Gaining perspective

Association of Relief Volunteers is a non-profit social service organization, established in 2001 and head-quartered in Hyderabad/Manchilipatnam in the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh. Working with 281 Indian volunteers and activists, ARV focuses on helping people in Andhra Pradesh in the following areas: attaining food security for the poorest of the poor, health and sanitation (through housing, medical camps and other means), destitute welfare, Dalit (formerly labeled untouchable) empowerment, female empowerment, child education, research, training and documentation (human-rights violations), policy advocacy and lobbying (human rights education and training), and working with national and international volunteers. ARV in its four years has been recognized by both National and International Organizations working on similar issues and has established a network in all 13 districts in Andhra Pradesh [ARV volunteer literature packet, 2005].

My journey to India revolved around working for eight days with Association of Relief Volunteers in Andhra Pradesh (though unfortunately that time turned into a mere five days because of the fog). I found out about ARV through a fellow JET, Rick, who organized the trip. He found out about ARV through another organization called GoMAD (Go Make A Difference), which is a volunteer organization begun by former JET Programme participants aiming to give international travelers a way to do volunteer work along the way. GoMAD has since grown and established a number of ongoing volunteer projects throughout the world (www.GoMAD.org).

Ravi Kumar of ARV, a charismatic do-gooder with an Eddie Murphy laugh was our organizer and leader for the Building Communities project. A contagiously pleasant man, he invited us into his home, introduced us to his family and took us under his wing as his own children while we worked alongside him and other ARV volunteers in the villages of Kothisatram and Narimpali. Technically Ravi works for Habitat for Humanity, so all of his work with ARV is on a volunteer basis for now. We (the group as a whole)spent Christmas, New Years and Ravi`s 40th birthday together. This only partially conveys the dedication that he has to helping the poor people of Andhra Pradesh. He truly is a wonderful person, I am glad to have been able to work with him and hope to help him with aide projects in the future.




Our group of fifteen English teachers living in Japan, was the first group of international volunteers that ARV had ever hosted. For this reason, it was in many ways a test run to see what would work and what would need improvement. On the other hand, our pioneer efforts allowed us an incredible amount of influence in the planning of the trip; what projects we would participate in and where our donations would be focused. I feel lucky to have been a part of this first group and am now, back in Japan, continuing to do follow-up on the trip. Each volunteer gave monetary donations and many of us gave other things such as pens, pencils and notebooks, being that the children in these villages don't have school houses big enough to hold everyone, let alone the proper utensils for learning. It was with this in mind, that my junior high school students, without my knowing, brought me bags and bags of school supplies. I therefore brought extra luggage with me to India solely devoted to these gifts. And in lieu of asking for monetary donations here in Japan, I was able through one email to family and friends at home, to raise $700 for the villagers in Andhra Pradesh. That will go a long way, really. Thank you to all who were able to give, it was thankfully recieved and deeply appreciated. As a group, we raised nearly $5,000.



Each day that I spent with ARV in Kavali, was mind-blowing and humbling. And the time flew. Never have I felt so rich and privileged. Not only privileged because I have so much in comparison, but also privileged to be able to spend time with such amazing people. Because although they have few material possessions and barely a roof over their heads, they are overflowing with spirit. Each day as our bus pulled up, it was surrounded. Stepping off the bus, we were greeted with hugs and handshakes, smiles and "I love you" s. Needless to say, in the evening when leaving the village to head back to Kavali, our send off was much the same and more often than not, tens of meters down the road, Ravi would have to tell us to stop waving out of the windows, because the kids were running after the bus.

