means a delay or cancellation: not a good thing. Of course, my train was delayed for 2 hours. I thought to myself ' This is ok. I can still get there. Sure, it'll be tight, but Anything is Possible!'. As I chatted with two men I shared my optimistic point of view, however, they did not. As it turns out, they were right. The train literally inched its way from Varanasi to Delhi. We arrived in New Delhi at 12:30, the exact time my flight to London was meant to leave. I made my way to the airport to find the British Airways and deal with finding another ticket. The young woman in the office informed me that the office I was standing in was not a booking office, but I could use their phones to get another ticket. I stood, too hot in my many layers, stinking of Varanasi and train and not sleeping enough, while the phone line played the 'hold' song, telling me I am a valued customer. After 20 minutes I was about to book my new ticket. Then the power went out and I had to do it all over again. No problem. The next flight wasn't for 14 hours; I had time. $600 dollars later I had a flight to London. I ate a bad sandwich, drank a mediocre coffee and settled into a seat in a holding room. The lighting was too bright, there were too many people, I was too hot and uncomfortable, tired but unable to sleep... the list goes on. I was chatting with a bubbly Italian man, we were sharing our miseries of travels, trying to laugh and make light of a shitty situation, when I saw the info board: My flight was to be delayed 3 hours. I would not be departing until 6:30am! Well, I almost lost it. Perhaps having not slept, or just feeling so done with the airport in general, I began to weep. In my head I knew it wasn't really worth crying over, I could reason and rationalize that this was just how it is and no amount of tears would change that, but I was sad, disappointed and too tired to pull it together. So, I had my first public cry in a loooong time, in the holding room of the New Delhi airport as the family next to me looked on unabashedly. The Italian, Carlo, tried to cheer me up, which almost worked until the board flashed some unpleasant information for him: his flight was delayed a further 6 hours. Well, god bless the Italians, he stood up, sat back down, swore something fierce in Italian and then, with a hand on the hip and the other waving in the air, he said he was out of here and off to a hotel, and would I like to come? In some ways sharing a hotel with a veritable stranger is crazy, but in this situation it was far more sane than spending another 6 hours in the holding room. His company would pay for the room, so we got a pretty lush double room with a really nice bathroom (such things are rare in my experience). After a shower and a two hour sleep things turned around for me. I headed back to the airport, waited until 7:30am for the flight to take off and spent 8 hours watching bad movies on the flight; I was determined to stay up to help the jet lag.
I arrived in London to my Mom waiting for me at the arrivals gate. This was really magical. How many people have mothers who would traipse across the ocean just to bring their babies a winter jacket and some boots so that when I got to Canada I wouldn't be too cold? This is pure love. While waiting for our flight to Toronto I had a really nice glass of red wine and a salad and enjoyed the classy atmosphere of Heathrow - they have a Chanel and Prada in their waiting halls!
So, 56 hours of travel and waiting and with about 6 hours of light and interupted sleep, I am home. And honestly, it feels weird. I remember feeling this sensation when I would go from Montreal to Toronto during school. As I ate supper with my parents, it would trip me out to think that I had been in a lecture hall in Montreal that morning. This is even weirder. Since last night, the last bed I slept in was in a guesthouse on the river ganges. Weird.
So, I spent the morning browsing the internet, being pleased with such a fast connection. Also, I spent a good 45 minutes cursing my computer (apparently it is getting old and just doesn't do what it once did...). I also starting thinking, for real, about the next weeks. This time next week I'll be in Whistler getting myself geared up for volunteering at the Olympics. What a whirlwind of change. I am thinking that while Whistler isn't as exotic as India, the Olympics certainly should be an interesting if not challenging experience. So, I'll probably keep writing. And since I have been having so much fun doing so, it makes sense; and if you like, keep reading!
Until next time
Monday, January 11, 2010
Bittersweet
Its been almost three months exactly since I left Canada. I've packed my bags, checked out of my hotel and I am spending my last afternoon in India. The past few days have been bittersweet; the way you always feel when you are leaving somewhere, something, someone for the 'chapter'. These few months have been something extraordinary, I have collected some incredible memories and experiences that are now, somehow part of who I am. These experiences will shape who I am and what I have learned will somehow be transferred into the way I see the world and how I live in it. So, even though i am leaving, and there is a part of me that wishes I could stay longer, what I have from here is indellible - and that makes parting somehow easier.