The work in the villages mostly consisted of repair work and teaching, with a good chunk of the afternoon allotted to playing. Repairing the two wells in Kothisatram was a village community effort. Skinny arms extended, I would stack bricks up to chins, to be carried down the dirt road. The water pale that was awkward and heavy for me to hold, became more balanced when a young girl came to grab the other side. The sand from the dune to be carried in discs on the head and then mixed with cement (bought with donations) to be used as mortar, traveled more quickly with the long assembly line of old, young, foreign and native. And when it came down to the artistry of well-building, it became immediately apparent that we were just there to help. Some of those young men I tell you, they're like machines. One man's heavy is another man's light. And you can't differentiate the two just by looking at them. It was an honor though, to be the getter of sand or water and then to stand back and watch the real builders at work. We all had two left hands compared to them. At times we were given token work, but I was fine with that. It seemed to be more important to everyone, that we were there.

On December 31st, New Years Eve, we had a children's day and invited kids from three surrounding villages to Kothisatram, our main village. Though neighbors, it was the first time that many of the kids had played together and the day was like summer camp. We introduced them to tug-of-war (the rope fittingly snapped, leaving both teams winners and the elders in the village laughing hysterically) and fed them a huge meal (also made possible from donations). It was a feast. A feast fit for these little kings and queens. After lunch, we had a dance party. It was a spectacular way to end the year.




Along with repairing the wells, we also helped roof a small school house. Our job was to carry water in large metal pots up from a sand ravine, wet the piles of dried palm fronds and then hand them to the men who stood on the cross beams of the roof with a giant metal needle (type thing) and some rope, without getting in the way. Three men, easily over the age of 60, completed the roof in about 8 hours. It was amazing to watch them work, making the particular layering and threading, maneuvering and climbing look effortless. And we just stood there, holding various sizes of palm leaves, as if they were our wares, hoping that ours would be chosen.



When it was finally time to say good bye on January 2nd, it was quite sad. I hope to be back there, to see the children again, but I don't know when and I don't know for sure. We spent the day at the village, finishing up projects, did some press interviews (this was actually a large part of the community building project, for getting the message across about the conditions in these villages is helped by sending out photos and words from foreigners that have traveled to help. Unfortunately this is the case...) and then returned in the evening, dressed in sarees for the final goodbyes, which of course took longer than was planned. It was really hard to leave one of my favorite little ones. A boy, three years old, who the entire time we were there would sit on the sidelines and in the backgrounds of the games we played with the other kids. He always had such a serious, contemplative look on his face and I often wondered what he was thinking. But as soon as I was able to catch his eye, a smile appeared from ear to ear and with a little tickling, the giggle emerged as well. This became my mission throughout the week. He is a precious one. That night as we bid farewell, he was crying, due to an eye infection. His mother promised she was going to take him to the hospital (though it is a far journey) and it was comforting to know that they have ARV as a resource. It was not until we left that I found that his father died soon after the tsunami from shock (I hadn't considered this element of the tragedy) and that his mother was sick as well. Such a heavy life for such little person. That single family occupies my thoughts these days back in Japan, providing perspective, teaching me more than they or I realize. I wonder how they are, how they will be.

We were at the village well past dark, taking pictures, giving last hugs, promising to return. Hopefully they are promises we can all keep.



If anyone would like more information about ARV and/or is interested in donating, or traveling to India to volunteer, please contact me. In addition, if there is anyone that is web design capable and willing to donate their time and services to ARV, let me know as well. Thanks.

(some photos courtesy of Prue Keenan and Rick Mickelson. Arigato Gozaimasu.)

Body Language

Tonight I took my first Japanese aerobics class and I just wanted to report that "Grapevine" in Japanese, is "Grapevine."

new friends

pancho unglia eksi nahi hoti eh

Somewhere between the hotel in Agra and the train station, at Saleem`s restaurant, amidst a conversation on trust and scamming, Prem offered this Punjabi saying. It was after the train tickets had been secured and we were due to get on the 0040 train to Hyderabad. Frustration and stress levels being at a two-day low, there was some time to reflect on the past 24 hours, analyze where we should have known better, who we had misread along the way and how the whole situation was shaping our views of India. Prem offered his views on Nazir and they matched our own for the most part (though he continued to work with him) along with these words to carry with us for the rest of our stay in his country, Panchi unglia eksi nahi hoti eh (a phonetic interpretation). Essentially it means, Not All Five Fingers are the Same. I had forgotten about the conversation until today, as I was flipping through my journal pages. Though in retrospect, the saying sums up the entirety of the trip pretty well. Each place we visited was a distinct experience alone in itself and the people we managed to meet along the way ran the gamut. Anyways, just something to chew on...