The week spent in Varanasi (also known as Benares and Kashi) has been something else. This place is really weird and totally different from anywhere else I have seen in India. This is a holy city, the place where people bring their dead to be cremated by the river ganges. So lets talk a little bit about Varanasi; it is a really old town, made up of winding and infinately confusing alleys. The streets are full of garbage and shit - cow, monkey, people, goat and dog poo is everywhere - you really have to watch your step. It also pays to have your wits about you because as you stand at a little shop getting a chai, or maybe a package of 'hide and seek' cookies, a parade of singing men is likely to come up behind you - they are chanting and carrying a dead body that is wrapped in colorful and tinsled cloth. If you follow this small parade you'll make it to the burning ghat. This is where the bodies are burned. There is an eternal fire, which apparently has existed for all eternity, and this is the fire that lights the crematory bonfires. The fires are on for 24 hours, it takes about 3 hours to burn a body and they burn about 300-400 bodies a day. The cost of cremation is around 200 ruppees (that about $5cad), however since the price of wood has risen, so has the cost of a funeral. The reason so many come to Benares for cremation is that the holiness and divine nature of the Ganges will transport ones soul directly to heaven - how convenient. Even if one is burned elsewhere, if the ashes are simply put into the river after they soul goes directly to nirvana. This brings up two further points to discuss: the bodies that are actually allowed to be burned and the current state of the river ganga itself.
There are, as I can remember, only 4 kinds of people who are absolutely not allowed to be cremated. These include mothers who are still with child, children, Sadhus and people with leprocy. Mostly the reason across the board for such people is that they are already, due to their condition, somehow holy and therefore cremation is not necessary. What happens instead is that these bodies are simply dumped int the river, with a rock tied to them. However sometimes the rock can break free and it is possible to see the remnants of a corpse as you float by in a boat. We were even lucky enough to see a dead goat float up onto the shore while a dog happily munched on its intestines.
This brings me to the second point of discussion: the state of the River Ganga. It is flippin' filthy. But also, it is holy. So, what this means is that the river is pretty much sewage. There are about 4 sewage lines that run into the river, and also 2 water pumps that service the city within. After cremation, ashes are dumped into the river. And, once ones family member(s) is/are burned it is customary to bathe in the water. People drink regularly from the river. I have witnessed it myself. My western stomach churns at the idea of bathing, let alone drinking the sludge, but somehow it happens without a problem for Indians. It would seem these people have immunity made of pure steel.
Given the poo strewn everywhere, the garbage, the ashes, river and air pollution, this place remains pretty magical! I remember when I was in Mysore having a conversation with another traveler about the 'mystical' or 'magical' element of India we both felt we had yet to encounter; perhaps this was an misconception but we both had it; it was an expectation that India had not yet met. Although it was here in Benares that I felt the magical and the mystical part of India. There is something in the air here, something about why people come here, and what they do, and the way people pray constantly, the many Babas and Sadhus that line the river that makes it a world totally unto its own. Plus it is incredibly beautiful; steeples of temples, minarets and colorful ghats paint the riverside, kites fill the air and the pale sunset makes the afternoons glow a kind of soft pink. Magic.
So, the last few days here have been nice. My friend Julian, who was an old neighbor in Montreal came into town from Nepal. This was a really amazing reunion as i haven't seen him in two whole years - he's been abroad. So, it was weird sitting across from him at a table over dhal and palak paneer, sipping chai and discussing the subcontinent. It felt really out of context, but even so we've caught up and had some fun poking around this dirty old town. I've also had the chance to meet some other lovely travelers, all with interesting and exciting adventures behind and ahead of them. Alien, from Belguim spent the day with me as we perused many silk shops, made our way through winding bazaars and drank chai throughout the day. I went for a lovely Israeli dinner some friendly folks from Israel itself.