recent fears, worries, concerns

-that accidentally tearing off the end of the boarding pass, will disqualify me from boarding the plane
-that the matching grinding/rumbling/crunching noises both my car and computer make, are indicative of my incompetence when it comes to machinery
-that in a state of runners trance, I will fall off of/on the treadmill
-that I will regret not staying in Japan another year

I realize...

that not buying cigs, only to bum them off of others in a drunken (or not so) state, makes for a sorry excuse for a non-smoker. To all those whom I have drawn into this nasty habit, ごめねさい.

#2 in quantity, but leading the pack in quality and variety

So I was gonna recap the highlights of the following article on vending machines in Japan, but I figured, why not use the ol' cut and past trick instead...


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Vending machines go high-tech
The Yomiuri Shimbun

Vending machines usually bring to mind canned soft drinks and cigarettes, but recently they've started to change, offering such things as hot oden--a dish consisting of various ingredients, including slices of boiled daikon, balls of processed minced fish and hard-boiled eggs--and sushi.

The functionality of vending machines has also improved. There are now machines designed to reduce garbage, offer drinks free of charge after an earthquake or talk to customers.

A vending machine in Akihabara, Tokyo's electronics center, is one of these special machines. Insert two 100 yen coins and a large can containing hot oden will emerge (a can of oden including beef costs an extra 50 yen).

Tengu Canning Co. in Nagoya developed the canned oden in 1985, selling it to tachinomi stand-up bars.

In 1995, the oden vending machine was set up in Akihabara and it soon found favor, selling 10 million yen worth of canned oden a year.

A TV program touted the vending machine as the top money-making vending machine in the country.

Last year, the vending machine also appeared in a TV drama titled "Densha Otoko (Train Man)," a story based in Akihabara about a nerd who seeks advice on an Internet chat room about how to hook up with a woman he meets on a train.

With the cold spell striking the country in December, two oden vending machines set monthly sales records--selling a total of 14,000 cans of oden.

Kenichi Ito, 44, an assistant section chief at Tengu Canning, said it was hard to control the quality of oden; the oden deteriorates if it is overheated.

"The Akihabara site is perfect because the canned oden is constantly being purchased, preventing it from becoming too hot," he said.

Vending machines on the ferries of Tokyo-based Ocean Tokyu Ferry Co., which link Tokyo with Tokushima and Kitakyushu, sell one serving of eight frozen sushi pieces topped with deep-water shrimp, tuna, scallop and other seafood for 500 yen.

When it is thawed up in a special micro oven, the rice with vinegar becomes hot, but the toppings remain cold.

Passengers can purchase the sushi with food cards distributed free of charge when boarding, or with cash.

During the busy season, the company often sells all of the machine's 120 meals in a single trip.

While the product would seem to have a wider appeal, suggesting vending machines selling it could hit the streets, an employee of Sundelica Co., a Tokyo-based food company that makes the sushi, insisted that the product only sold well on ferries because they do not have restaurants onboard.

According to the Japan Vending Machine Manufacturers Association, there are about 5.5 million vending machines, including those selling tickets, in Japan, making it the second largest vending machine country in the world after the United States.

About 2.6 million of them sell soft drinks.

In terms of number, vending machines have already reached saturation point, but now they are being designed to improve the environment.

In November, a "My Cup" vending machines was installed in the annex of the Economy, Trade and Industry Ministry in Kasumigaseki, Tokyo.

People use their own cups to buy juice and coffee in order to reduce the use of paper cups.

A ministry official said that if the experiment at the ministry went well, the ministry would encourage companies to install such vending machines in their offices.

Starting in 2003, Coca-Cola Japan Co. installed vending machines that can be remotely controlled to provide drinks free of charge in case of a disaster.

It has already installed about 1,000 such machines in various parts of the country. The vending machines in the city hall of Nagaoka, Niigata Prefecture, provided bottles of tea and water to residents after the Chuetsu earthquake struck in October 2004.

Vending machines equipped with security cameras and emergency buzzers to protect children have recently been installed along school routes.

Vending machines that sell alcohol are gradually being replaced by models capable of checking the age of a customer by scanning a form of ID, such as a driver's license, thereby preventing minors from buying spirits.

In 2008, cigarette vending machines equipped with a system that can verify the age of a customer by reading a data card--issued to only adults--will be introduced.

Some vending machines can even communicate with buyers.

In 2000, DyDo Drinco Inc. started installing vending machines that can say "Konnichiwa" (Hello) and "Itterasshai" (Have a nice day).

The company has also installed vending machines that can say, "Sorry, I've run out of change" in the Kansai dialect.

During the first three days of the New Year, the machines said, "Thank you, we're counting on you this year."

Fuji Electric Retail System Co. has developed a makeup vending machine that can not only talk to a customer but also features a camera that can help women choose what type of makeup suits them best.

The machine, which has yet to be put into practical use, displays an image of the customer's face on a screen with a mocked-up image of what they would look like wearing a certain shade of lipstick.

The Japan Vending Machine Manufacturers Association predicts that in the future, vending machines capable of offering advice based on users' preferences and health status will be invented.

Tsutomu Washizu, 61, who authored a book titled "Jido Hanbaiki no Bunka (The Culture of Vending Machines)" said that it would become much more convenient for people to get what they liked where and when they wanted it.

"But it could lead to a culture of disposability, leading people to discard things when and wherever they want. Vending machines can make our life convenient, but they can also ruin our lifestyles," he said.

(Jan. 19, 2006)
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to change shoes, or not to change shoes...

that is the question when evacuating a burning building

okay, no it isn`t, were a fire to actually be blazing through the school, but when in Japan and participating in a fire drill, there is a slight hesitation

Yesterday at my Chugakkou, we had a planned fire drill during 6th period, though I was not told the proper precautions to take (gotta trust the Malcolm X Middle School prep. for this one)

Alarms blared and I was in the teachers room. We slowly and in with what looked to me like first-time-fire-drill epxressions, walked out of the room towards the main entrance. Everyone had towels over their mouths ( in Japan, everyone has their own personal hand towel, there are no paper towels. I have still not grasped this concept and continue to wipe my hands, after washing them, on my pants), so I followed suit, but instead using my scarf. As the students met us in the entryway and we continued towards the outside, we all had a slight hesitation before stepping out of the building...I was not the only one. Knowing what a stupid question it was and what the answer would be, I asked anyways: "Do we change our shoes?"

As we gingerly walked out the doors with our inside shoes on, there was a collective feeling of wrong-doing. The gravel, wedging its way into the clean tread, only to be brought back in to the spotless wooden floors inside...

This school is only 23 students big (three grades), and being that students in Japan, from what I have seen, are well-trained in getting into lines (though circles as I found in December is quite another story), the drill was over almost as soon as it began. And the question from my Kyoto Sensei on whether we had drills in America, brought flashbacks of hundreds of kids spilling onto the playground in Berkeley, bullhorns blaring, chaos ensuing and the utter joy of needing to have a do-over.