So how do I sum it all up? What has India taught me? Am I a changed person? I can't sum it all up, its too vast and specific to retell, even though I have tried in vain by writing bits and pieces online. India has taught me lots of things like patience and peace (shanti shanti), a good sense of humor, and that you can say both yes and no by bobbling your head. And of course I have changes, but I don't think its been anything so drastic. I remember hearing people respond to my claim "I am going to India" with something like ít'll be so life-changing' or 'you'll come back such a different person' and honestly, I don't think its true. Sure its changed some things in my life, but I am just me. That the big lesson from traveling: without your known and familiar environment, your family, your friends and your jobs and everyday activities to help shape who you are, I am able to see everything that is left behind, the 'just me' part, and honestly, there aren't too many surprises. With the time to reflect on life and identity and the world (all big subjects of course), it seems you can gain some real perspective on who you are with out all of those outside influencing factors.
So, tonight I'll find my way to the train station and sleep my last night on an upper berth zipping from Varanasi to Delhi. I'll go straight to the airport (no need to spend more time than needed in delhi...) and head to London. Then the last ol'leg of the trip is to Toronto.
See you soon...
The week spent in Varanasi (also known as Benares and Kashi) has been something else. This place is really weird and totally different from anywhere else I have seen in India. This is a holy city, the place where people bring their dead to be cremated by the river ganges. So lets talk a little bit about Varanasi; it is a really old town, made up of winding and infinately confusing alleys. The streets are full of garbage and shit - cow, monkey, people, goat and dog poo is everywhere - you really have to watch your step. It also pays to have your wits about you because as you stand at a little shop getting a chai, or maybe a package of 'hide and seek' cookies, a parade of singing men is likely to come up behind you - they are chanting and carrying a dead body that is wrapped in colorful and tinsled cloth. If you follow this small parade you'll make it to the burning ghat. This is where the bodies are burned. There is an eternal fire, which apparently has existed for all eternity, and this is the fire that lights the crematory bonfires. The fires are on for 24 hours, it takes about 3 hours to burn a body and they burn about 300-400 bodies a day. The cost of cremation is around 200 ruppees (that about $5cad), however since the price of wood has risen, so has the cost of a funeral. The reason so many come to Benares for cremation is that the holiness and divine nature of the Ganges will transport ones soul directly to heaven - how convenient. Even if one is burned elsewhere, if the ashes are simply put into the river after they soul goes directly to nirvana. This brings up two further points to discuss: the bodies that are actually allowed to be burned and the current state of the river ganga itself.
There are, as I can remember, only 4 kinds of people who are absolutely not allowed to be cremated. These include mothers who are still with child, children, Sadhus and people with leprocy. Mostly the reason across the board for such people is that they are already, due to their condition, somehow holy and therefore cremation is not necessary. What happens instead is that these bodies are simply dumped int the river, with a rock tied to them. However sometimes the rock can break free and it is possible to see the remnants of a corpse as you float by in a boat. We were even lucky enough to see a dead goat float up onto the shore while a dog happily munched on its intestines.
This brings me to the second point of discussion: the state of the River Ganga. It is flippin' filthy. But also, it is holy. So, what this means is that the river is pretty much sewage. There are about 4 sewage lines that run into the river, and also 2 water pumps that service the city within. After cremation, ashes are dumped into the river. And, once ones family member(s) is/are burned it is customary to bathe in the water. People drink regularly from the river. I have witnessed it myself. My western stomach churns at the idea of bathing, let alone drinking the sludge, but somehow it happens without a problem for Indians. It would seem these people have immunity made of pure steel.
Given the poo strewn everywhere, the garbage, the ashes, river and air pollution, this place remains pretty magical! I remember when I was in Mysore having a conversation with another traveler about the 'mystical' or 'magical' element of India we both felt we had yet to encounter; perhaps this was an misconception but we both had it; it was an expectation that India had not yet met. Although it was here in Benares that I felt the magical and the mystical part of India. There is something in the air here, something about why people come here, and what they do, and the way people pray constantly, the many Babas and Sadhus that line the river that makes it a world totally unto its own. Plus it is incredibly beautiful; steeples of temples, minarets and colorful ghats paint the riverside, kites fill the air and the pale sunset makes the afternoons glow a kind of soft pink. Magic.
So, the last few days here have been nice. My friend Julian, who was an old neighbor in Montreal came into town from Nepal. This was a really amazing reunion as i haven't seen him in two whole years - he's been abroad. So, it was weird sitting across from him at a table over dhal and palak paneer, sipping chai and discussing the subcontinent. It felt really out of context, but even so we've caught up and had some fun poking around this dirty old town. I've also had the chance to meet some other lovely travelers, all with interesting and exciting adventures behind and ahead of them. Alien, from Belguim spent the day with me as we perused many silk shops, made our way through winding bazaars and drank chai throughout the day. I went for a lovely Israeli dinner some friendly folks from Israel itself.
So how do I sum it all up? What has India taught me? Am I a changed person? I can't sum it all up, its too vast and specific to retell, even though I have tried in vain by writing bits and pieces online. India has taught me lots of things like patience and peace (shanti shanti), a good sense of humor, and that you can say both yes and no by bobbling your head. And of course I have changes, but I don't think its been anything so drastic. I remember hearing people respond to my claim "I am going to India" with something like ít'll be so life-changing' or 'you'll come back such a different person' and honestly, I don't think its true. Sure its changed some things in my life, but I am just me. That the big lesson from traveling: without your known and familiar environment, your family, your friends and your jobs and everyday activities to help shape who you are, I am able to see everything that is left behind, the 'just me' part, and honestly, there aren't too many surprises. With the time to reflect on life and identity and the world (all big subjects of course), it seems you can gain some real perspective on who you are with out all of those outside influencing factors.
So, tonight I'll find my way to the train station and sleep my last night on an upper berth zipping from Varanasi to Delhi. I'll go straight to the airport (no need to spend more time than needed in delhi...) and head to London. Then the last ol'leg of the trip is to Toronto.
See you soon...
Monday, January 4, 2010
Varanasi Lassi
Just one week left.
The last few weeks have been a whirlwind. Between sleeping on buses and trains, and people's couches I haven't spent a night in a proper bed on my own in almost three weeks! This is a traveler's dream in some way - to cheap out on hotels! So in my final week I am spluring on a fancy room with a double bed all to myself! How lovely. But before I go on about this place, lets catch up a bit, shall we?
I arrived in New Delhi on December 31 of 2009 - last year. Moodrika came to the train platform to pick me up. I spent the whole 32 hours on the train sleeping and sweating. And when I wasn't sweating I was shivering and freezing. I was sooo sick. Leave it to me to get dreadfully ill in my final weeks of travel. Anyways, staying with Moodrika's family put me back in good shape. I spent new year's eve drinking tea and watching a bollywood special on TV. It was perfect. I have to say that i actually don't really like the big new year's eve crazy celebration. I much prefer to simply do something quiet and feel good the next day. Nothing like starting the new years without a hangover and some money in your wallet (let's just say there have been years when this was not the case).
I spent Janaury 1 relaxing and trying to feel better still. By the 2nd things were better so Moodrika and I ventured into town: we went to the Red Fort and visited a nearby and very busy bizarre. The fort was beautiful. The grounds are perfectly manicured and of course, the architecture leaves one astounded. It is really incredible to stand at one end of a courtyard and look through the gates of a building only to be able to see the perfect symmetry of the other end of the courtyard. Its spectacular. And when it comes to buildings, Indians don't do anything half assed. We are talking epic and grand. And its funny, because even as i write that, there is the polar opposite in so many cases, where instead of épci and grand' the buildings are simply made of makeshift poles, tarps and corrogated sheet metal... so much for granduer...
The bizarre was amazing; Moodrika and I wandered through alleys where all of the wholesalers are. You can literally buy anything from what looks like kilometers of silks, cottons and sequined fabrics to buttons, tassles, peacock feathers, tassles, bells, threads, etc - and that is just the fashion district. Don't get me started on the jewellery section. It is so overwhelming. The streets bustle, electrical wires are like loose steel wool hanging just a meter above your head while monkeys sway from store front to veranda and loop onto lamp posts which sizzle in the evening fog. Its a shock the whole place doesn't set on fire from faulty electricity! You have to watch your step as you walk through these alleys too, or one might get run over by a bicycle rickshaw or scooty. The alleys can't be wider that a meter and a half and yet it seems thousands of people teem their way through, fingering silks, eating ladoos and standing around chai stalls. The markets are one of my favorite things about India because they are so alive. The bargaining you have to do is vicious and the people watching is top notch.