As we walked back into the school, wet towels were laid on the ground to wash away our sin, and we all filed into the assembly hall for a video on the triple whammy of earthquakes, fires and tsunami`s


**Apologies for the jump in time and space, as I try to recap India while living in the now

Rolling with the Holiday Punches

It is funny reading my last post now, January 10th, back in the calm and orderly country that is Japan, because had I known then, what I know now, I may not have been so quick to make predictions on how my Christmas Day would pan out. Let me just begin this tale of haphazard travel by stating that Christmas plans to fly to Hyderabad from Delhi to meet up with the other folks that were volunteering, did not go as planned. And there was one particular culprit to blame, Fog. Little to my knowledge before I left for my travels, December tis the season for abnormally heavy fog in Northern India. India as I found is a particularly dusty country as it is. Pair it with the smog from cars in the cities and then this seasonal morning and evening fog, and air travel becomes difficult and at times impossible. Some news reports I heard at the time were reporting a visibility of only ten meters. Apparently some airlines have equipped their crafts with new technology to navigate through the thick layer, but since it is new and few pilots have had training or real experience with it, it is up to the pilot whether or not to fly when the weather gets bad enough that the technology would be needed. I, as a passenger, cannot complain with this protocol. However, when one is riding a budget airline in India, Air Deccan to be exact, this option of new navigation equipment is not even in the cards. So, arriving at Delhi Domestic airport with no knowledge of the weather conditions, well nourished from Christmas morning curry on the roof of our hotel, some bazaar shopping and still on a high from seeing the Taj, Erin and I were looking forward to the short flight to Hyderabad. We were even early. Our attempts to check in however were met with the nonchalant and unapologetic comment that the flight was cancelled. Perhaps we could get on the flight on the 28th. Three days might as well have been three months. We waited a bit to weigh our options and hopefully run into others from our group that were on the same flight. This search introduced us to Prue, who joined us at square one in the journey down to Hyderabad. No other airline could put us on a flight, so feeling quite un-taken care of, we got a refund for our ticket and left the airport in hopes that the train station would bring more luck.



This was not to be the case. The Delhi train station on any other day is crazy and crowded, teeming with auto rickshaws, bicycle rickshaws, taxi's and independent "travel agents," all trying to lure you into their services. So on this day, Christmas, with numbers of hopeful air travelers in a bind due to the hassle that is the fog, it was that much worse. Throw three foreign women into the mix and you got yourself some walking targets, weighed down with back packs and frustrated. By this time, the tourist office which normally holds some extra tickets for foreign travelers, was closed, so we opted to stand in line and hope for the best. But in this process, Prue, being the "free spirit" that she is, was drawn away to some tourist office down the street, following promises of train tickets for the 20:40 train to Hyderabad. Erin and I trusting her traveling experience followed along to get the info, since standing in the non-moving line, was less than thrilling. Turns out the ticket, if it existed, was being sold at double the price...so back to the line we went. Little time passed before another man, this one more legit, so it seemed, warned us of the place down the street and said he knew of a good travel office. Wanting an easy solution and feeling a bit lost, we followed the kind man, who put us in a rick shaw and we were off to the comfortable and calm office of Delhi Tourism. How nice to be away from the crowds, how nice to be able to sit down and think through our options. At this point, getting on a train to Hyderabad that day seemed quite possible.

Nazir is a smooth talker. And we knew this from the moment we sat down in his office and he asked us how we were. No need for the small talk we replied, we just need to get to Hyderabad. All we needed to know were out options. It was getting dark outside, no hotel reservations for the night, well not in Delhi at least, and the ticket line at New Delhi station was less than encouraging. Perhaps a waiting list spot was possible. Who knows. Nazir tells us of available tickets the following night on the overnight train to Hyderabad, which would get us in on the 27th. Two days late yes, but this seemed to be the inevitable time delay at this point. The catch however, was that the train left from Agra (where we had just come from the night before), the Taj toting town about four hours drive south. Of course, Nazir being the business man that he is, would easily arrange a driver to Agra and a hotel that night. A little sightseeing the next day and then catch the train in the evening and it all sounded like a paradise vacation.

We were having none of this roundabout plan, that clearly had some sort of perk attached for Nazir and his hotel and driver connections along the way. But as the smooth talking continued and developed into more friendly banter, and as the night progressed outside, we softened to the idea. This transformation was all compounded by the fact that we wanted nothing more than to get out of Delhi. We were all packed and ready to go. So after a couple of hours with the back and forth hostility on our part, aimed both at Nazir and each other, we, in true what-not-to-do-when-traveling-in-India fashion, (according to Lonely Planet that is, but who wants to listen to a guide book anyways?) gave our credit card payment, without a solid ticket in our hands and boarded a car to Agra (for Erin's brainwashing theory on the situation, refer to links). Credit cards can always be cancelled I figured. Though my skepticism of the situation still lingered as we finalized travel "plans," and I could not completely suppress the inner voice in my head which told me I was being a dumb ass, I proceeded happily, thinking I was being far too paranoid. The one thing that we were smart about though, is that we booked our own hotel for the night at the place where we had stayed previously in Agra. This much we knew was a safe bet.

Prem was our driver. A pretty quiet guy at first, but friendly. After a dud restaurant for dinner, he took us to his home where we had Christmas dinner with him and his family. It was nice to see a real Indian home and to spend a few hours laughing and getting Punjabi dancing lessons from his fourteen year old son. I felt more at ease about the entire situation after meeting his wife and kids.



The drive to Agra, with tea stops, ended up being 6 hours. So at around 1:15 am we rolled in to Tourist Rest House and slept soundly with dreams of train tickets and Hyderabad.

The next morning, we figured before anything else, we would get our tickets in hand. Prem it turns out, is just contracted to Delhi Tourism periodically and so is just responsible for picking up the tickets. It is at this point in the morning, when we are told by Nazir, through Prem, that our tickets will not be ready until 4pm (and to go on with the sightseeing portion of the program) that our problem becomes Prem's. After inviting us into his home, I think that he also felt a bit more responsibility towards us than a driver normally would his passengers. We were repeatedly told that he would not, could not, return home to Delhi until we were happy and on the train to Hyderabad. And this we found as the day progressed, rang true. Immediately hearing the 4pm news, we shifted into recovery mode. From here on out it would be a matter of correcting our mistake from the night before.

Our day, December 26th, consisted of going to a secondary travel agent in Agra (apparently the brother office) and waiting in an office until we got our tickets. This did not make the man in charge happy and I suspect he will not be doing business with Delhi Tourism again after the stubborn fuss we put up to get a tangible ticket. (Prue at this point still had hopes of visiting the Taj which she at this point had still not seen). The ticket it turns out, despite the 2AC (two tier, air conditioned) classification we had payed for (plus some commission) was the lowest class possible, which by most people's standards, Indians included, is not the safest place for foreign women. In addition, the price of all three tickets was about a third of what each of us had payed (to redeem myself a bit, the price we each payed was still less than the plane ticket that we were reimbursed for...a cost comparison had been done). Livid, we raced back to the hotel to call our credit card companies and Prue ventured out with Prem to talk to his friend who had "connections." Erin and I sat in the courtyard of the hotel, contemplating the mess we had managed to get ourselves into. Time passed and checking my email revealed that Eric, another strandee had managed to get on to the train that evening from Delhi, by simply standing in line. Salt on the wound.

At this news, as soon as Prem returned, we raced to the train station to try our own hand, finally, at getting tickets. Erin was near tears at the ticket counter (Prue and I had earlier that morning had the talk hole at the ticket counter blocked in our faces), which to her credit, succeeded in getting us wait list tickets for an all women's SL (sleeper car). Now we could only wait. Either Prem's connections would come through, or we would have to move up from 81,82, and 83 on the waiting list.

Time passed and the tangled web of deception and false tickets wound its way through my thoughts. Ahhhhhh, if only I could just do it over, perhaps we would be in Hyderabad.

Around 5pm, Prem called to get an update from his "connection" and we were in luck. Saleem, a friendly but reserved guy (in the train station that is, turns out because of his dealings with scalping train tickets, the train station makes him very nervous) sauntered into the eatery at the train station where we had posted ourselves, boasting the two 2AC tickets he had confirmed along with a number 1 on the waiting list for the same car. Goes to show that connections matter.