Moodrika and I had a really fun time taking photos, figuring out our settings on digital cameras and snacking on sweets. I'll put some photos up soon, I promise.
Last night was yet another night on a train. But as I woke up in a haze this morning, I realized it is my... second last! I arrived in Varanasi, booked my ticket back to Delhi for the 12th, found a rickshaw and got to this funny little guesthouse. THis is a seven floor, rambling and quirky little place. I am shelling out for a room to myself that is on the sixth floor, right above the 24 hour rooftop patio with a pool table, internet and a beautiful view of the ganges. Varanasi, also known as benares is famous for the ghats. The ghats, for those who don't know, are the places on the river where funeral pyres are made and it is a very sacred place. Benares is also famed for its awful pollution, relentless touts and scam artists. But I think its all about what you are looking for. Myself, I just want to spend a week feeling relatively carefree, to experience something different than I have in the south of India and to enjoy this last week somewhere interesting.
Varanasi is directly south of Kathmadu in Nepal so needless to say, its cold. Well, maybe not needless, as i didn't realize how chilly it would be. I emptied my clothes onto my bed this morning and realized that the sundresses and tshirts I've been wearing the last few months simply won't do. I am layered up, and looking a little silly, and seriously considering going shopping for some warm woolly items this afternoon!
In the meantime, I hope everyone had a really nice new years celebration, however quiet or wild! And while I am savoring this last week, I am also keeping track of the days until I make it home. I am really looking forward to seeing family and friends soon... and getting ready for the next, olympic sized adventure!
Love until next time...
Sunday, January 3, 2010
The FInal Stretch
Its strange to think think about the near future because the near future for me, no longer includes being in India. I am in the Final Stretch.
In the last months when I have thought about the near future it has always included a complete unknown, somewhere in India. Now thinking of the near future includes leaving this part of the world, all this magnificent food, all of these beautiful people and the feelings I have only here. India has taught me some really amazing things, it has atsonished me and let me down too. I have lived in another world and tried to relay some of it through the medium of 'the blog'.
Overall, when I reflect on my time here its hard to sum up what is my favorite part, or the best moment. I have been feeling a consistent push and pull here. While in Goa, someone asked me what the most important thing I have found here is. And while there are many important lessons to learn simply from being here adn seeing what is to be seen here, I was surprised with the accuracy of my unplanned response. I told here that the most significant thing I have found in India is the widened spectrum of life that exists here. All of sudden every emotion, every experience is deepened, widened and in some way has more impact. For example: the train ride from Goa to Delhi is about 32 hours. I did this journey while finally suffering from a nasty bout of travelers tummy (most people get this in the first two weeks). In the final woozey hours of the journey I gazed out the window as we made our way into Delhi. Going from sandy colored foggy fields to the outlying slums that line train tracks seemed to utterly surreal. The slums themselves embody this spectrum. People seem to be bursting from the seems of ramshackle and makeshift illegal housing, brightly colored (but also dust ridden) clothing hangs from everywhere, drying in the dirty air that blows from the passing trains. Children are shitting on the tracks, or playing cricket, women are cooking food or cleaning clothes or yelling and hitting children. Men play cards, sleep, chop wood, smoke or hang around. Life, however desperate and devastating is everywhere. And here is the clincher - as I sit and wonder how it is that people can live in such conditions, wonder how governments and as well as an entire country can exist while this does without doing something I notice how colorful it all is, how people are still smiling and how, life goes on, with full steam, just like my train. I simply glimpse in on this world, from behind blue metal bars, watching and wondering feeling a potporri of emotion. I look around teh train. Families surround me, children in the arms of loving mothers, being fed, blankets surround them. We will all arrive in Delhi and continue to warm homes fill our bellies and dream big. And this is just one example.