This was good, but not good enough seeing as one on the waiting list might as well have been three. Would we get kicked off? We were told not, but who knows. Who do you trust?

We asked the man at the ticket counter and his reaction to our situation was positive, "just get on." Saleem: "Just get on the train," Prem: "Just get on the train."

So, as 23:40 (the new time of departure...the 20:40 train was well booked by the time we got our shit together) and the ticket counter man would no longer calm our fears and answer whether we had moved off of the waiting list, we payed Saleem the same amount that the ticket cost (turns out this was just a favor for Prem, who at this point probably just wanted to get rid of us and gat back to his family...but who knows, maybe it was all part of the plan?), had dinner at his hotel's restaurant and headed back to the train station to once and for all get the fuck out of Agra. I can confidently say that I never have to, nor want to, set foot in that city again. I have seen what needs to be seen there along with way too much of the train station.

The one last hiccup before we left, was finding our correct car. It was not where we thought it was, so Prue, Erin, Prem and I found our selves running down the length of the train, scared that after all that, we would be left. Twas not the case and we boarded without a hitch, though not without a strange, near tears goodbye from Prem. Not worth expanding.

So the 36 hour train ride set in, though we were happier than ever to just be on the train, on our way. Despite the hostile attitude from the first conductor that checked our ticket status, the second was much more forgiving and even vowed to find us a third bed, so that we would not have to sit up all night ( a mission which he followed through with). The rest of the ride was smooth: we passed through the very center of India, a town called Nagpur, along with others, occasionally hopping off for the fresh air at the short stops and hopping back on the train as it began to move. Don't see that in Japan.



All was well until about the last five hours of the trip, in which I was sick. Train food, is not smart food, and to be sick on a moving train is far worse than to be sick in a moving car (if you're wondering). And the tricky thing about being sick in India, in my case at least, is that I was not sure what it was that made me ill. Probably the food, but perhaps the water? So dehydrated and nauseous, dizzy and weak, I nearly fell off the train and sat in the waiting room of the Hyderabad train station to wait for our ride to pick us up as Prue and Erin ventured off in attempts to find some guaranteed safe water. Safe water was not found (often water bottles are not sealed or have been fooled with on the bottom), but our ride was.

Mr. Merti is the president of Association of Relief Volunteers and due to the delays and travel troubles of the entire group, had volunteered to pick up the stragglers, us, so that the rest of the group could head down to Kavali, where we would be staying for the next week. A gem he was amidst the confusion that had been our last couple of days and he put up with our shit far better than I would have were I in his situation (namely carting around three cranky, unbathed women). After getting safe water and picking up two other volunteers at a near by hotel, we thought we were off. We were, technically, but not until we got a jeep to drive us to Kavali, then switched the jeep because it was not sturdy enough, ate (me not included), spent an hour at the bank trying to exchange travelers checks and had tea. I was passed out in the back of the jeep with the backpacks for most of this ordeal. Finally at about 3pm on December 28th, we truly embarked on the supposed eight hour drive to Kavali.

Due to many bathroom stops (the bush is your toilet), tea stops ( Indians, much like the Japanese, don't fool around when it comes to tea and when to drink it), more sick passengers (as I began to recover, Melissa fell ill), a short-cut which resulted in a flat tire, we arrived at Hotel Namaskar in Kavali at 4am.



The journey, though incredibly long, was, as I would soon discover, well well worth it.

delayed reaction

Hello all
I am back from India, more refreshed than I expected, ready for the next seven months in my Japanese village life. The weather is colder than when I left, which is expected considering what India counts as a winter, and I am just beginning to get back into the swing of teaching again. My apologies for the lack of posting during my travels and for the slow speed with which the tales of India are reaching the net. I am still trying to absorb it all and put it into a somewhat coherent story form, which is better than the lists and half sentences that fill my journal. Stay tuned. And Happy 2006.