India is constantly thowing me back and forth, from loving India to hating India. From feeling trapped to total freedom, I can feel pure and healthy in one moment, and the next day I feel like my stomach is being torn out by something I've eaten. It is this amazing spectrum of feelings, of emotion, of landscape, people, culture, music and everything that is the most important and significant thing that I have experienced in India.
And then I think about returning to Canada. I think about the snow, the late sunrise and early sunset, the snowstorms and false attempts spring will make in March and April. I wonder if I will find the same kind of 'life' at home now that my eyes have been opened to it here, or if i will have to seek it out. The incredible peace and chaos I can feel in a day is really quite amazing and wonderful.
However, with all that said, there are somethings that I won't miss. THere are many things I can't wait for, mostly being family and friends I love and miss. And there are some thingsI am looking forward to alot of silly things that at first I didn't miss like hot showers, western toilets and the garauntee of toilet paper, pizza and bagels, ice water, tv in English and other superficial luxuries. I have never felt so excited to appreciate such things before.
Well, until next time...
In the last months when I have thought about the near future it has always included a complete unknown, somewhere in India. Now thinking of the near future includes leaving this part of the world, all this magnificent food, all of these beautiful people and the feelings I have only here. India has taught me some really amazing things, it has atsonished me and let me down too. I have lived in another world and tried to relay some of it through the medium of 'the blog'.
Overall, when I reflect on my time here its hard to sum up what is my favorite part, or the best moment. I have been feeling a consistent push and pull here. While in Goa, someone asked me what the most important thing I have found here is. And while there are many important lessons to learn simply from being here adn seeing what is to be seen here, I was surprised with the accuracy of my unplanned response. I told here that the most significant thing I have found in India is the widened spectrum of life that exists here. All of sudden every emotion, every experience is deepened, widened and in some way has more impact. For example: the train ride from Goa to Delhi is about 32 hours. I did this journey while finally suffering from a nasty bout of travelers tummy (most people get this in the first two weeks). In the final woozey hours of the journey I gazed out the window as we made our way into Delhi. Going from sandy colored foggy fields to the outlying slums that line train tracks seemed to utterly surreal. The slums themselves embody this spectrum. People seem to be bursting from the seems of ramshackle and makeshift illegal housing, brightly colored (but also dust ridden) clothing hangs from everywhere, drying in the dirty air that blows from the passing trains. Children are shitting on the tracks, or playing cricket, women are cooking food or cleaning clothes or yelling and hitting children. Men play cards, sleep, chop wood, smoke or hang around. Life, however desperate and devastating is everywhere. And here is the clincher - as I sit and wonder how it is that people can live in such conditions, wonder how governments and as well as an entire country can exist while this does without doing something I notice how colorful it all is, how people are still smiling and how, life goes on, with full steam, just like my train. I simply glimpse in on this world, from behind blue metal bars, watching and wondering feeling a potporri of emotion. I look around teh train. Families surround me, children in the arms of loving mothers, being fed, blankets surround them. We will all arrive in Delhi and continue to warm homes fill our bellies and dream big. And this is just one example.
India is constantly thowing me back and forth, from loving India to hating India. From feeling trapped to total freedom, I can feel pure and healthy in one moment, and the next day I feel like my stomach is being torn out by something I've eaten. It is this amazing spectrum of feelings, of emotion, of landscape, people, culture, music and everything that is the most important and significant thing that I have experienced in India.
And then I think about returning to Canada. I think about the snow, the late sunrise and early sunset, the snowstorms and false attempts spring will make in March and April. I wonder if I will find the same kind of 'life' at home now that my eyes have been opened to it here, or if i will have to seek it out. The incredible peace and chaos I can feel in a day is really quite amazing and wonderful.
However, with all that said, there are somethings that I won't miss. THere are many things I can't wait for, mostly being family and friends I love and miss. And there are some thingsI am looking forward to alot of silly things that at first I didn't miss like hot showers, western toilets and the garauntee of toilet paper, pizza and bagels, ice water, tv in English and other superficial luxuries. I have never felt so excited to appreciate such things before.
Well, until next time...
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